“You were twenty minutes late this morning.”

Stu raked a hand over the light stubble on his jaw. “That a problem?”

I cleared my throat. “Yes. Please make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Will do. Is that all?”

“No,” I blurted.

His gaze went to my wedding ring again, before moving up to my lips and then my eyes. I rubbed my palms on my trousers. Stu took a step closer, and the fact that he was standing over me while I was still seated made me feel at a disadvantage.

“What then?”

“You need to do the work I give you, otherwise there’s no point in you being here.”

He let out sigh now, like he finally understood my irritation. “You’re pissed that I didn’t read the book.”

“I’m not pissed. My job is to teach you, Stu. It’s my passion, and if I can’t help a student fulfil all their potential then there’s no sense in either one of us wasting our time. But look, I understand all this must be a big change for you. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, just tell me and we’ll take it slow. However, if you don’t want to learn then I’m not going to force you.”

Stu stared at me for a long moment before a small smile graced his lips.

“You know, this is the first time a woman has ever offered to take things slow with me.” He tilted his head, his smile turning flirtatious, and I really didn’t get why he was trying to avoid being serious. I wasn’t there to berate him and I only had his and the other students’ best interests at heart. Like I said before, one bad egg could spoil the lot.

“You don’t have to deflect. There’s no judgement here.”

Now he bent to lean his hands on my desk and look me directly in the eye. “I’m not deflecting, Miss Anderson, I’m flirting.”

His voice was low and purposefully husky. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. It just felt stereotypical for the young worldly male student to use his wiles to flatter the plain, bookish teacher. Little did Stu know, I was impervious to wiles, nor did I have any real interest in the opposite sex. I hadn’t been interested in anyone since Mark, and I couldn’t imagine that changing. He had been my world. Irreplaceable.

But you did feel attracted to Stu when he first arrived, a little voice in my head piped up.

And yes, okay, that was technically true, but I put it down to being female, and Stu Cross was the sort of man all women reacted to, whether they were teenage girls or eighty-year-old grandmothers. He had sex appeal; it was as simple as that. Luckily, I was more or less unsusceptible to sex appeal. Sure, he gave me vague stirrings, but I wasn’t the sort of woman who dropped her knickers for vagueness.

I let out a soft chuckle. “Here’s a life lesson for you, Stu. And I say this with absolutely no malice or hard feelings. The combination of young and female in a teacher does not equal naïve. Pretend flirting with me isn’t going to help you pass. What will help you pass is working with me, participating in class, and arriving on time in the mornings. I’ll always be respectful toward you, and I hope you’ll be respectful to me in return.”

I expected him to react one of three ways: embarrassed, apologetic, or hostile. Surprisingly, it was none of those. What he did do was lean closer, granting me a waft of his masculine, woodsy cologne. His gaze never left mine as he replied simply, “And here’s a life lesson for you, Miss Anderson. I’m not pretending.”

He startled me when he reached forward, took a strand of hair that had fallen free of my ponytail and gently tucked it behind my ear. I inhaled sharply when his fingers brushed my earlobe and felt momentarily speechless. He withdrew and cast me a final heated look, then left the classroom.

Em, what the hell was that?

I remained in place, my heart hammering in my chest as I fought to calm my breathing. I was having all sorts of strange feelings and the reaction alarmed me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so flustered and lost for words. In fact, I barely recognised myself. I didn’t act like this, all girlish and fluttery. At least, I hadn’t for a very long time.

One thing was for sure: Stu Cross wasn’t as predictable as I thought, and even though I was the teacher in this situation, somehow it felt like I’d just been schooled.

Three

After lunch I felt awkward. It was difficult to concentrate on teaching with Stu right in front of me, the memory of his touch replaying over and over in my head. Why was I even thinking about that? I was being ridiculous.

Unfortunately, the fact still remained that was I going to have to talk to him again. This time I wouldn’t let him get the last word, and I wouldn’t let his not-pretend flirting affect me either. At least, I hoped I wouldn’t.

At three o’clock when the class let out for the day, I asked Stu to stay back again. He almost looked like he expected it, but more than that, he looked like he’d won something. I took my time packing away my things while Stu waited quietly. When everybody had left, he asked, “Can I help?”

I paused and glanced at the folders I was shoving into my handbag. “Uh, no, I’m almost done.”

Stu sat on the edge of his desk, his arms folded and an expectant look on his face. Remembering the error of my ways at lunch, I stood and went to lock up the cabinets behind my desk.

“I like your top,” said Stu, his eyes blatantly perusing my chest as I walked back and braced my hands on the top of my chair. I had to glance down because I’d forgotten what top I was wearing. Whether this was due to being flustered or the fact that I never really paid much attention to such things, I couldn’t say. It was a simple navy blouse, nothing special. He was obviously still on his pretend flirting kick.

“Thank you,” I replied.

“The colour suits you,” he went on.

“Again, thank you, but can we talk about what happened earlier? I’d like to clear the air.”

“Are you married?” Stu asked, completely blindsiding me.

I frowned. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“You’re wearing a wedding ring, but everyone calls you Miss Anderson, not Mrs,” he went on and I stiffened. For whatever reason, no one at the college had ever called me on the fact that I still wore my ring. Perhaps it was because they already knew my story. It was no secret I was the widowed teacher whose husband died tragically young. I’d learn to ignore the occasional pitying looks.