A Flower for Angela (12 page)

"I probably shouldn't be sitting here."

"No." She shook her head but knew acquiescence was in her eyes.

"I want to kiss you. Watching television didn't help."

What could she say?
Yes, kiss me? Love me?
Her mouth ached from forcing it shut.

There was too much heat in his gaze. "Do you think we could—" He cleared his throat.

"No."

His smile turned rueful. "You're right."

Her fists clenched at her sides as she willed herself not to move when all she really wanted was to wrap her arms around him.

She struggled to remember all the reasons she should want him to walk away, but her desire overruled every argument.

He smiled and gathered her into his powerful arms. With ease, he lifted her so that she lay across his lap and braced her against his chest. "Let me hold you for a few minutes."

"
Just
hold me?"

"We can try it," he murmured into her hair.

It felt right—too right—to be held by him; his touch was wreaking havoc in her. She stroked the hard muscles of his chest, fascinated by the solid feel of them. She slid her hand upward to curl her fingers around his neck. His pulse throbbed in the palm of her hand.

Her upraised arm exposed her midriff. Ricardo placed a warm hand on the rise of her hip and then let it drift to the curve below her breast. His fingers gently massaged her side.

"You're on fire," he commented, almost casually. But Angela knew his body was as feverish as hers.

She closed her eyes as waves of longing rocked her. She needed to tell him that she wanted him, but insecurity kept her silent. She could feel the heat from his body burning her chest. But still his hand remained at her side.

"Tell me that you want me," he murmured.

She looked into his eyes. Within their depths lurked desire and… vulnerability.

"Yes, I want you."

He groaned.

Unable to bear the sound of it, she covered his mouth with her fingers. "Don't."

He grasped her fingers in his hand. "Does it bother you that I'm in misery?"

She empathized with him. "I don't want you to hurt."

The sincerity in her voice brought a look of tenderness into his gaze. He placed her hand on his heart. "
Mi
corazón
," he whispered. "
Querida
." He brushed her cheek and then traced her lips with his fingers.

Unable to stand any more of the teasing contact, she ran her fingers through his wavy hair. She stilled his restless movements by offering her lips, demanding a kiss.

Wanting to please her, he had tried to move slowly. Now her passion swept him away. He could no longer hold back, and with a groan, he lowered his lips to hers.

His kiss deepened. His fingers trembled as they slid around her. Her quivers made the agony of waiting worthwhile. He tried to be gentle, but his hands shook with the effort.

She moaned and, afraid he had hurt her, he let go and reached around her to press her pliant body to his heart.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into her neck.

"No, I'm okay," she reassured him as she kneaded the tense muscles in his shoulders.

"I know I shouldn't have done that, but I had to have one kiss from you."

"It wasn’t entirely your fault. I wanted it too."

But one kiss wasn't enough for her any more than it was for him.

He pulled back to look at her. Dampened tendrils of hair lay across her forehead and splayed out, framing her face. Desire was evident in her eyes—and something else that was indefinable.

"You make me feel so…" she confessed in a husky whisper. "It frightens me."

"I would never hurt you," he promised as he brushed back the blonde wisps of her hair. Her honesty touched him, even as it evoked his own fears.

With a start, he realized Angela could all too easily break down the protective wall that for years he'd hidden his inner self behind—a wall so thick that sometimes he couldn’t penetrate it himself.

Strangely on the defensive now, Ricardo gently pulled away from her, managing to settle her back on the couch before he stood. The muscles constricted around his heart as he watched her smile fade, to be replaced by a look of confusion.

"We're not ready for this," he told her. Pain clouded her eyes. He wanted to bend down and hold her, at least clasp her hand, but he dared not touch her. "We could make love now. We both want to. But where would that leave us?"

"You mean, how would we deal with each other tomorrow at school?"

"Exactly." He jumped at the excuse. "Things are moving much too fast between us. Sex now would make it damned awkward in front of the camera." That wasn't his real reason, but it was what he could tell her now.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Ricardo could have kicked himself. But as he stood looking at her, he knew how things had gotten so out of hand. She didn’t flaunt it, but she exuded a subtle sexuality that had invited his caress. His body ached with the pain of wanting her now, this very moment, on the couch, or the floor—anywhere.

"I'd better go." He raked unsteady fingers through the hair that she had tousled.

Angela sat up and reached out a hand for his help to stand. "I'll see you to the door."

"No." He backed away with an exaggerated swagger as false as his composure. "Stay there and rest. I know the way."

To avoid her reaction, he went to the door. The walls seemed to close in around him and an intense urge to flee hastened his steps.

"Sleep well." He had to turn for one last glance at her as he spoke the words.

"You, too," she called.

When he saw the white-gold cloud of hair billowing around her face and watched the rise and fall of her curves as she breathed, he knew he would never be able to close his eyes in sleep that night. The tremulous smile that softened her features promised that a long cold shower was in store for him when he got home. And the sooner the better.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK dragged on torturously. Every spare minute, Ricardo had to fight the urge to call Angela. Immersing himself in work didn't help. The nights were the most difficult. Memories of her touch haunted his dreams.

With mixed emotions, Ricardo faced their final taping session. The project was almost finished, and he wanted the day to come and go before he went mad. He dreaded being in such close proximity to Angela. Could he maintain his professional demeanor?

When their last Monday finally arrived, he found it as difficult as he'd imagined it would be. It only took ten minutes in her presence to know it wasn't going to work. His concentration scattered with every sound of her voice, every whiff of her perfume and every glimpse of her face.

All he could think about was the way she'd tasted—so sweet—when he kissed her, the magic touch of her hands on his body, and her soft pliancy beneath his fingers. He thought only about how much he wanted her until a discreet cough from Ken or a burst of laughter from a child brought him back to the job at hand.

He suspected that she suffered as much as he did. Eyes that reflected the turquoise blue of her dress clouded with longing whenever he captured her glance. If he came near, she startled, or if he spoke, she flushed.

Angela attempted to alleviate the tension by putting him to work.

"The class is divided into groups," she explained. "Each group has to put their worms in different environments. Could you discuss with this group their expectations and the procedures they are following?"

"Sure." The task sounded sophisticated for a first grade class, but he was beginning to acknowledge and appreciate their capabilities.

"I'm putting my worms in the refrigerator where it's cold," one child announced.

"I'll put mine by the heater," stated another. "It could die in the cold."

"We won't know unless we try. Teacher says we have to ‘sperment.”

In seconds, Ricardo’s group commanded his full attention. Their predictions about what would happen to the worms were amazingly sound. Their ability to practice the scientific process impressed Ricardo, but the exercise didn’t last long enough. After the group had recorded their experiments in their notebooks, they went off to pursue other projects. Left on his own again, Angela dominated his thoughts.

He swore under his breath. How could this woman haunt him so?

"What's the matter?" Smirking, Ken came to stand beside him. "Your mind's wandering."

"It’s that obvious?"

"The two of you—" he nodded towards Angela "—have this room steaming."

"Drop it, Ken," Ricardo warned his colleague.

Ken backed off in a hurry. "Okay, okay. I didn’t see a thing."

Ricardo massaged his forehead. Only ten o'clock. They'd been here half an hour and the tension between him and Angela had them all on edge. He resented it. Besides which, he knew he couldn't continue like this.

"Stay here and tape the rest of the day," he ordered Ken, deciding to leave the strained atmosphere of the classroom and return to the station.

Distance didn't help. He buried himself in projects at the television station but by four o'clock, he found himself gunning the powerful motor of his Ferrari in front of the modern-looking school.

There'd been a lot of changes in the system over the past five years. He took pride in having been on the governing board that had demanded the new buildings. Of course, he hadn't agreed with everything they had instituted. Still, he was impressed with the status of the school facilities. If only the problems of curriculum were as easy to solve, but at least the district was allowing the implementation of several innovative new programs. He thought of Angela's class and how hard her students worked.

"What happened to you?" Angela's voice outside his car startled him.

"Something turned up. I had to return to the station."

"Anything wrong?" she asked.

"No," he said evasively. "Ken gave me the tape of what I missed."

"Will you go over it later?"

"Tonight," he promised as he patted the cassettes on the seat beside him. He watched relief replace the concern on her face. "Can I drive you home?"

"Thanks. It's been a long day."

"Maybe I can do something about that." Ricardo put the cassettes in the glove box and reached across the seat to open the door for her. "We could go to my house. I have a Jacuzzi."

"Sounds wonderful." She sat down and her perfume wafted toward him. "But not tonight. After what happened between us last time, I don't think it would be a good idea to be alone together like that." She leaned against the headrest, a frown marring her features.

So, the tension had disturbed her, too. She probably guessed why he'd really left.

"Will you spend the weekend with me?" His impulsive request astonished him as much as it did her. "We'll take it slow," he added quickly. He wouldn't want her any other way.

“I'd like that.” She smiled at him even as doubt lingered in her eyes, so he didn't give her a chance to reconsider.

"After the meeting on Friday," he specified. "Sure you don't want to reconsider and come home with me now?" he teased with a sexy grin.

"I'm sure." She laughed.

"Friday then?" As he drove, he imagined rearranging his daily schedule to pick her up and take her home with him every day, where he could massage away the day's hassles, and soothe her tensions with a hot whirlpool bath.

When this is over
, he promised himself. He watched her walk toward her apartment and didn't feel too disappointed. Friday was only four days away.

ON FRIDAY MORNING, Angela was less tense than she had been for a while. That was good because with the professors coming at one o'clock, she needed to be calm. They deserved her best efforts in return for the time and energy they had contributed to the development of the whole language program.

Looking around the conference room that afternoon, Angela was filled with satisfaction. Confident that Ricardo would now fully understand her goals, she introduced the university staff.

"Each professor represents a part of the curriculum," she explained to Ricardo. "But Math, Science, and Social Studies are all integrated with the reading and writing processes in a holistic approach.

"We don't teach each subject separately—you know, math for an hour, science for an hour, and so on." She began pacing at the head of the table, her high heels clicking on the hardwood floor. "We try to integrate all of the subjects into a meaningful whole."

"You need to clarify what exactly you mean by ‘whole,’" Ricardo interjected.

Angela studied him, staring into his jet black eyes. His relaxed expression didn't waver but held firm. For a moment, she envied him his calm demeanor. Could she maintain her own composure?

"Take, for example, the concept of environment we're studying." She gestured broadly with her hands as enthusiasm for her subject built. "That has usually been either a science or a social studies unit. We've used it as both."