Her Sexiest Mistake Read online

  Kevin shook his head. “I didn’t—”

  “Talk to the hand,” she said and lifted it palm outward, an inch from his nose.

  Since somewhere in the previous century she’d undoubtedly mastered the art of arguing, he only sighed and kept walking. On the walls in the hallway were posters advertising upcoming games, events, clubs. Kids were still scarce, because after all this was summer school, land of the I-don’t-want-to-be-here, and they had twenty minutes until the bell.

  But it turned out his classroom door was unlocked. Knowing damn well he’d locked it on his way out yesterday afternoon and that the anal Mrs. Stacy would have locked it as well, he stepped inside and staggered at the overpowering cloud of marijuana smoke. When he blinked, coughed, and waved the smoke clear, he realized the window was open, the screen still flapping.

  He raced across the classroom, past the science burners lining the back, one of which was lit, and headed directly for the window.

  “See?” Mrs. Stacy stood quivering righteously in his doorway, her blue hair waggling like a Dr. Seuss character. “How many times do I have to say this to you young teachers? You can’t be the kids’ friend. They’ll walk all over you.”

  He didn’t plan on being their friend, but he did want to make a difference. It was why he taught, he had this need to fix people.

  Well aware that a shrink would have a field day with that, given that he’d never actually succeeded at fixing anyone, he stopped listening to Mrs. Stacy and stuck his head out the window.

  “You have to be smarter than them,” she said.

  Gee, really?

  But, damn, he was too late, his early-bird stoners had escaped, apparently the promise of an empty classroom too alluring to resist. Pretty ballsy to smoke right in the classroom, though. Maybe the first lesson would be going over exactly how many brain cells were lost to weed, and the long term effects.

  “Mr. McKnight,” she said, tapping her geriatric loafers. “I’m talking to you.”

  “No, you’re lecturing.”

  “Well.” She said this with a sniff. “I never.”

  Which was probably her problem. “Did you see who came into the school this morning?”

  “If I did, I’d have told you.”

  Yeah, that was undoubtedly true. Head still out the window, he eyed the ground. In the dirt lay a knit cap in Lakers colors, and he smiled grimly. He’d put it on his desk. Chances were, someone would want it back, and he’d be waiting.

  Chapter Three

  Mia walked through her quiet, peaceful, gorgeous house, with no particular destination in mind. She just loved all the big, wide-open space, the living room with views of the hills from a wall of windows, and her state-of-the-art kitchen, all meticulously and spartanly decorated by the best of the best and kept spotless by her weekly cleaning service.

  No bumping elbows in the hall, no cheap paneled walls, no lingering grease smells, no cigarette-stained carpets.

  But especially, no white, frothy lace.

  As she moved into her sprawling earth-toned bedroom with the fabulous Century bed and dresser that had been her first splurge, she pulled the panties and bra out of her pocket and set them on her comforter. She slipped out of her skirt and top, fighting the flashback of Kevin doing the same but in a much more sensual, arousing manner.

  How dare he throw her orgasms back in her face.

  But man, oh man, the incredulous look on his face when she’d said she’d faked them, as if the thought was so beyond comprehension…

  She laughed, even as she had to admit, with his skills in bed, it probably was beyond his comprehension.

  Damn it.

  She glanced at herself in the mirror over her dresser. Unlike her mother and Sugar, she was not blonde and luscious but brunette and average: average height, average weight, average shape, average coloring—and she’d always told herself she had no problem with that at all. When she got a new account at work or went out with a man, she knew it was because of her brains and wit, not her looks.

  Still, she did have a nice rosy glow to her skin this morning. People underestimated how good sex was for their bodies. She also had stubble burn on a breast, a hip, an inner thigh…Warrior wounds, she thought and smiled in spite of herself.

  Yeah, for last night at least, Kevin McKnight had found her beautiful. There was no doubt of that.

  The knowledge was better than a spa day. She showered and then dressed to kill in a Michael Kors silk camisole, jacket, and peasant skirt. It was her own personal armor, a way to put a barrier between herself and any more altercations that might come her way that day, and when she’d slipped into her strappy wedge sandals, she looked cool and efficient. Untouchable.

  You were touched plenty last night. And this morning.

  That nearly put the first chink in the armor, but she successfully shoved it back. Her new neighbor, his sexy body, and his ability to fling words as fast and effectively as she could weren’t worth another thought.

  She left the house and got into the Audi she’d bought herself on her last birthday, the big three-oh. She was a tough cookie, but not quite tough enough to avoid taking a peek down the street, where just two days ago she’d caught her first glimpse of the most incredibly sexy motorcycle she’d ever seen.

  Not to mention the man straddling it. Yeah, he’d lifted off his helmet and laid his eyes right on hers, eyes that held trouble and a spark of ready mischief, and when he’d gotten off the bike and stood to his full height, Mia had thought yum: tall, dark, and full of attitude—just how she liked ’em.

  With all sorts of wicked thoughts swimming in his gaze, he’d smiled, and she’d involuntarily put a hand to her heart as her pulse leapt.

  In turn, his smile had widened and she’d melted on the spot. Clearly, he was a bit of a rebel, a bad boy, which meant he was a man after her own heart, and therein lay the problem.

  She didn’t like a man after her heart. She didn’t like anyone to get that close, to get beneath her carefully polished façade. But truth be told, if anyone could have, it would have been one sexy, sharp, smart-mouthed Kevin McKnight.

  Oh, she knew his name. First and last. And if she was being honest, she’d never forgotten it.

  But this morning, only an hour after she’d left his bed, his bike was gone.

  Just as well. After the things she’d said to him, he wouldn’t be smiling at her again, wicked or otherwise. Stinky feet. Snoring.

  God.

  She’d been really frazzled to lose it so completely if that was the best she could come up with. She really wished he’d just kicked her out at two in the morning when he’d finished with her. And anyway, why hadn’t he been happy she wanted to get away? Weren’t men supposed to like that sort of woman, one who didn’t cling and carry on about relationships?

  What was wrong with him?

  With a sigh, she drove the freeway with the precision of an air force bomber pilot. The skill was required in LA, especially at nine in the morning in rush-hour traffic. She thought about work and crossed her fingers for the day ahead, as she’d been working her ass off to get the new Anderson account, a hot new national beverage corporation, and she wanted it so bad she could taste it. She’d designed the campaign from start to finish, with the help of a great creative team, of course, and could already see the media and public scooping up everything she dished out.

  As the air was already getting warm, she turned on the AC. She listened to traffic and news as she transitioned to the 5 south, and when she got downtown she pulled onto Sixth and into her building’s parking structure.

  By the time she entered the thirty-five-story glass-and-steel building that housed the advertising firm where she worked, she was ready. And when she stepped out onto the top floor, she smiled.

  Oh, yeah, she had it all: a fabulous career, an office overlooking all of downtown, a beautiful house in the hills—absolutely everything she’d ever dreamed of as “Apple,” sitting in a single-wide and looking out at the neig