Marie Ferrarella - Romancing The Teacher

She, obviously, did not fall into that category. “I like you, Kitty.”

She started to correct him again, then decided it wasn’t worth it. Maybe if she just ignored his attempt at familiarity, the man would eventually give it up. He didn’t look as if he had much of an attention span. “How are you with a hammer?”

He’d built his own sailboat once. Actually, he and Marcus had. Marcus had talked him into it the summer before they graduated college. Marcus from Yale, he from NYU. But this woman looked like she’d probably consider that bragging, so instead, he shrugged. “I know which end to use.”

She sighed. Not handy, either. This was just getting better and better. “It’s a start,” she allowed.

“That it is,” he responded.

Ignoring the comment, or the chipper way he delivered it, she made a quick assessment of his body. He was muscular and lean, although she doubted he’d actually ever done any physical labor. He didn’t seem the type. Too bad, but he’d learn.

She thought of the most pressing repair item on her list. “Do heights bother you?”

His eyes slid over her body. She had the impression of being weighed and measured. It surprised her that there was a part of her that wondered, just for a moment, what his conclusions were.

“That depends on what I’m doing,” he finally answered.

Why did she feel as if she’d just been propositioned? “Nailing shingles,” she bit off.

His smile just widened. And burrowed into her despite her resistance. “Any chance of that being a euphemism?”

“None whatsoever,” she replied evenly.

“Didn’t think so.” It would feel good to do something physical for a change, he thought. Something to work up a sweat. “I can give it a try.”

“You need to do more than ‘try,’” she informed him, barely hanging onto her patience.

This wasn’t going to work, she thought, not with the attitude she saw. Granted she didn’t draw a salary here and her time was limited, but she felt part of something at Providence, something that went beyond a paycheck. And these people deserved better than having some bored blight on society doing halfhearted penance because he’d gotten caught going too fast after parking his judgment.

“Look, Malone, you either take this job seriously or have your hotshot lawyer get you reassigned to something else.”

The term made him laugh. If there was anything that Marcus wasn’t, it was a hotshot. “Marcus would really get insulted by that last remark.”

“Marcus?” Who the hell was Marcus? Or was he just trying to distract her?

“My lawyer. My friend,” he added. “He’s really a very dedicated person.” Ian’s mouth curved. “Not like me at all.”

She’d heard his voice soften, just for a moment, when he’d mentioned the man. Maybe this Marcus he mentioned really was a friend. If so, that meant that he was capable of maintaining a relationship with something other than his own photograph. Maybe there was hope for him.

Maybe all this was just bravado because being around the homeless and downtrodden made him nervous. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened.

“He’s as solid as a brick wall,” Ian continued.

“And he’s as far from a hotshot as you are from possessing a sense of humor.”

He’d had her going there for a minute, thinking that maybe she’d been too hard on him. First impressions were usually right. And her first impression of him—good looks or no good looks—was far from favorable.

Ian watched in fascination as he saw her eyes flash. They turned from a light green to something he had once seen during a squall. He had a feeling that when she really got going, she was something else. The part of him that dissected and explored, that looked inside of every word, every sensation, every feeling, experienced a curiosity to discover what the woman before him was like when all of her buttons were pressed.

“I don’t laugh very much here, Mr. Malone.”

The retort just came out. It was, in actuality, a lie. Whenever possible, she tried very hard to bring laughter into these people’s lives. If not laughter, then at least a smile. But somehow, with Malone, that laughter seemed synonymous with a joke. And there were precious few jokes here.

“I don’t suggest you do, either,” she added. Lisa drew herself up, painfully aware that she was at least a foot shorter than this annoying man. It made her feel as if she were at a severe disadvantage and she didn’t like that. “Now if you’re through making observations, I’ll take you to that hammer.”

She turned on her heel and began to walk quickly from the room. Taking a second to admire the view from where he was, the way her hips subtly moved with each step, Ian fell into step with her. Because of his longer stride, he caught up within a moment.

“Looking forward to it,” he told her.

And she was looking forward to his hours of community service being over, she thought. Absently, she wondered just how many hours he owed the city. At the same time, she thanked God that she wouldn’t have to be here for most of them.

Lisa glanced at her watch. It was almost seven. She’d stayed longer than she’d intended. Again. Whenever she came to Providence Shelter, time melted into this distant dimension and she lost all sense of it. One thing led to another and she would never seem to finish. But that was life. Ongoing. Neverending.

But right now her life was waiting for her back at her house and if she didn’t hurry, she was going to miss reading Casey his bedtime story. He was pretty out of sorts with her over the last time she’d come home late, only to find him fast asleep. She’d had to bribe him by letting him stay up an extra half hour on Friday night in order to get him to forgive her. She didn’t want that to become a habit.

Not to mention she still had papers that needed to be graded. She really owed it to her students not to fall asleep over them the way she had last time.

That’s what she got by trying to make do on five hours sleep, she silently upbraided herself. As her mother had pointed out to her more than once, she wasn’t a superwoman. There was no point in trying to act like one.

Just before she left, Lisa swung by Muriel’s office to get her purse. The room was empty. Just as well, Lisa decided. She didn’t want to get caught up in a conversation at this hour. Muriel was a lovely person, but she could go on indefinitely without ever reaching her point.

Crossing to the old desk someone had donated to the building, she opened the bottom drawer and took out her purse. Lisa closed the drawer and slung the purse strap onto her shoulder. She was ready to leave.

But she didn’t.

Whether it was a sense of responsibility or just plain old-fashioned curiosity, she couldn’t honestly say, but instead of leaving the building, Lisa found herself retracing her steps and going outside, where less than two hours ago, she’d left Providence Shelter’s latest penitent perched on a ladder, ready to make the necessary interim repairs to the roof.

Or so he had said.

Closing the door behind her, she looked around the back. Part of her expected to find Malone sprawled out on the ground, unconscious, a victim of a sudden attack of vertigo or some such paltry excuse.

Granted she might have been a tad too hard on him, but something about him reminded her of the last man she’d had the misfortune of dating. Thad, the divorced father of one of her students, had been charming on the outside, hollow in the inside. In the end, she honestly didn’t know who she was more disappointed in, him for stepping out on her or herself for being such a poor judge of character.

She knew better now.