Teach Me a Lesson (11 page)

Alice Sloan was one of his assistant principals and Charlotte’s boss. Yet there wasn’t a single reason Charlotte needed to trot down to his office to inform him.

“She’s agreed I should have another session with Melody, which”—she glanced at her watch—“will be in half an hour. Sadly, there was another incident this morning. I’ll see what I can get out of her.”

“I’m sure you’ll work a miracle.” He smiled graciously.

“But there’s something I need to show you, Principal Hutton.”

“Of course.”

She rounded his desk, stood beside him, her closeness doing things to him, setting his blood on fire. He could smell her sex.

Then she lifted her short, flared skirt.

Her pussy was naked, the plump, pink flesh beckoning. If he leaned in, he could taste her, lap her up with his tongue, drink her in. He was sure he’d lose his mind if he didn’t at least touch her. He even put out a hand, stopped himself only in the last moment.

He glanced up. She was staring down at him, a seductive smile curving her lips. “Go ahead, Principal Hutton. I’m right here for the taking. No one will ever know. I promise.”

She was the temptress he couldn’t resist. Except in the interests of playing her game, upping the stakes, making what was between them hotter, sexier. “Miss Moore, I’m shocked at your lewd behavior.”

She fluttered the skirt in front of her like the matador waving a red flag at a bull. “But you know you want it, Principal Hutton. I see the way you look at me.”

He didn’t look at her trimmed pussy, her enticing flesh. “Put that skirt back in place, Miss Moore. Lewd behavior at school is completely unacceptable.”

The skirt fell into place with a small whoosh of air that wafted the scent of sex and sweet, delectable woman across his face. “I suppose that means you’ll have to teach me a lesson, right, Principal Hutton?”

He could barely think of the appropriate answer. The woman beguiled him, surprised him, stole the very breath from his lungs. But the words came nonetheless. “You most certainly need another lesson. I will send you an email regarding your punishment.” At the moment, he had no idea what it would be. All he could think about was the overwhelming desire to pull her down onto his lap and drive deep inside her. He pointed at the door. “Go. And put your panties back on, you dirty little slut.”

He couldn’t believe she’d taken them off. It was a bold move. Oh yes, Miss Moore liked ceding control to him, but she also loved turning the tables. One minute, he’d been the dom, the next, she’d topped him. Despite his words, he’d been only seconds and an ounce of willpower away from putting his hands on her.

Evidenced by that sashay of her sweet little ass as she made for the door, she knew it, too.

9

CHARLOTTE FELT UTTERLY DELICIOUS. SHE’D SHOCKED HIM. HE’D
been
this
close to touching her. She knew that without a doubt. Removing her panties in the restroom just before she went to his office had been a stroke of genius. She’d gotten the upper hand. It was, however, totally inappropriate to go commando at school, so she’d visited the restroom again immediately after leaving him.

Of course, she hadn’t said any of the stuff she’d gone to his office to tell him. In fact, after that sexy little conversation, most of it had flown right out of her head. He wasn’t the only one affected by their hot little encounters. But she had her obsession under control; she hadn’t gone too far. Only because he hadn’t taken her up on the challenge? No, she wouldn’t really have done anything. She just wanted the fun of it. Maybe, though, it hadn’t been such a good idea to play her little game right before seeing Melody. As she returned to her office, Charlotte was still on an odd high, physical—because she was still wet—but her mind was foggy, too, like the aftereffects of too many margaritas the night before, not a hangover so much as a dreamy quality. Exactly as if she’d just had really good sex.

She gulped down two swallows of a fizzy juice drink she’d left on her desk, and the carbonation actually helped. She would have signed into her email to check for his message—she couldn’t wait to find out what he planned—but Melody appeared in her doorway.

“Come in. Sit down.” She gestured to the chair in front of the desk. Melody sat as Charlotte closed the door.

Instead of taking the seat behind the desk, she pulled one over from the little conference table just as she had in their first meeting. She crossed her legs and leaned one elbow on the arm, propping her chin on her hand, smiling, all very informal.

Melody stared at the carpet, her lips flat, neither an answering smile nor a frown. She wore the same brown hoodie and the ubiquitous frayed jeans, though whether they were the same pair or another Charlotte couldn’t tell. Her hair hung limply, falling across her face. Perhaps the fact that her hair was oily added to her acne problem, but Charlotte knew better than to suggest that.

“So tell me how things are. Anything new?” Would Melody talk about her confrontation with Eric this morning? Or would Charlotte have to pry the information out of her?

“The same,” she answered simply.

“How was your weekend?”

Melody cocked her head and eyed Charlotte briefly. As if she couldn’t believe Charlotte had asked or was even interested. “Fine.”

“Did you do anything special?”

Melody grimaced and shook her head slightly in bewilderment. “I watched a bunch of classic movies.”

“Really? Which ones?” Charlotte was not a classic movie buff, but she’d seen the biggies like
Casablanca
,
Gone With the Wind
, and
Psycho
.

“It was a Joan Crawford marathon.” Melody smiled, although it came off as more of a grimace, and added, “They topped it off with
Mommie Dearest
.”

“Faye Dunaway was amazing,” Charlotte said, wondering if the choice of movie to mention was significant.
Mommie Dearest
. Was it a metaphor for Melody’s life?

“She was a sicko.”

Charlotte had always wondered how much of that story was true, how much of it hype. It was so easy to pick on dead people, especially movie stars. “She was definitely a piece of work.”

Melody opened her mouth, closed it, narrowing her eyes. “And no, my mother isn’t Mommie Dearest. She doesn’t go crazy about wire hangers or beat me.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” If that kind of thing had been going on, signs would most likely have cropped up before, not suddenly over the summer. “How has your morning been?”

Melody puffed out a breath. “Why don’t you just ask me straight out?”

“About what?” Charlotte said oh-so-innocently.

“It’s obvious that you know.”

Charlotte decided to stop playing. “I heard that you accosted Eric Collins’ backpack. You could get suspended if you keep up this kind of behavior.”

The girl shrugged. “So fine. Suspend me.”

“No, Melody, I don’t want to see that happen. Right now, I’m more interested in why you did it. And why you poured the contents of your beaker over his head.”

Melody was silent. Charlotte shifted, sitting straighter and leaning in to see Melody’s face more clearly beneath the fall of her hair. “He used to be your boyfriend in middle school, didn’t he?”

“No,” she shot out. “He was never my boyfriend.”

“Then what was he?”

“He’s just a kid in the neighborhood. We used to play together and were in the same class in grade school. We were just friends. He was never my
boyfriend
,” she claimed with a sarcastic intonation.

“Then why are you so angry with him, Melody? What happened?”

“Nothing
happened
. We just grew up. And he turned into a total dick.”

Charlotte decided not to correct the language. She didn’t want to stifle the girl now, not if she wanted to learn more. “What did he do that made him a total dick?”

“He’s just like all the others.”

“How is he like everyone else?”

Melody shoved her hair aside and glared at Charlotte. “He called me Mudly like they all do. So I poured the sugar water over his head.” She smiled, an evil cast to it. “And I enjoyed it. Detention was worth the look on his face. I’d do it again just for that.”

“And you dumped the contents of his backpack on the ground because . . . ?” She let the question hang.

“He called me a bitch.”

“So you punished him.”

“Yes.” The word was almost a snarl.

Kids didn’t go from being best friends to insulting each other without some inciting incident. Or maybe several. Though she couldn’t rule out peer pressure either. Teenagers started high school among a whole new set of people, older kids they wanted to impress. When other people made fun of Melody, a weak boy might feel he had to follow suit.

“Melody, it only seems logical that something occurred before Eric called you Mudly and a bitch.”

“Right. So it ends up being my fault.” Melody sneered at her.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know the whole story.” Charlotte paused.

“I never asked for your help,” the girl snapped. “I don’t need it.”

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to ask Eric.”

The girl’s lips pinched. “Fine. Go ahead and ask him. I don’t care what he says.”

Charlotte waited, adding nothing.

The silence worked. “I don’t want your pity,” Melody burst out. “I’m flat-chested and I’m ugly, and I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.” She leaned forward, cupped her barely there breasts. “I’ll grow a pair of these next year, and all the boys will be hot for me.”

“It isn’t about all the boys being hot for you.”

“Then what is it about? High school is just one big popularity contest. You’re either in or you’re out. Bet you were in, weren’t you, Miss Moore,” Melody jibed.

“Actually I was a nerd. People made fun of me for studying too much. But I had a really good friend, and we always supported each other no matter what.”

“Well, goodie for you. I don’t have any friends.”

“What about the kids you knew in middle school?”

“There was just—” She stopped.

“There was just . . . Eric? He was the only friend that mattered?” Charlotte asked softly.

Suddenly Melody’s face crumpled. Two fat tears welled up, fell over the brim, and rolled down her blemished cheeks. She wiped one track away with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“It’s okay, Melody. You can tell me.”

More tears fell. She scrubbed them away. “I hate high school,” she whispered.

“Most of us do.” Charlotte’s hadn’t been unhappy, but honestly, she’d never want to be a teenager again either.

“Right, like you ever had big problems besides being called a nerd,” Melody muttered.

Twenty years could certainly put it all in perspective, but Melody was too young to understand that now, and any words Charlotte said would be nothing more than trite.

“Why are you butting in anyway?” The girl’s mistrust had resurfaced.

“I just want to talk, Melody. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

“Yeah. Because it’s your
job
.” She emphasized the last word with disgust. “Well, I don’t need to talk. And I gotta go. I’m going to be late.” She grabbed her backpack off the floor and stomped to the door, flinging it open so hard it banged into the back of the chair she’d just vacated.

“I’d like you to come back on Thursday at the same time,” Charlotte called as the girl stepped into the hall.

“I’ve got a dentist appointment,” she tossed the words over her shoulder.

“Then let’s make it next Tuesday.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Melody disappeared down the hall.

Grilling her hadn’t gotten any answers. Empathy hadn’t encouraged her to open up either. Charlotte’s next move was risky. It could backfire and alienate Melody completely, despite the fact that the girl had given a grudging agreement. But there were always two sides to every story, and since Melody wasn’t talking, Charlotte would have to get the other side from Eric Collins.

* * *

AT A FEW MINUTES BEFORE TEN IN THE EVENING, A BRISK WIND
blew off the San Francisco Bay. Charlotte pulled her calf-length coat tighter around her, but goose bumps pebbled her bare legs. Her high heels clicked loudly on the concrete. A couple of cars still pockmarked the lot of Lookout Point, and she knew to whom the big black sedan belonged. Off to her right, headlights flashed along the San Mateo Bridge and on the other side of the bay, inky black at this time of night, the lights of Hayward and San Leandro twinkled. Overhead a jet roared its approach to the airport. Despite the noise, the county park with its paved walk was a haven for runners and dog walkers during daylight hours, but after dark, it was practically deserted. Which was exactly why Lance had chosen the location, she was sure.

His email had arrived in her in-box at two thirty. He’d told her when to meet him, where, and what to wear. After that, she couldn’t concentrate on a single thing. Thank goodness she’d already had Mrs. Rivers send Eric Collins a note to come to Charlotte’s office on Thursday morning. She’d wanted to meet with him today, but his class schedule was full.

She focused on the outline of a tall man standing at the rail. He was well outside the pool of light from lampposts on either side, and behind him, the waves of the bay crashed on the rocks.

She didn’t pick up her pace. In fact, she slowed slightly, allowing a little more sway to her hips. As she closed in on him, she saw that he stood with arms folded over his chest and feet crossed at the ankles as he leaned nonchalantly against the railing.

“Miss Moore, I see you found a most appropriate coat. You follow instructions well.”

It was long, flowing, and warm, exactly what she needed out here along the bay. “I thought you were going to make me come to your house, only to let me go at midnight.” Like Cinderella.

“Perhaps next time,” he said.

“Only if I’m bad.”

He chuckled. “You can’t help yourself.” He held out a hand. “Come here.”

She stopped when she was close enough for the wind to swirl aftershave and his musky male scent around her.

“Open the coat,” he ordered.