Page 5 of Headmistress

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Miles rolls with it and pretends there’s nothing odd about this. He chuckles and brushes away the dirt that I’ve spread all over his lovely, manicured hands.

I look down and cringe. But I also notice he’s not wearing a wedding ring. I don’t know why I take notice of this. It hardly matters.

“Did Aunt Katie find you and send you over here? Because she and I are going to have some words.” The least she could do is warn me to put on a little makeup and brush my hair.

But his face looks all business and tells me he’s not here to chat about old times. “I don’t think I know any Katie.” His voice is low and grumbly and there’s heat behind those gold-flecked green eyes of his. This time, his words land in a very different place in my body. Blood rushes to my cheeks and my nipples are pushing the boundaries of decency right now.

Someone please remind my nipples that I don’t believe in fate and that he must be here for some other reason than to declare his undiminished crush on me.

5

Miles

“It’s so nice to see you again, Ms. Moody.”

I try to get the words out without my voice cracking like a pimply 17-year-old out of nervousness at seeing her gorgeous backside bent over the vegetable garden. I can’t believe this woman’s ass hasn’t changed a bit in eight years.

I spent a good deal of time in high school admiring her ass, and I’ve definitely memorized every inch, every curve.

In

fact, it’s the same wool skirt and same godforsaken black tights and clunky shoes that I remember from—holy shit. Only this particular woman could dress like a nun and get me this worked up. Eight years later and she’s still got it, and she’s still got a hold on me.

Martha stands upright and turns around, searing me with those eyes that still give me come-hither looks every night in my dreams.

She’s got dirt and sweat on her face from the garden and a few tendrils have fallen from her signature bun. Martha’s full lips are parted in shock.

My former teacher is still so fucking beautiful I can hardly hide my … uhm, admiration … and I slide my attaché in front of my pelvis.

“Miles McRae,” she says, her voice giving away a slight tremor. “What a pleasant surprise.”

She holds out her hand and I take it without tearing my eyes away from her wide-eyed, soul-piercing gaze. Her hand feels strange and I look down and realize she’s still wearing dirt-clad gardening gloves.

I chuckle as she exhales in exasperation at herself, removes the gloves, and drops them on the ground.

She asks me something about someone named Katie, and I tell her that I don’t know anyone by that name.

And then her confused, discombobulated face notices the dirt she’s left on my hands, and she turns all shades of pink. She’s absolutely adorable.

“So rude of me,” Martha mutters, taking my hand to wipe the dirt off of it. The temptation is strong to clasp her delicate fingers as they brush in between mine.

“It’s not a problem,” I say, chuckling and smiling down at her. I was about an inch or two taller than her at 18; now it’s more like four inches. Honestly, I would not mind walking around with dirty hands, knowing that it’s dirt that she’s touched. Is that a stupid fanboy kind of thought? Probably, but I don’t care. I’m a smitten teenager around this woman all over again.

She’s so flustered, I cover her hand with mine, hoping it will calm her down and get her to look me in the eyes again. I just want to look at her. It’s been so long.

“Wow,” she says, when she takes a moment to share my gaze. “You’re taller.”

I shrug. “Growth spurt.”

Her eyes travel down the front of my suit, over my shoulders, back up to my face.

“Ms. Moody, you look…”

She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “Call me Martha, please. I’m not your teacher anymore.”

It’s for the best that she cut me off. How do you tell a woman older than you that the passage of time has agreed with her? Do you tell her that her tiny laugh lines are sexy? I mean, holy hell, are they ever sexy to me. But it seems like the wrong thing to say out loud.

The way she’s batting her eyelashes, I know it’s not on purpose. It’s just like that moment eight years ago when I first knew she felt something for me…when she lost her composure for half a second.


Tags: Abby Knox Greenbridge Academy Romance