I have to bite my lip at how the silence excites me.

This is exactly what I’ve dreamed about for years. A room full of talent. Bright eyes and young souls eager to impress, bleeding creativity.

Every student deep in concentration, glancing towards the drawing on the easel next to my desk only long enough to confirm the next swoosh of their pencil. I hadn’t known what to expect when I accepted this position, other than it would bring me one step closer to my goal. Plus a little more money.

Oh, and it's the perfect escape from the weekly family dinners. Losing those gossip-fests is worth more than the income boost any job brings.

Working with this room full of remarkable young artists is way more fun than listening to mom's tongue-in-cheek 'encouragement.'

Or entertaining cousin Clara's dire warnings about how I'm destined to wind up with a house full of cats and die in my eighties, still a virgin.

That’s my future. Isabella Derby. AKA crazy cat lady.

The fact that my family believes that’s the path I’m on and insists on reminding me so often never fails to piss me off. No matter how many times I hear it.

This is the twenty-first century. Supposedly. I don’t even own a cat, and I’m twenty-three.

Twenty. Three.

Not fifty-three, and pining about what might have been. I have years before I need to worry about getting married. I have ambitions. Always have.

If only everyone else in my life would see that and leave me the hell alone.

If only they'd notice accomplishments besides landing men and wracking up babies.

“Ms. Derby?”

I rise from my chair and walk around my desk, happy to have something else to focus on besides my sad, nosy relatives.

Stopping next to her, I look down at the girl and smile. “Yes, Natalie?”

She’s what some would call a child prodigy. Only ten, she has the talent of some people five times her age. Not just in fine arts either.

Her enrollment papers says she’s in eighth grade. Most kids her age are still fourth graders. I kneel next to her. “What's up?”

She gestures to my drawing at the front of the room. “Um, I just noticed...the dog you drew doesn’t have any eyelashes.” Her shy voice comes out in a whisper. “Is it all right if I add some on mine?”

“Of course! Your personal muse is always welcome in this class.” I look at the drawing on her easel, picturing exaggerated Minnie Mouse eyelashes.

Wrong idea.

My breath literally stalls in my lungs at the detail in her creation. This little girl wouldn't be caught dead making anything unrealistic. The collie she’s drawn looks like it's ready to leap into the room. Just like everything she does.

It's more like a black and white photo than a drawing. Especially one done by a child.

Every feathery line she's sketched brings the dog to life in ways I can’t even describe.

Hell, it's almost better than mine. And it took me a Master's degree and years practicing to get where I am.

I glance between her dog and mine. Forget almost.

Hers is far better. A masterpiece.

I choke up as I watch the eyes on her dog come to life as she carefully pencils in a few soft lashes. “Keep going. You’re doing a great job!”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

The way she’s biting the tip of her tongue demonstrates how fully she’s concentrating. I smile again, then stand, making a round of the whole room.

Only six students here this evening. The others are all high school kids. Natalie’s dad had to pull some strings to get her into this class, meant for kids at least in their freshmen year.

That’s what I was told. Since this is my first year with the district, I’m as unfamiliar with the students and their families as I am with the staff. That'll change in time, I'm sure. We’re only three weeks into the school year.

The other five drawings look much like I expect. They demonstrate passion and promise, but honestly, there isn’t another one that comes anywhere close to Natalie’s.

I wonder if her talent comes from her father. The man I try hard not to think about every time she steps foot in my class.

If the last two weeks are anything to go by, he’ll be here soon. A good twenty minutes before class ends. He'll stand in the back of the room with a spiral notebook, open it up, and let his big, rough hands touch the paper.

The first night, I thought he was making a list or notes. But last week, I had a strong feeling he was drawing. Sketching right along with his daughter and the rest of the class.

We’d started the dog last week, drawing the base after I'd gone over my quick anatomy lesson for animals. Tonight, I showed the students how to make the fur have shades of white, black, and gray.

A small, senseless part of me wonders if Natalie's dad will join in without even hearing my lesson. An even crazier part wants to see his drawing.

It could be a masterpiece like hers.

He certainly is. And that's the problem.

Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Brooding is every forbidden male archetype stuffed into one ripped package.

Mysteriously sexy by default. Imposing by gravity. Protective by virtue.

He's the kind of man I'd love to bring to a family dinner.

Just once.

That’s all it would take. He'd render Clara speechless and end mom's needless sympathy looks in one blow. He'd shut them down and then some.

Every Derby woman would be too busy gasping for breath and fanning themselves to give me any crap.

Honestly, I know the feeling. It was my reaction the first time he walked in. And the second.

At least I hid it well.

The military patches on his black leather jacket were no surprise. He has that air.

Straight back, chest forward, chin up. Disciplined. Hard.

Every move he makes, every glance, has a purpose.

Remember what I said? Every forbidden archetype.

The ones good girls are warned about, but never stay away from.

God. I shouldn't be having these thoughts.

Not about a student's father. He's probably married. And if he isn't, why the hell not?

But I didn't see a mother listed on Natalie’s emergency contacts. That makes me feel slightly less guilty about the impure thoughts stirring in my head. It also concerns me.

I hope she isn’t being pushed beyond her limits. Flogged on to greatness by a headstrong father who believes his child should succeed in everything, no matter the cost.

I know the burden.

Just as I arrive back at my desk, the hair on the back of my neck tingles. It's almost like there's a sixth sense before the Walking Masterpiece shows up. I close my eyes briefly, preparing myself for the sight I’ll see after the door creaks open.

My heart jackhammers by the time I turn around, air stalling in my lungs.

Right on time. Sure as shit.

It’s him.

Brent Eden. His hair is the same wavy black as his daughter’s. Natalie has his eyes, too.

Emerald green.

His are colder, though. More seasoned. More cautious.

His features add to his presence. A tiny faded scar here, an inked muscle there, a calloused hand. Things a normal person wouldn't notice unless they're gawking at him like me.

Beautifully rough finishes for a man cut from Heaven's most twisted fabric.

The thick trimmed beard circling his jaw must feel as dangerous as it looks. Delicious torture on any woman’s skin. Especially mine since it’s as virgin as the rest of me.

Fucking-A. Last week's after-dinner talk with Clara clearly messed with my mind.

Left me focused on things I’ve never worried over before. Namely, finding a man to take home to mother. And maybe to bed while we're at it.

What the hell am I doing? I pinch my thigh. Ogling a man who's nothing but trouble, apparently.

He eases the door shut and quietly moves along the back wall, taking the exact same spot where he’s stood the past two weeks. Leaning against a desk, he unclips a pen from his notebook's cover and then flips it open.

Look away, Izzy.

I sense he’ll look up any second. Naturally, I can’t. It's like someone telling you to not think about a pink elephant.

There’s too much gorgeous mystery in front of me. Too much temptation.

The heat rushing to my cheeks tells me I’ve been caught staring even before my eyes travel all the way up to meet his. Damn!

“Ms. Derby?”

Tad Gomez calls my name, one of the older students, but a snail could beat me turning around.

Brent’s gaze is intense. Heated. Almost like he's challenging me not to look away.

I'm not a daring person. I just don't want to lose this staring contest. But duty calls.

Lifting a brow, I rip my gaze off his, and scuttle towards Tad’s seat.

I'm grateful for the few seconds I have to find my voice. “Having trouble?”

“Yes, ma'am. I can’t get the nose to look 3-D. Not like yours.”

I point towards Tad’s drawing, which is good, but as he said, a little flat. “It's the angle. Here, let me show you.”

He nods, handing me his pencil. I lightly outline how to angle the nose downward in order to give it depth. “See? One little change works like magic.”

“Yes, Ms. Derby. Yes, I do. Thanks!” He takes his pencil back and continues filling in the outline.

“Light strokes, remember. They'll flesh it out even more.”

Barely touching the paper with the edge of his pencil, he nods bashfully. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Tad. Keep it up. You're off to an awesome start.”

He pushes his thick glasses up his nose. “I really like this class, Ms. Derby.”

Such a sweet boy. How could I do anything but smile? “We all do.”

The door squeaks again. This time, it’s Ester Oden’s mother. She works as a custodian at the school and stays late in order to drive Ester home after class. I smile at her as I make my way around the room, checking on the progress of each student, offering a helpful hint and words of encouragement.

It feels good to do my job. And to find a perfect distraction from the man I shouldn't be staring at.

“Five more minutes,” I say, once I'm back at my desk.

There are no audible groans, but I can sense each student’s disappointment, knowing this week’s class is almost over. I’m honored they don't want to leave.

This, right here, is the reason I sunk a lot of time and money into getting my credentials. It's why I spent years doing every part time job in the known universe. It's what I've dreamed about, working at the most prestigious academy in the Phoenix area.

“Ms. Derby?”

“Yeah, Ben?” I reply. Ben Pritchard is a typical teenager. Tall, thin, and a bad case of acne.

“Is it all right if I snap a picture of your drawing at the end of class so I can work on mine later?” he asks, holding up his cell phone.

“Go for it! But no Snapchat filters on me, and you'd better believe I'm watching. Only warning I'll give.” I bite my lip and shake my finger, making them laugh.

I nod towards the others in the class and step out of the way, assuring them they can all take pictures. I hear the digital click-click-click of their phones and a few snickers.

Then my gaze, all on its own, drifts to the back of the room. Brent's head is down this time, thankfully.

He's sketching again. Furiously.

I have a different reason to bite my lip. This time, not so playfully.

There's something admirable in his focus. Something sexy.

I'm waiting for him to look up, after the older kids are done taking pics. At ten, I doubt Natalie has a cell phone. I assume he’ll want to get a picture for her.

He never looks up, though. Never throws his eyes my way. Even though I sense him wanting to behind his determined, subtle smirk.

I suck a deep breath and hold it, hoping it eases the heat coursing through my system. I glance at the clock and then smile at my students. “Okay, guys and gals! Time to start putting your stuff away. Please bring your completed drawing back to class next week.”

Every student, except Natalie, finishes taking pictures of my drawing, either before or after they’ve packed up their belongings. While saying goodbye to each of them, I start gathering my things, too, but leave the drawing on the easel.

What gives? Why isn't Brent getting her a picture?

He’s still lost in his own world. Sketching quickly. Frantically. Like he's desperate to finish something before leaving. My curiosity turns into pure adrenaline.

I can’t stop myself. “Mr. Eden? Would you like a picture?”

When he looks up, his gaze is so intense my heart nearly stops mid-beat.

“Oh, I'd like that! Please, can you, Daddy?” Natalie asks, turning to him.

I'm glad she doesn't witness me melting into a puddle of nerves.

His bright eyes shift. The smile transforming Brent's face is for his daughter, but it steals my breath.

I’ve watched lots of men smile. I've seen it, sketched it, noted how a thin quirk of the lips can change a full appearance.

But this man, this beast, goes from hardcore army badass to giant teddy bear in the blink of an eye.

He can't hide the adoration lighting up his eyes the second Natalie calls him Daddy.

At least I've learned one thing tonight: this man lives for his daughter.

Guilt twists in my guts again when I remember my earlier worries about him being overbearing. Not now. It just doesn't seem likely.

“Sure, sweets. One second,” he says, closing his notebook.

My heart starts working again. It beats harder with every step he takes toward the front of the room.

I’ve been this close to him before. Once. The first night, when he’d dropped Natalie off and introduced himself.

I tried like crazy not to freeze up, and failed miserably, barely muttering my name.

Can't let that happen again. I won't embarrass myself a second time, no matter how many feels this handsome enigma shoots through me.

Pretending I'm unfazed by his presence, I say goodbye to Ester and her mother before they walk out the side door. Then, in my scattered state of mind, I accidentally knock a stack of papers off the corner of my desk.

“Oh, f – fiddlesticks!” I say, catching myself.

God. I'd nearly dropped an f-bomb in my flustered state. My tongue is my biggest vice sometimes. I'm still sanding away the rough language I picked up too much of in college.

Natalie shoots forward. “I’ll help, Ms. Derby!”

I kneel down beside her and start gathering the papers. “Thanks, Natalie. I certainly can be clumsy sometimes. Must be getting late.”

Must be. Or else I'd totally have to admit I've been drooling over her father for the better part of the last ten minutes.

“We all have accidents,” she says. “Don’t stress.”

I smile, nodding slowly. This girl sounds far too old for her age, which causes me to glance up at her father.

He's raised her to be polite. Kind. Intelligent.

He shrugs when he sees there isn't room to step in and help, walking over to pick up the backpack she's left on the floor.

I take the papers Natalie collects and stack them on top of the pile I've formed. “Thanks for your help again, Natalie. You're too awesome.”

“Ready, sweets?” Brent asks.

“Coming!” Natalie flashes a big grin. “See you next week, Ms. Derby. Can't wait to finish my drawing.”

“Looking forward to it,” I answer, flinching slightly at not being able to come up with something more original.

Brent nods at me while laying a hand on Natalie’s shoulder and guiding her towards the door.

I nod back. I think. I'm too embarrassed to say for sure.

Woof. I'm so ready to slump into my chair before I leave the building.

I need five or ten. Just a few precious minutes to let my body, mind, and pulse find their baseline.

I doubt there's any time. This is the only evening class near closing time. Oscar Winters, the janitor, who doubles as our evening security guard, is already waiting for me to leave so he can lock up and go home.

Sighing, I set the stack of papers on the corner, hoping the regular teacher in this room, Mrs. Wayne's substitute, isn’t overly upset tomorrow morning that they aren’t in the same order. Then I start packing my things in my carry-all. I'm so busy trying to get out of here I don't even see him enter.

“Finally! Why the hell have you been ignoring my calls and texts?”

The voice vibrating in my ears makes me shudder like a spider crawling up my spine. A huge, unwanted, hairy one.

Crap. Not this guy again.

I huff out a breath of air before glancing up. “What are you doing here, Preston?”

All five feet and nine inches of Preston Graves stands just a few feet away like he owns the place. He probably thinks he does.

He’s that arrogant. If you could take a picture of a blind date gone bad, it would look like this man.

Bleached blond hair, blue eyes, and obscenely rich. He’s also the biggest prick I’ve ever met.

He looked better in the pics he'd uploaded to the matchmaker app. I was actually excited when it said we were compatible, mainly because I knew mom would approve. Well, and because he didn't look quite as phony with a good filter.

Then we met, and he opened his dumb mouth.

“Isabella, don't play coy. You know why I'm here: you haven’t responded to a single one of my messages. You're ignoring me.” He leans a hand on the corner of the desk. “For your information, Preston Graves does not like being ignored.”

That’s how he talks. Third person. It’s overly unnecessary and fucking annoying.

Correction: he’s overly fucking annoying.

“I’ve been busy,” I say.

I mentally wonder how crazy my intruder is. Could he stop me from reaching for my phone if push comes to shove?

“Excuses, excuses. Who do you think you're dealing with, dear? No one's ever too busy for me. What's the real deal keeping you away?”

Gag me with a fucking spoon. “The school year just started.”

I force a weak smile. It does nothing. Call me an idiot for letting the dating app scan my real employer. I'm an even bigger fool if I think it'll help get me out of this madness.

“And?” Preston taps his polished shoe impatiently, scratching his head.

Ugh. Is he dense or just insufferable?

I’d told him when I cut our date short that I didn’t have time to see him again, but he obviously thought I was lying. Why he'd want to chase a liar, who knows.

Time to take a different route. “Preston, look, you shouldn't be here. It's a secure environment, this academy, whether it's school hours or not. We have rules.”

“Nonsense. Nothing's too secure for Preston Graves. My Uncle Theo sits on the board of the largest banking chain in Maricopa county. Security's practically my middle name. It's lovely you follow the rules, Isabella, but you've got nothing to worry about as long as –”

Oh, please, shut up, Gaston. It's too much like my favorite fairy tale with none of the charm. I stop listening.

It's time to end this right now.

“Do you have a pass, Preston? Did you show it to the guard in the hall?”

“The janitor, you mean? The man who’s vacuuming a few classrooms away?” He turns his nose up, walking around the desk, dragging a manicured hand along the edge. “Very funny, Isabella. You're on fire tonight. Why would I waste the time? When Preston finds something he wants, nothing stands in his way.” He stops right in front of me. “Nothing and no one.”

My heart leaps into my throat. This puffed up joke of a man is getting old and weird fast. I don't like the glint in his eye. He’s a mega-creep, too. Not just socially clueless.

I think I know a psychotic asshole who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth when I see one. Knew it from the night I was dumb enough to go out with him.

I just didn't think he'd go to these lengths for another chance. Never imagined he'd bother me here.

I freeze, trying to think without making it too obvious. I don’t dare glance around.

That would be the worst thing: letting him think he has me scared.

But he does.

This looney tune has my heart crawling up my throat.

“Are we done playing now?” He steps closer, an eerie warmth on his face. “I know you like Preston, Isabella. Everyone does. You just have a rather curious way of showing it.”

A shiver ripples through my entire body. I have nothing to defend myself, and shoot a sideways glance at the desk, scanning for something that might work.

Nothing. Not even a sharp pencil.

I'm screwed. Estimating how loud I can scream when everything changes.

Preston falls backwards, grabbing the edge of the desk so hard it moves, scraping the floor. Then I see Brent Eden. Nostrils flaring, he has a hand on the back of Preston’s starched shirt collar.

Preston twists his neck, taking in the man holding onto him. “W-Who are you?”

“Nothing and no one,” Brent says, echoing his earlier words.

Though I never condone violence, right now I wouldn’t mind seeing Preston knocked on his ass.

He tries shaking off Brent’s iron grip. “You're making a big mistake! I’m Preston Graves the third and –”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Brent growls, tightening his hold.

Wow.

Preston squirms, panic in his eyes. “But...this is crazy! Isabella and I are dating.”

Brent’s green eyes settle on me. My heart's still in my throat, but I manage to shake my head for a split second.

This courtship ended after the first and only date Preston Graves will ever get from me. One date too many.

“I don’t think so,” Brent says, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Yes, we are,” Preston insists. “Tell him Isabella!”

Even if I could find my tongue, that’s the last thing I’d admit to.

A mischievous glint flashes in Brent’s eyes. “She can’t be dating you. She’s dating me.”

Wait. What?!

I nearly choke on my own breath.

Preston tries harder to get loose. “Impossible!”

Brent spins Preston around so they’re face to face. “Then you probably also believe it’s impossible we’re engaged. And that I’ll beat the fuck out of any man who comes within twenty feet of my fiancée.”

I'm no stranger to F-words, but that one, on his lips, makes me want to pass out.

He gives Preston another shove and before I know it, Brent grabs me, one hand on the back of my head, and smashes his lips against mine.

I'm gone.

Heat consumes me so swiftly the world melts. His lips are all fire. The blood surging through my veins might be lava.

My lips part – they never have a chance – and his tongue sweeps into my mouth.

Hot. Bold. Amazing.

Brent’s other arm wraps around me, holding my body tight against the length of him. It's like an ice cream cone up against a space heater. My entire body melts down from the inside out.

Holy hell. This is the kind of kiss every girl dreams about. The take-me-out-of-this-world kind.

I’m so engrossed several moments flit by before I remember he shouldn’t be kissing me.

We aren’t alone. I barely know him. He’s my student’s father.

A dozen other realizations bum-rush my dizzy brain, including Preston’s voice.

I pull out of the kiss – regretfully. Still too worked up to stand on my own, I lean against Brent, taking a few seconds to let the real world return.

“No one dumps Preston Graves!” He says numbly, his anger slowly returning. “And that stupid app guaranteed three dates. Three!” He holds up his fingers, as if I don't know how to count.

Hell, after that kiss, maybe I don't.

“I can sue. Sue them, and you. Both of you!” He prattles on, stomping a foot like a child not getting his way. “You've made a big mistake, Isabella Derby. You and your thug boyfriend. I'll take every penny you have and – and her teacher’s license. Just watch me. Preston Graves can do that!”

Brent’s upper lip curls slightly as he shakes his head. “Preston Graves better get the fuck out of here before he needs to sue for medical expenses, too.”

“Hey! Is there a problem here?”

I push away from Brent’s side as Oscar Winters and Natalie walk through the door. The poor girl looks bewildered, probably wondering what the hold up is with her dad.

“Yeah. Big problem,” Brent replies, pointing at Preston. “Did you let his man in the building?”

“No.” Oscar's face falls, realizing the seriousness. He might not have Brent's rogue good looks, but he's a big man. Over six feet tall and two hundred intimidating pounds, Oscar walks towards Preston. “How did you get in here, sir?”

“Dear God, are you all clueless? Preston Graves can go anywhere he damn well –”

“No, he can’t,” Brent interjects. “I don’t know how he got in the building, but I saw him sneaking out of the men’s room. Didn't like the look on his face. I followed.”

“You're in the wrong place. Let's go.” Oscar grabs Preston’s arm. “I'm truly sorry for this, Ms. Derby. It won’t happen again.”

“I hope not,” Brent says seriously. “Safety's in your hands.” He nods towards Natalie. “That shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

“Never, Mr. Eden. You're absolutely right. Believe me, I'll find out how Mr. Graves found his way in. It won't happen a second time.” Oscar tugs Preston towards the door, none too gently.

Preston appears to have lost some of his arrogance as he crosses the room, at the mercy of two powerful men. But he's still wearing a this-isn’t-over glare I don't like one bit. I roll my shoulders, pretending to stretch. Really, I'm hiding the shiver.

Brent’s hand slides off my shoulder and down my back. Amazingly comforting.

“Get your things,” he says quietly. “I’ll walk you out.”

“I’ll take your sketchpad!” Natalie says cheerfully, ready to chip in.

Her smile suggests she saw plenty, probably through the small glass window in the classroom door. It also says what just happened hasn't bothered her in the least.

My cheeks go bright red. I'm more thankful than ever she's mature for her age. At least I don't have to worry about any gossip that could get me in deep, deep doo-doo.

Still fighting off a nervous tremble, I say, “Thank you.” Then I look at Brent. “That’s not necessary, but thanks. Again. I can find my own way out, Mr. Eden.”

“No. You're coming to your car with me,” he insists, grabbing my carry-all off the desk. “This everything?”

He’s no nonsense through and through. The hint of irony in his glare tells me not to argue. So I don’t.

“Everything,” I echo, stepping forward and taking my sketchpad from Natalie. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Derby.” With another large grin, she leans in and whispers, “Thank you, too. Dad likes being a hero. Doesn't get to do the whole white knight thing as often as he'd like.”

“Nat.” There's a hint of a warning in Brent’s tone.

Natalie shakes her head slightly while her green eyes twinkle. “He’s a good knight, too.”

Unable to disagree, I nod.

“Where’s your backpack, baby girl?” Brent asks.

“Oh! I think I left it in the hallway when you told me to go get Mr. Winters,” Natalie answers.

“Go get it. We'll wait right here.”

“Okay, Daddy!” There’s a skip in her step as she hurries towards the door.

Once again, I’m searching for my tongue as I walk towards the door with Brent by my side. I need to tell him thank you, but I’m afraid I’ll sound like a bubbling idiot.

“One question: what made you go out with a man who calls himself by his own name?” Brent asks once Natalie's out of earshot.

Kill me. He's trying to lighten this insanity, I'm sure. Still, full-fledged embarrassment burns my cheeks. “Fuck if I know.” I flinch then and bite my tongue.

That's not how a teacher speaks. Especially a preschool teacher who does evening art classes for older kids.

For a second, he cocks his head. Then, to my utter amazement, he laughs. It’s a nice sound. And it breaks the invisible ice surrounding me. “That's a damn good answer, Ms. Derby.”

“Well...thank you,” I say sheepishly. “I knew I made a mistake. I thought we were done. Tried to let him down easy. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think he’d show up here.”

He lifts a brow as we step into the hallway. “Is Preston Graves in your wildest dreams?”

“Hell no!” I flinch again at my own language. “I mean, no. Gross. He was a match-up from a dating site. One I won’t mention because I’m very dissatisfied.”

“How many times did you date him?”

“Once.” I shake my head. “Actually, it was more like a half-date. I didn’t even make it through reading the menu at the place in Scottsdale before I knew I had to cut things short. It had already been too long.”

My comment reminds him we're probably wasting time, too. He starts walking and I follow.

Natalie is waiting by the main entrance door with Oscar. It's a long corridor. Brent sees them, but doesn’t seem to be in a hurry.

“What did you do?” he asks.

“I laid a twenty on the table to pay for my glass of wine, gave the waitress a big tip, which she highly deserved, and lied.”

“Lied?”

“Yes. Lied. I told him it was nice to meet him, which it wasn't, and then I said I was sorry, but I simply don’t have time to date right now.”

“When was that?”

“Almost three weeks ago. He stopped texting me last week when I didn't respond, so I’d hoped it was finally over.” It's embarrassing telling him all this, but it’s the truth, and he deserves that much after coming to my rescue.

Preston's creepy encounter shook me up more than I want to admit.

“I have no idea how he got inside, Mr. Eden,” Oscar says as we approach him and Natalie. “The doors were locked. I let everyone in and out and didn’t see him once. I always double check. I'm sure of it!” Oscar looks at me, frustration lining his brow. “He's gone now, Ms. Derby. I escorted him to his car and watched him drive away. I'll gladly do the same for you.”

“We're good, Oscar. I'm her escort,” Brent says. “Did you search him for a key fob?”

Oscar’s face falls as he shakes his head. “No, sir, but I’ll make a full report of the security breach. As you know, the academy takes security very seriously.”

Brent turns to me. “Could he have gotten your key fob?”

“No. It’s right here.” I pull the badge around my neck out of the top of my shirt. My I.D. card and the key fob dangle off the end. “It hasn’t been out of my sight since I got it two weeks ago. Jesus. This doesn't make any sense...”

Brent nods, turning back to Oscar. “I suggest you find out who lost a key fob recently and make everyone aware what Preston Graves looks like. Make sure they understand he's not allowed on the premises.”

Oscar nods. “Of course, sir, I'll do that. I'll stay late. Get the report in the system before I leave.”

A million questions race through my mind, but I hold them until after we walk outside. The heat still coming off the nighttime pavement makes me want to fan myself. We're off high summer, the hottest time of year, but not to the point where the nights are really comfortable.

Once we're walking down the long concrete walkway leading to the parking lot, I ask another question I've been holding in. “So, uh, Mr. Eden...are you a detective? A cop, maybe?”

“No.”

“He works with cops all the time,” Natalie says. “He owns his own company.”

I wait for either one of them to add more, but they don’t, and I’m too tongue tied to keep probing. Or too scared.

Though he came to my rescue, gave me the hottest, most memorable kiss of my life, there are red flags popping up all over. This whole thing is bad news.

He’s a student’s father. The academy has rules against teacher-family relationships. Pages upon pages of ironclad rules. As the most elite private academy in the county, the wait list to become a student, or to get a job here, is as long as Route 66.

Landing this preschool position was pure luck. Same as the very part-time accelerated art class I'm filling in for.

I can’t fuck it up. Cannot. Will not.

Not even for drop dead sexy men with beast eyes and beards who kiss like they mean business.

“That your car?” Brent asks.

Lost in thought, I glance up, nodding. Classic Mustang convertible. Old. Not at all what anyone would expect a teacher to drive. “It was my dad’s.”

He doesn’t respond physically or verbally, just keeps walking. At the car, he opens the door and looks inside before stepping aside.

“You should lock your doors.”

“I usually do.” I’d been running late, trying to get back in time for the evening class and hadn’t, but won’t make that mistake again. I take my bag from him and pull out the keys, then put the carry-all and my sketchpad in the backseat. I make sure to include Natalie as I say, “Thank you both. For everything.”

“Nah, it was our pleasure, Ms. Derby!” Natalie talks like she’s forty instead of ten. I smile like mad. She steps forward and wraps her arms around my middle. “Please don't be embarrassed. We were really happy to help tonight.”

Something inside me flutters as I hug her back. It's not everyday you run into good people.

Our hug ends, and as she steps away, she twists to look at her father. “Weren’t we, Daddy? Happy to help Ms. Derby?”

The transformation on his face happens again. “Yes, baby girl,” he says. “Thrilled.” His smile fades as he looks at me. “Our truck's right over there. We’ll wait until you drive away. Unless you want us to follow you home?”

“No!” I flinch at my immediate response. “I mean, that's totally okay. You’ve already done more than enough. Much more. Thank you.”

Completely unsure what to do, I take a step forward, but pause, not sure if I should shake his hand, or, well, hug him. Some crazy part of me shouts hug.

Fine. I step forward and give him a quick thank you squeeze.

His statue stiffness tells me I should've went with hand shake.

Crap.

I really am an idiot. But it's not like I have experience handling gorgeous men who pretend-kiss like it's the end of the world.

“Goodnight, guys!” I spin around and jump in my car, slamming the door shut, before I make this more awkward.

I wait until they turn around to walk across the three parking spaces between his truck and my car before leaning my forehead against the steering wheel. Mortification overwhelms me.

Heat does, too. Inside and out. It’s been a brutal summer. Hot and windy, the autumn break can’t come soon enough. Southern Arizona isn't a humid place, but the dry, hundred degree plus days wear on a body and soul.

I crank the window for fresh air and glance out the opening. There's a car rumbling up beside mine. Not Brent and Natalie's.

My heart leaps in my throat, but then slides back down where it belongs when I realize who it is.

Clara. Damn!

After everything went haywire tonight, I spaced on our plans to meet here so she could drop off one of her famous pies.

It's too late to stop the chain reaction. I see Brent gesturing furiously at Natalie to get in his truck as he starts walking back towards me. Opening the door, I climb out, hands in front of me. “Whoa, whoa, it’s okay! Nothing scary. This is just my cousin, Clara.”

Clara doesn’t miss a beat. If she was a curious cat, she'd have lost about all nine lives by now. “Isabella Derby!” She's already shaking her head.

Oh, God. Here it comes.

Holding out her hand, she walks straight toward Brent. “Who on Earth is this fine specimen?”

I run. Around the back end of her car, to her side.

I’m too late to stop anything. Natalie is already answering, “He’s our hero tonight!”

Seriously. Where's the hole in the ground? The kind that can swallow a person whole, when we need one?

“Hero?” Both of Clara’s eyes are wider than an owl's as she looks at me and blinks. “Isabella Derby!”

Forget the hole in the ground. The brutal smile on her face makes me wish I had one in my head.

This night truly can't get any worse.

I love Clara, but she’s the biggest gossip in the family. And I'm not sure Derby blood was ever compatible with privacy.

“He’s just...the father of one of my students. Nothing to worry about,” I say, adding so much emphasis it hurts my tongue.

Her smile turns coy as she turns back to Brent. Sticking out her hand even further, she says, “Well, well, it's truly a pleasure. Clara Derby, Big Daddy. How do you do?”

Brent shakes her hand with an uneasy smile. I just close my eyes and pray for this day to be over. It's cursed. From the very second my alarm went off this morning.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Derby.” I hear him say. Then, “I'm afraid I have to run. Good seeing Isabella with a friend.”

He gives me a knowing glance. I die once under his striking eyes, and again when I hear how my name sounds on his lips.

“Brent,” I whisper. His name, rather than Mr. Eden, tastes wonderful in my mouth, too.

“Goodnight, Ladies.”

My eyes snap open and I watch him walk to the truck. Clara’s mouth drops.

I want to laugh. As painful as this is, it's so ridiculous it's kinda surreal.

Nerves. Has to be. Yet, in my defense, the way he didn’t give Clara what she wanted, a name to Google, is comical.

He climbs into his truck and starts the engine.

Clara turns to me, mouth still hanging open and eyes wide. Her silence only lasts a nano-second.

“OMG!” she hisses. “He’s to die for, Izzy!”

I can’t agree. Well, I can, but I won’t.

I still can't believe I forgot about her stupid pie.

Fuck. This is turning out to be the night of unwanted company to the nth degree.

Clara’s long dark hair whips in the wind as she turns to his truck and then back to me. “Where? How? How long? Is he your dating site match-up guy? Why didn't you tell me you'd matched a ten out of ten hunk, lady?”

“What? No, no, no, and no!” I try to wipe out all her rapid fire questions at once.

“You're terrible for holding out on me. I thought we were family! You never said how your date turned out – mighty good by the looks of him. I mean, it.”

I shake my head. “Clara, it's late. I should be getting home.”

“I brought you a pie! Coconut cream.” Clara winks, reaching in the door she’d left open, her car still running. “Your favorite. I made a couple for dinner, and everyone agreed I should drop one off since you missed out. You're welcome, cuz.”

Just great. I don’t even like coconut cream pie that much.

Like most everything about the family dinners, I pretend I do to keep the peace. Then, a solid escape opportunity dawns on me. “Awesome!” I snatch the pie from her hand, feigning joy. “Better go before this melts. Have a nice night, Clara!”

“You really need a new car, Izzy. One with modern air conditioning.”

“Someday, when I can afford it.” I hold up the pie and smile as if I can’t wait to bite into it. “Mmmm, supper! Thanks again.”

I’m half way to my car, when her question stops me.

“Does your mama know about Big Daddy?”

I spin around as my stomach hits the ground. “Nope. And that's the way it's gonna stay because there isn’t anything to know.”

“He’s still sitting there. Watching.” She smiles, nods toward their truck, and does a small wave.

“He’s just being polite.” I start walking again. “And we're being rude, Clara. He has a little girl to get home to put to bed. He's waiting for us to leave. Making sure we're safe.” I leave it there so I don't have to mention, much less think about Preston again.

“So...no mother? No wife? I mean, if you've got to deal with her, there are always ways around the drama. You can't let that stop you!”

“Clara.”

“Okay, okay! I’m just curious.”

“Nosy, you mean,” I mumble, climbing in my car. As the engine purrs to life, I wave. “Thanks again for the pie.”

She gets in her car and pulls away. I follow. Brent follows me. I try to let out a huff of relief, but there's none in me. I follow Clara’s tail lights to the highway.

Thank God.

I cringe. Hoping he doesn’t plan on following me all the way to my place in Tempe. Knowing Clara, she’s already considering how to turn around and follow him home. My mind starts spinning faster than the nighttime traffic whipping down the four-lane highway.

A small sense of relief seeps out of me when I look in my mirrors again. Brent takes an exit. And I don’t see a car that looks like Clara’s anymore.

Then reality hits home.

Jesus! This night could've been an even bigger disaster.

If Clara ever hears what Brent said to Preston, about us being engaged, I’m toast.

And so is he.

There's no drama in the known universe like Derby drama.

And me, being a single crazy cat lady for the rest of my life, has been the main family tragedy for months.

Who knew the fix could be even worse?