Ms. Miller and the Midas Man (13 page)

“No. Stay away from me,” she said, holding the sheet tight, backing herself through the gate, giddy with happiness. “Should I bring apple juice?”

His lecherous grin turned to a warmer, more meaningful smile. “She’d like that.”

The look in his eyes had her feeling more self-conscious than if she’d been standing there naked. She wasn’t used to being looked at as if
she
were a rare and precious gift—only the vessel of one. It was embarrassing. Recalling that Chloe liked apple juice was
not
that big a deal, but if it elicited that sort of response...

“Anything else? Milk? Cereal?”

He shook his head. “Just hurry back.”

G
US ALWAYS FELT THAT
September was wholly misunderstood. Generally considered to be one of the autumn months because of the distance of the sun from the equator, in its heart it was still part of summer, clinging desperately to early sunrises, warm days, and balmy nights well into October as proof.

School started, but her heart as well cleaved to the sensations of summer. Redolent, romantic, fraught with life. Certainly she’d never felt more alive, more passionate, more acutely aware of subtle changes in the air.

The children, too, were hanging on to summer like leeches, tapping its energy, bleeding its spirit of freedom dry.

“Behave now. Keep your hands to yourself or you’ll have to sit on them until the bell rings,” she said sternly.

“I don’t wanna. And you can’t make me.”

She gasped at such impudence. “Guess again, pal. Just because I’m the music teacher, doesn’t mean I don’t have a ruler around here somewhere to rap your knuckles with.”

“You can’t do that. I’ll sue you for assault.”

“Oh yeah? Then I’ll sue you for...for...mental cruelty.”

“Mental cruelty?” he said, laughing as he continued to slide his hands up her bare thighs, her dress no obstacle at all. “You don’t look as if you’re suffering much.”

“I will be if the children catch us like this,” she said, unable to stop grinning. Scotty had her pinned against the blackboard in the music room, rendering
pianissimo
kisses over her face and throat, his hand movements clearly
agitato.
She squirmed to get away from him, and he grinned—
affectuoso.
“Is this how you behave at your school?”

“Who would I behave like this with? Mrs. Fiske?” he asked, chuckling at the picture in his mind, releasing her skirt—just in case.

“Carolann Goreman? I met her at the last school board meeting. I don’t think teaching biology was a random decision for her.”

“Me either, but...” he said, between tiny nips at her neck, “...she doesn’t smell nearly as nice as you do.”

Rubber-kneed and mentally foggy, it was several seconds before this registered.

“How would you know what she smells like?” she asked, catching him in a comparable condition and twisting easily out of his grasp.

“Eau de formaldehyde?” He laughed and let her go, discretion being the better part of most things in life. Besides, it was almost as satisfying to see the rosy flush of her skin and the vivacity that seemed to have taken up a permanent residence in her eyes of late. Well, almost. “Poor Ms. Goreman’s perfume turns a corner before she does.”

“What a terrible thing to say,” she said, pretending to be shocked as she prudently maneuvered so the piano was between them. “She wasn’t overly fragrant when
I
met her.”

A slow, smug grin settled into his expression. “You aren’t jealous, are you?”

“Me? Of course not,” she said, holding her head high even as she recalled how green and mean she’d felt the day she’d watched him with his sisters—and she’d barely known him then. “I trust you.”

“Do you?” he asked, glad to hear it because he sometimes wondered about it.

“Sure,” she said. And she did, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t constantly watching for signs of discontent in him. If the pattern of her life held true, he would love her and be faithful until she did or didn’t do something to change his mind, until he discovered how ordinary and imperfect she really was.

“Then give me your panties.”

“What?” She was instantly hot and shivering with chills despite the fact that she was pretty sure she’d heard him wrong.

“Your panties. Quick. Give them to me,” he said as a bell rang in the hallway.

“No. Why? No. What for?” she asked, backing around behind the piano as he walked toward her, smiling like a friendly wolf.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“What’s that got to do with my underpants?”

“Just give them to me. I want to carry them around in my pocket all day.”

“No. That’s silly.”

“Please, Gus?” His voice was as soft as a kiss, his gaze as ardent as a lover’s touch. Mesmerizing. “Take them off.”

Anxious and confused, she worried her lower lip and tried to decode the look in his eyes, sensing it was more than a challenge or a dare. More than a simple act of trust. His request was like a sex act, as personal and intimate as making love, but scary and thrilling like doing it in an elevator.

“It’ll be our secret,” he said. “Something only the two of us know.”

She swallowed and teetered on the edge of titillation.

“Gus,” he whispered, soft and urgent. His gaze hot and pleading.

Breathing quick and shallow, her heart racing, her mind growing dull as excitement and desire curled low and deep inside her, she bent to lift the skirt of her dress. Her hands trembled when he leaned slightly over the piano to watch them. There was a boldness, an entirely feminine, erotic, and naughty sensation that she couldn’t contain as she lifted first one sandaled foot and then the other, couldn’t hide when she rose to face him with her panties in hand.

“You keep looking at me that way, and sitting on my hands will take on a whole new meaning,” he said soberly, until she laughed. He laughed with her, but it only added spark and light to the fires of lust smoldering in his eyes. “Now I know, for sure, that you’ll be thinking about me all day.”

“I think about you constantly,” she said, leaning against the back of the piano to be closer to him, a kiss-me-again smile in her eyes.

“No, I mean
really
thinking about me,” he said, meeting her halfway. “Touching you, kissing you, in you...”

A movement in the window of the door caught her attention—she hid her panties behind her as if the piano were transparent.

Seeing the look on her face, he responded naturally, turning casually to face the door when it opened. Beverly Johns held the door open for her thirty-one first-grade students, and they filed in, smiling at Gus, eyeing Scotty with open curiosity.

“Good morning, Ms. Johns,” he greeted her. “How are you today?” he asked, blinding the woman with his grin as he meandered around the piano, passed behind Gus, snatched her panties, and stuffed them into his right pants pocket. “Looks like you’ve got a great group of kids here.”

“I do,” she said, all but batting her eyes at him. “So far, I think this may be the best group of first-graders I’ve ever had.”

This being the second week of school, it was understood by everyone over the age of reason that her statement remained to be seen for several more months yet, but that positive reinforcement and a little ego boost couldn’t hurt the end result.

They exchanged a few more words, but Gus was too distracted to pay much attention. There was so much air and freedom under her skirt. Her thighs were tingling as if they’d never brushed together before. She’d worn a soft cotton half slip under the thin fabric of her dress, it was cool and smooth against her overexcited skin.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she was shocked and scandalized by her behavior. But up front and in her heart she felt like a vamp. Sexy and seductive. Full of sensual secrets.

Scotty, on the other hand, was growing uneasy. There were the panties in his pocket, of course, but at the moment it was the look on Gus’s face that threatened to be his undoing. Standing perfectly still, her hands sedately clasped on the top of the short, boxy piano, her eyes were dreamy and glazed, and she was smiling like a cat with a live mouse in her mouth. If she’d gone to bed and started without him, he couldn’t have felt more left out. She was turned on and ready, and he didn’t dare cross the room to her.

He bandied a few words with Ms. Gray while her second-graders were finding places to sit on the floor, but his eyes kept gravitating toward Gus and the euphoric look on her face. With the addition of the two kindergarten classes, the music room was becoming crowded and noisy, and when he simply couldn’t restrain himself any longer, he used the hubbub and confusion to do something about it.

Removing his sport jacket, he laid it over the top of the piano, very nonchalant, and joined her on the other side. He rolled up his right shirtsleeve and most of his left before leaning toward her and whispering, “Feel good?”

She nodded and smiled at one of the children waving to get her attention.

“Let’s see,” he said, even as his right hand slipped behind her to stroke her bottom, one cheek at a time through her dress. She continued to nod and smile at the children, he noticed, but her eyes grew larger and rounder with each stroke. “Mmm. Care to join me in the hall, Ms. Miller?”

She laughed out loud then and shook her head, appearing for all the world to see to be declining a juicy offer from the notorious Scotty Hammond and innocently moving away from him as if he were a sweet but pesky suitor.

“That boy will never change,” Ms. Feldhour murmured under her breath as she walked away from her group of five-year-olds, alongside Gus. “I think he likes you, Augusta.”

“We’re neighbors,” she said, hoping that would explain everything.

“Well, you play your cards right and you might have something there,” she said, nodding sagely. “I’ll never forget, I taught him in Sunday school years ago, and he was the sweetest little boy...and shy, if you can believe it.”

“That is hard to believe,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder at him, returning his conspirator’s grin.

“Oh, not for an instant,” she said, not wanting Gus to get the wrong idea. “He’s still one of the nicest, sweetest young men I know. I’m so pleased that he’s returned to us.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, fairly certain she’d never be able to convince anyone in Tylerville that Saint Scotty Hammond the Midas Man was walking around with her panties in his pocket—even with her bare butt as proof.

Not that she really minded. She sort of liked being with someone everyone liked. Someone every single woman in town wanted to be with—some of the married women, too, for that matter. It was empowering to think that of all the women he could choose from, he’d chosen her. She didn’t fully understand it, mind you, knowing what he did about her, but for now...at that moment she was glad—head to toe—that he liked living dangerously.

“Boys and girls,” she said, flicking the overhead lights off and on to get their attention. “It’s time to use indoor voices and to find a place on the floor to sit. When the lights stop blinking it’ll be time to sit quietly and pay attention.”

This was also a cue to the other teachers that she was ready to take over the class and for them to go take a break.

“We don’t usually meet all together like this, do we?” she asked, addressing the large group of children aged five to seven, speaking loud enough to be heard over the last few children who were ignoring the bright lights. When they, too, had settled, she continued. “We have a special guest today. This is Mr. Hammond. He’s the principal at the high school, and he’s come here today with a special request.”

Normally his introduction would have been followed by a perfunctory round of applause. But as the children were considerably less impressed by him than their own principal, Mrs. Pennyfeather, they merely turned to him with wide-open stares of interest.

“Ms. Miller,” he said, sounding amazed. “You didn’t tell me you had so many well-behaved students. I’m very impressed.”

Gus and the children exchanged proud smiles, and Scotty didn’t miss the genuine affection that went with them.

“Ms. Miller did tell me that you were some of the best singers she’s ever heard. Is that right?” he asked, smiling at the confident confirmation he received.

With a small shake of her head, she watched Scotty wrap the children around his little finger. Charming little girls with his smiles, eliciting total devotion from the boys with man-to-man eye contact. Clearly he was a little-people person too. She envied him his social prowess. He always knew what everyone wanted. Respect. Appreciation. A joke. A little sympathy. A pat on the shoulder. A reprimand. Empathy. Hugs. When the time came, would he understand her as well? Or would his disappointment be too great for even him to get around?

She sighed and leaned back against the wall as he explained the play to the children. The wall was cool, and she unconsciously wedged her hands between her backside and the wall, then smiled. On the other hand, he might very well be the death of her long before she had an opportunity to disillusion him, she thought. And that wouldn’t be so bad—being loved to death by Scotty Hammond. A girl could do worse.

He passed out permission slips to be taken home to their parents, thanked them all very sincerely for their attention, asked them to remind their teachers that the first organizational meeting would be held after school that day, and then turned to Gus with a singular look in his eye.

“You’ll be there this afternoon, won’t you, Ms. Miller?”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Hammond. I wouldn’t miss it,” she said, retrieving his jacket from the piano for him.

“And will you miss me?” he asked in a voice for her ears only.

“Every time I miss my underpants.”

Which, as it happened, turned out to be nearly every second of the day. It was astonishing to realize just how often one backed into things, used a hip to open a door, perched oneself on the edge of a desk, or was patted in that general vicinity by a short person wanting one’s attention.

Pantyless driving was a new experience as well, and air-conditioning added to the exhilaration of it. To say she was merely missing Scotty by four o’clock that afternoon would have been a gross understatement. She craved him. Needed him like air to breathe. Couldn’t wait to get the meeting over with and get home to him...