Page 20 of Seasoned
“She writes engrossing historical fiction and is a former student of mine. She’s doing a reading this summer and invited me to attend. She’s published four books so far, and I helped her with each one.”
“I thought publishing companies supplied editing services to their authors.”
“They do, but Angela is a perfectionist and likes having another set of eyes on her work before she submits. In all honesty, she’s so good I have very little work to do on her manuscripts.”
“You’re smiling a lot. You must love the work.” His eyes focused on the curve of her lips. He’d enjoyed sucking and licking the fuller bottom one.
“I do.”
Clive tugged down the sheet and exposed her breasts—dark skin capped by darker nipples. She was confident in her body. Not the least bit shy, which he appreciated.
The darkness of her skin was marred only by a pale line about two inches long on her left side. He’d noticed the scar when they were making love. He traced the mark with the tip of his finger. “How’d you get that?”
“I was in a fight in high school. This girl kept picking on me. An all-around bully, but I’d learned to fight because I had two older brothers and a mama who didn’t take no mess. I couldn’t come home and tell her anyone was picking on me and I didn’t stand up for myself. One day I told that bitch to meet me outside. We fought, but when I got the upper hand and got her down on the ground, she pulled out a knife and stabbed me.”
“Damn, that’s awful.”
“It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. I went to the hospital and she got expelled.”
Clive looked at her in amazement. “You’re either a badass or crazy.”
Renee laughed. He really liked the sound of her happiness, and her entire face brightened—especially her dark brown eyes, which captivated him with the way they lit up.
“Maybe a little bit of both. When you’re short, you learn real quick to stand up for yourself or get trampled on. I’m a teacher, and I try to pass on the same lessons to my kids that my mother taught to me. I make sure they know they need to stand up for themselves.”
“What grade do you teach?”
“Tenth-grade A.P. English and literature. Let me show you something.”
She reached over him, her breasts and chocolate nipples gliding over his chest. The lower half of his body contracted but he maintained his control, watching as she pulled a card from the top drawer of the nightstand.
“Read that.”
“Can’t. I don’t have my glasses.”
“I didn’t know you wear glasses.”
“I’m supposed to,” Clive said with a shrug.
“Why am I not surprised you’re vain?” Renee shook her head.
He laughed.
Renee leaned back against the pillows and read the card. “To the best teacher I’ve ever had. One day when I’m a famous writer, I’ll shout you out in all my interviews. Thank you for your encouragement. I learned to soar because of you.” She wiped the wetness from the corner of her eyes. “I received this from a student before the end of the school year. This is why I do what I do. I’m going to miss those kids when I retire.”
Clive wished he’d had a teacher like her when he was growing up. “Even the bad ones?” he asked.
“Noneof them are bad,” she said in a hard tone. “Some are misunderstood. Some are troubled. We don’t know what their home life is like. So many factors can determine how they behave, and I believe in all of my students and don’t allow them to give up on themselves or sell themselves short thinking they can’t succeed because of personal limitations. I make sure they know anything is possible if we work hard enough.”
Her passion and optimism made her sexier. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as he originally thought. “Your husbands were fools,” he said.
“You think so?” She handed him the card, which he tucked back into the drawer.
“I know so. Why did you marry those men?”
The question seemed to take her by surprise, and she thought for a moment, staring up at the ceiling.
“At the time, I thought I loved them,” she said honestly.
