Metsy Hingle - Seduced

Quickly he took in the familiar surroundings—the wall lined with file cabinets, bulletin boards crammed with colored bits of paper, an ever-changing assortment of parents and students waiting to meet with counselors and teachers. He glanced over at the closed doors leading to the offices of the principal and the school’s administrative staff.

Bracing himself, he moved across the worn, beige tile and tried to ignore the annoying hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

The silver-haired receptionist greeted him with a smile. “Can I help you?” she asked in a voice as thick and sweet as molasses.

“I’m Michael Grayson. Sister Mary Grace is expecting me.”

“I thought I recognized you, Mr. Grayson. You were here last week to see Sister Mary Grace, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was.” The truth was, he’d been to the principal’s office four times in the six weeks since he had enrolled Summer.

“I thought so,” she said, obviously pleased at her recognitive ability. “You’re little Summer’s father.”

“Uncle,” he corrected. Impatient, he looked at the closed door to the principal’s office again. “I’d appreciate your letting Sister know that I’m here.”

“Of course, but I’m afraid she’s running a bit behind schedule today. She shouldn’t be too much longer, though. You can have a seat if you’d like.” She gestured toward the row of metal chairs positioned along the wall. Two chairs were occupied by students who looked a bit green around the gills. A third seat was taken by a woman resembling Florence Henderson on the old “Brady Bunch” sitcom who was busily chatting with a pregnant brunette.

Michael eyed the two remaining seats. They looked small and uncomfortable. “Thanks, but I think I’ll just stand,” he said, feeling extremely large and decidedly out of place.

“I guess you’re here because of Summer’s problem in Mrs. Green’s class this morning,” the receptionist said.

Michael snapped to attention. “What problem?”

Amanda Bennett winced at the edge in his voice as she watched the exchange from the doorway.

So this is Michael Grayson.

Amanda took in the crop of dark hair, the navy jacket that spanned his wide shoulders, the large hands braced on the reception desk. One of the younger teachers had described him as a “hunk... Six foot plus of muscle and sex appeal.” Seeing him for the first time, she could understand the other woman’s reaction.

“Oh, my.” The receptionist’s face turned a bright pink. “I assumed Sister Mary Grace had told you...”

“Told me what?” he demanded.

Obviously, the “hunk” had a temper, Amanda thought, frowning. She studied the stiff lines of his body, his thunderous expression. And Gracie expected her to persuade him to allow his niece to participate in the school’s counseling program?

“I mean, I thought that was the reason you were here...because of what happened.”

He loomed over the desk and glared at the receptionist; the woman paled under his ferocious scowl.

No, Amanda decided. Michael Grayson definitely didn’t look like the kind of man one “persuaded” to do anything. In fact, she suspected he did exactly what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it.

“Why don’t you just tell me exactly what happened,” he commanded.

“I—”

“Mrs. Evans,” Amanda said, stepping forward. “I believe Sister Mary Grace can see Mr. Grayson now.”

The other woman’s shoulders slumped in obvious relief as Michael Grayson swung his angry gaze from the nervous Mrs. Evans to her. At the sight of those flashing blue eyes, Amanda immediately wondered at her wisdom in rescuing the older woman.

His gaze skimmed the length of her and suddenly Amanda felt as though her tailored lemon suit was much too daring.

Dismissing her reaction as foolish, Amanda tipped up her chin. “If you’ll come with me, Mr. Grayson, I’ll show you in to Sister Mary Grace.” Without waiting for his response, she turned and started toward the principal’s office.

To Amanda, the few yards to Gracie’s office seemed like a mile with him walking behind her. She could almost feel his eyes trained on her back, watching her movements. She tapped on the door.

“I didn’t catch your name, Miss...”

Amanda turned to look at him and swallowed when she found him so close. She fought the urge to step back. “Bennett. Amanda Bennett,” she said, her voice more breathless than she would have liked.

“Come in,” Gracie called out.

Relieved at the prospect of putting distance between them, Amanda opened the door and entered the room. Michael followed.

“Mr. Grayson.” The tiny nun came bustling from behind her desk, a flurry of energy in a religious habit.

“Sister.” Michael shook her hand.

“I see you’ve already met Amanda,” Sister Mary Grace said.

“Yes, I have.” Cutting a glance to her, Michael smiled.

The simple movement of his lips—slight though it was— softened the harsh lines of his face, warmed the coolness of those blue eyes. Amanda’s pulse skittered in response.

“And of course, you know Mrs. Green.” Sister Mary Grace gestured toward the woman seated in front of the desk.

Michael’s smile dissolved immediately. “Mrs. Green.”

Yes, Amanda decided, confirming her initial impression. Michael Grayson was definitely going to be difficult. She could only hope that if he loved his niece as much as Gracie seemed to think he did, he would listen to reason.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Sister Mary Grace motioned to the chair beside Mrs. Green’s. When the nun had resumed her own seat, Amanda slipped into the chair adjacent to the desk so that she could observe him.

“I know how busy you are, and I appreciate your coming so quickly,” Sister Mary Grace began. “I wish all of our parents were as responsive as you.”

“Anything concerning my niece is important to me, Sister. What seems to be the problem?”

“The problem, Mr. Grayson, is that your niece insists on disrupting my class,” Frances Green informed him.

“Frances, please,” Sister Mary Grace admonished.

Michael narrowed his eyes. “And just how did she manage to disrupt your class this time, Mrs. Green?”

His voice was soft. Too soft, Amanda thought, noting the rigid line of his jaw.

“Well, for starters, she pretended to go into a trance in the middle of my lesson, and then she—”

“A trance?” Michael repeated.

“Not a trance,” Amanda corrected, noting the way his fingers had tightened around the arms of the chair. “She was meditating.”

“Call it whatever you like,” Frances Green countered, her too thin shoulders stiff with indignation. “All I know is the child kept staring off into space, pretending she couldn’t hear me.”

Michael gritted his teeth. He hadn’t thought it possible to dislike the sour-faced teacher more, but he did. “Maybe she didn’t hear you,” Michael offered. He certainly wouldn’t blame Summer if she had pretended not to hear the woman.

“Oh, she could hear me, all right. Why, if it hadn’t been for Amanda...”

Amanda?

Michael moved his gaze from Mrs. Green to the blonde, trying once more to place her name and face among those staff members he’d met at the last PTA meeting. He took in the waterfall of blond hair, the trim waist and long legs. She had great legs, he thought, unable to resist looking at them again. No, Amanda Bennett hadn’t been at the PTA meeting. If she had, he would certainly have remembered her.

“...And that awful humming sound she kept making,” Mrs. Green continued.

“Mantras,” Amanda explained.

He caught the New England accent again and his curiosity escalated another notch.