Still Not Over You(78)

The other five drawings look much like I expect. They demonstrate passion and promise, but honestly, there isn’t another one that comes anywhere close to Natalie’s.

I wonder if her talent comes from her father. The man I try hard not to think about every time she steps foot in my class.

If the last two weeks are anything to go by, he’ll be here soon. A good twenty minutes before class ends. He'll stand in the back of the room with a spiral notebook, open it up, and let his big, rough hands touch the paper.

The first night, I thought he was making a list or notes. But last week, I had a strong feeling he was drawing. Sketching right along with his daughter and the rest of the class.

We’d started the dog last week, drawing the base after I'd gone over my quick anatomy lesson for animals. Tonight, I showed the students how to make the fur have shades of white, black, and gray.

A small, senseless part of me wonders if Natalie's dad will join in without even hearing my lesson. An even crazier part wants to see his drawing.

It could be a masterpiece like hers.

He certainly is. And that's the problem.

Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Brooding is every forbidden male archetype stuffed into one ripped package.

Mysteriously sexy by default. Imposing by gravity. Protective by virtue.

He's the kind of man I'd love to bring to a family dinner.

Just once.

That’s all it would take. He'd render Clara speechless and end mom's needless sympathy looks in one blow. He'd shut them down and then some.

Every Derby woman would be too busy gasping for breath and fanning themselves to give me any crap.

Honestly, I know the feeling. It was my reaction the first time he walked in. And the second.

At least I hid it well.

The military patches on his black leather jacket were no surprise. He has that air.

Straight back, chest forward, chin up. Disciplined. Hard.

Every move he makes, every glance, has a purpose.

Remember what I said? Every forbidden archetype.

The ones good girls are warned about, but never stay away from.

God. I shouldn't be having these thoughts.

Not about a student's father. He's probably married. And if he isn't, why the hell not?

But I didn't see a mother listed on Natalie’s emergency contacts. That makes me feel slightly less guilty about the impure thoughts stirring in my head. It also concerns me.

I hope she isn’t being pushed beyond her limits. Flogged on to greatness by a headstrong father who believes his child should succeed in everything, no matter the cost.

I know the burden.

Just as I arrive back at my desk, the hair on the back of my neck tingles. It's almost like there's a sixth sense before the Walking Masterpiece shows up. I close my eyes briefly, preparing myself for the sight I’ll see after the door creaks open.

My heart jackhammers by the time I turn around, air stalling in my lungs.

Right on time. Sure as shit.

It’s him.

Brent Eden. His hair is the same wavy black as his daughter’s. Natalie has his eyes, too.

Emerald green.

His are colder, though. More seasoned. More cautious.

His features add to his presence. A tiny faded scar here, an inked muscle there, a calloused hand. Things a normal person wouldn't notice unless they're gawking at him like me.

Beautifully rough finishes for a man cut from Heaven's most twisted fabric.

The thick trimmed beard circling his jaw must feel as dangerous as it looks. Delicious torture on any woman’s skin. Especially mine since it’s as virgin as the rest of me.

Fucking-A. Last week's after-dinner talk with Clara clearly messed with my mind.

Left me focused on things I’ve never worried over before. Namely, finding a man to take home to mother. And maybe to bed while we're at it.

What the hell am I doing? I pinch my thigh. Ogling a man who's nothing but trouble, apparently.

He eases the door shut and quietly moves along the back wall, taking the exact same spot where he’s stood the past two weeks. Leaning against a desk, he unclips a pen from his notebook's cover and then flips it open.

Look away, Izzy.

I sense he’ll look up any second. Naturally, I can’t. It's like someone telling you to not think about a pink elephant.

There’s too much gorgeous mystery in front of me. Too much temptation.

The heat rushing to my cheeks tells me I’ve been caught staring even before my eyes travel all the way up to meet his. Damn!

“Ms. Derby?”

Tad Gomez calls my name, one of the older students, but a snail could beat me turning around.

Brent’s gaze is intense. Heated. Almost like he's challenging me not to look away.

I'm not a daring person. I just don't want to lose this staring contest. But duty calls.

Lifting a brow, I rip my gaze off his, and scuttle towards Tad’s seat.

I'm grateful for the few seconds I have to find my voice. “Having trouble?”

“Yes, ma'am. I can’t get the nose to look 3-D. Not like yours.”

I point towards Tad’s drawing, which is good, but as he said, a little flat. “It's the angle. Here, let me show you.”

He nods, handing me his pencil. I lightly outline how to angle the nose downward in order to give it depth. “See? One little change works like magic.”