Teaching Rowan (Claimed 2)

"Did you do something wrong?" Jamie asks, her eyes still big.

"No, sweetheart," I reassure her, hoping I'm not lying to her. Though when it comes to Principal Johnson, there's no telling what I've done to earn his ire. He's a big bully. I've managed to stay off his radar so far this year, but I think that's mostly because he's been giving Cadence Grayson holy hell since school started. He just called her to his office not even thirty minutes ago. I guess he's done with her and it's my turn now.

Lovely.

No one here likes him, but he's been here since before Jesus. I don't know why the School Board won't do something about him. I don't want him to be fired, but he's past retirement age. Surely he has to have some dream beyond trying to turn this school into a colorless, joyless prison?

"O-kay," Jamie says like she doesn't believe me.

"Why don't you go ask Miss Winters if she can watch the class for a few minutes? Tell her I'll be there as soon as I'm finished."

"Okay." Jamie turns to run off and then pauses and looks over her shoulder. "Good luck."

I take a deep breath and smooth my hair down before heading toward Johnson's office, racking my brain to figure out what I've done to earn this meeting. My kids have been angels lately. Their test scores aren't the best, but they work so hard and have improved so much. If that's not good enough for him then he can…he can…go kick rocks!

I wish I were brave enough to tell him that, but I'm not. This job means too much to me to risk it by telling off the man who decides whether I get to keep doing said job. I love teaching. It's the only thing I've ever wanted to do, and I'm good at it. I may never have kids of my own—you actually have to have sex for that to happen, so I hear—but I have twenty-five new little minds to shape and mold and help grow every year.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts, I run right into someone coming out of Johnson's office. My body crashes into his, my face pressing into his hard chest. He smells incredible. I don't have time to place the scent. My feet tangle and I slip, my arms wind milling wildly as I try to keep myself upright.

It's no use though.

I can already feel the ground rushing up to meet me.

I squeeze my eyes closed, waiting for impact.

"Oof!" I mutter when the stranger locks his arms around my waist. My body changes directions all of the sudden, now rushing forward instead of backward. For the second time in the last twenty seconds, I find myself pressed against his hard chest, the nose piece on my glasses digging into my face.

Jeez. He really does smell good. Like rainy Sunday mornings and mint chocolate chip ice cream. My favorite. His body is rock hard, even his….

"Oh my gosh," I blurt out as soon as I feel his erection against my stomach.

"Shit," he curses, quickly setting me away from him. He has to grab me again when I totter on my feet, unsteady. He holds me away from his body this time, keeping his arms extended.

"I am so…" I trail off when I catch sight of him, my stomach sinking and my heart turning a backflip. He's not a stranger or a parent. He's Dr. Sebastian Thorne, our new superintendent. I'd heard rumors that he was gorgeous, but this is the first time I've ever seen him myself. Those rumors didn't do him justice. Nope. Not at all.

He's whatever comes after gorgeous.

And he looks mad as hell.

Oh boy.

He's a giant, standing well over a foot taller than me, with shoulders broad enough for me to fit between. With his messy hair and black brows slashing over eyes so dark they're almost black themselves, he appears formidable, a little dangerous. And strikingly handsome. Even his bone structure is chiseled perfection. His face is carved from sharp planes and bold angles, severely masculine and yet beautiful at the same time.

I didn't even know they made suits big enough to contain a man like him, but his black suit fits him like a glove. The expensive fabric stretches over his shoulders and barrel chest, hanging perfectly. His arms are still extended toward me as if he's prepared to catch me again, his silver cufflinks shining. His feet are planted, his thick thighs tense. He's as immovable as the redwoods growing around here, and equally as impressive.

When he first took the Superintendent position, gossip whipped around the halls fast enough to make my head spin. Everyone said he's a former Marine and that his family is ridiculously wealthy. I thought the whispers were simply unsubstantiated rumors, the details of which were made bigger with each retelling. Judging from his size and the suit he's rocking like a Gucci model, I think there may have been a little more truth to said rumors than I thought. This man is larger than life, too very much there to be anything less than remarkable.

"Are you all right?" The concerned question spills from his lips in a deep rumble of sound, but his severe expression says something entirely different. Irritation settles into the little lines around his eyes and lurks in their dark depths. A hint of that carefully contained frustration touches his tone, seething just below the surface.

A thrill goes through me, turning my nipples into painfully hard points in my blouse. I like the thought of frustrating this man, of pushing him to the edge just to see what he does. The thought of seeing all that power unleashed is enough to have arousal flaring to life inside me.

"Are you going to answer me?" he demands.

The impatient question loosens my tongue, jolting me back into the here and now. What am I even thinking? A man who looks like him probably takes supermodels and socialites to bed, not twenty-five-year-old plus-size virgins. I'm not self-conscious or insecure, but I'm not crazy either. Dr. Sebastian Thorne is light years out of my league. I'm T-ball. He's the MLB.

"I am so sorry, Thoctor Dorne," I say, fumbling his name in my haste to get the apology out. Humiliation climbs up my face and stains my cheeks red, though I don't know if I'm embarrassed because I ran right into him, because I just butchered the English language, because I can't stop staring at him, or because part of me wishes like hell this man would choose me.

He is… Good grief! He's sexy as hell.