18. Eleanor
Eleanor
Iwave goodbye to my class as the bell rings, signaling the end of another day.
The start of another long, lonely evening where I try not to think about the man I desperately want, but can’t have.
At least I’m going out for drinks with Juliana and Paige tonight, but I’m not entirely sure I’m in the mood.
I wander my classroom absently, tidying the reading corner, straightening a piece of student artwork on the wall.
Today there was another incident with Richie and Andy, and I slump at my desk to send a quick email outlining the incident to Paige.
Then I settle in to work on Safe Harbor, and get a couple hours done, but even that isn’t bringing me much joy today.
Not when all I can think about is Theo.
It hurt seeing him yesterday morning. Not only because he acted like nothing happened between us, but just seeing him.
Seeing his handsome face, the mouth that kissed me like he was drowning and I was air.
He wants this as badly as I do, and even though we can’t have it, part of me wishes he would storm in here and take it anyway, before either of us could think better of it.
There’s a sound in my doorway, and I glance up. I blink in surprise.
It’s him.
As if he heard my silent plea and came running.
If only.
My heart launches into my throat as he knocks softly on the door frame, even though the door is wide open and I’m staring right at him. It’s as if he wants to be doubly sure I’m okay with him being here. And even though it’s a relief to see him, I’m not sure I am okay.
“Come in,” I say, my voice strangled. I clear my throat, rising to place the chairs on the desks, ready for the cleaners. He’s quiet for a long beat, and when I finally gather the courage to look, he’s standing with his hands on his hips, gaze following me.
“I wanted to check you’d secured the caterers for the fundraiser?” he asks, all business.
Of course. What did I think? That he’d come to see me?
Though… confusion swirls through me as I process his words. This is a question that I could have answered in an email. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve already answered it.
“Yes.” I keep my voice steady, trying not to let my gaze fall to the soft curve of his full bottom lip. The one that pushed my mouth open so his tongue could slide over mine.
“Good.” He nods, spine rigid, jaw hard. I let myself steal another look at him, then tear my gaze away as I return to placing chairs on desks.
“And the venue?” he asks at length.
Actually, I have some issues with the venue, though I’m not sure if now is the time to raise them. I glance back at him, and he’s somehow even more tense. I want to cross the room and unbutton that stiff suit jacket of his, smooth my hands down his firm torso, ease the stress from him.
“I don’t think we should go with Ocean Vista,” I blurt.
His brows crash together. “Where else would we have it?”
Crap. I didn’t mean to discuss this now. I’ve never seen him in a less receptive mood.
But he stares at me, waiting for an answer, so I have no choice but to give one. I square my shoulders, reminding myself of why I’m doing all of this. For the kids.
“I think we should have it here, at the school. Ocean Vista is beautiful, but I’m not sure it’s right. It sends the message that we care more about appearances than people.”
His frown somehow deepens even further. “We always have it there.”
So typical of him to defer to tradition. Rules. The way things have always been. I want to roll my eyes.
“I know,” I say, trying to tread carefully. “But… maybe that’s a good reason to do something fresh this year?”
His blue gaze bores into mine, unreadable as always, so I continue.
“Plus, it’s overpriced. We’re trying to raise money, not spend it. And if we host it on campus, families can actually see where their donations are going.”
He scratches absently at his jaw, the quiet rasp of stubble alerting me that he hasn’t shaved again. Desire pools low in my belly as I watch the movement, but I shove it away, trying to focus.
“If we’re asking people to invest in a student-focused, emotional wellbeing initiative, the fundraiser should reflect that. It shouldn’t be some expensive, fancy affair. It’ll be more meaningful this way.”
He drops his hand, brow furrowed, and I sense my chance slipping away.
“The school lawn would be perfect. String lights, event tent, student art… it could feel magical and authentic.”
He blows out a long, weary breath. I wait for the usual pushback, the reasons we can’t do it, why everything I’m suggesting is wrong, but instead, his expression softens.
“Fine.”
I hesitate, wondering if I’ve misheard him. “Fine?” I echo uncertainly. That’s it? He’s giving in just like that?
“Yes.”
I’m too slow to stop the wide grin that pulls at my mouth. Theo’s gaze follows it, a smile flaring to life on his own lips before quickly dying away. Something painful flickers in the depths of his blue eyes, then he drops his gaze to his polished Oxford shoes.
It’s like a punch in the heart. Not being able to celebrate the little wins. Not being able to enjoy working together anymore.
Not being able to kiss him.
My throat thickens with emotion, and I glance away.
“I need… paper clips,” I mumble, turning toward the supply closet at the back of my classroom. I don’t need paper clips. I need a moment to breathe. I need to not let him see how much this affects me.
I flick the light on as I step into the small, dusty room, taking a deep breath. I didn’t expect this to hurt as much as it does. Counting to five, I try to gather myself. There’s a noise behind me, and I spin around to see Theo entering.
What is he doing?
My heart trips when he carefully closes the door behind him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, expression agonized as he looks at me.
It comes out of nowhere, and I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know if he’s talking about school stuff or… something else. And I’m too scared to ask. To embarrass myself again.
“You texted me to apologize, Eleanor, and you shouldn’t have. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”
Texted him? That was two weeks ago. I exhale, trying to calm my drumming heart.
“I apologized because I overstepped, pushing you about last year’s fundraiser, when I should have kept my mouth shut.”
His brows slam down. “You had a right to know. And what you said to me…” he trails off, swallowing hard.
I look up at him in the confined space, studying the deep V stamped between his brows, desperate for him to say more, but he holds back.
“Why are you apologizing?” I hold my breath as the question leaves my mouth. If he tells me he regrets kissing me, I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle it.
But he just stares at me hard, his jaw clenched. The intensity of his gaze could melt metal. We’re so close in this tiny room, tension emanating off him in waves. Silence stretches between us, heavy and loaded with all the words we’re not saying.
I lift a shaking hand to push a strand of hair from my eyes, but he captures my wrist. Releasing it, he tenderly, carefully, brushes my hair back himself.
It’s the lightest touch, but sends electricity singing across my skin.
I suck in a ragged breath. His gaze darkens, falling to my mouth, chest rising and falling under his suit jacket.
And something in me breaks.
I don’t care that he’s my boss. That we’re in the supply closet in my classroom. That there’s too much on the line.
All I care about is that he’s not kissing me.
“You should be sorry,” I whisper, unable to keep the edge of anger from my voice.
His brow pulls low again. “Why?”
“You haven’t kissed me for two weeks.”
His brow smooths. Anxiety flickers in my gut as he gazes at me, saying nothing. That was definitely over the line. But he lifts his hand to my face. His thumb caresses my cheek, feather-soft, fingers cupping my jaw.
“I’m not supposed to want you, Eleanor.” His words come out in a rough, throaty whisper, and my heartbeat accelerates.
“I’m not supposed to want you either,” I breathe, hands gripping the lapels of his jacket.
I’m close enough to smell the sandalwood of his cologne, and brazenly push onto my tiptoes to brush my nose against his neck.
His breath catches. When I draw back, his eyes are dark and penetrating under hooded lids.
He swallows thickly, and I watch the muscles slide up and down under the silver stubble at his throat.
God, what I would do to this man if I got him naked.
Then his lips are on mine. I don’t know who initiates it.
All I know is that it’s right. There’s no hesitation this time, only pure hunger.
His mouth devours mine in a blistering kiss, hands on my waist as he backs me up against the shelves.
The feel of his hands through my dress sends a shock of heat through me, making me whimper against his mouth.
That only spurs him on, and he slides one hand into my hair, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss.
His mouth is greedy, demanding, insistent. So fucking hot.
“God, Eleanor,” he rasps, breaking the kiss to graze his teeth down my neck. The sensation makes me dizzy. Fuck, I wish he’d do that everywhere.
I fumble for his jacket button, freeing it so I can slip my hands inside, to his vest, his shirt, needing to touch his skin. I can feel his heat already, and I need more. He’s so damn buttoned-up that I can’t get close enough.
“I want to touch you,” I say desperately.
He lets out a low growl, hooking my leg over his hip. The feel of his large hand splayed across my thigh, the heat of his palm on my bare skin—it’s enough to make me crazy.
“Yes.” I rock my hips forward, needing to feel if he’s hard for me. A length of steel meets my center, and I moan. He’s so damn hard it makes me delirious.
“See what you do to me, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
My heart melts.
He grinds his hips against me, creating the most delicious friction, and molten heat rushes between my thighs. I’m so out of it that he could slide my panties to one side and enter me right here. I’d fucking let him. I need it.
But there’s a noise from my classroom, and we freeze. Reality presses in on us, suffocating and unwelcome, and he leans away from me with dark, wary eyes.
“Nora?” Juliana’s voice floats through the door, and I meet Theo’s gaze with alarm.
Shit.
Drinks.
I completely forgot.
Theo mutters something under his breath, reaching out to straighten my dress, smooth my hair. Buttoning his jacket, he glances at the door to the supply closet.
“You should go,” he says in his usual calm, level tone.
Disappointment drops like a stone into my stomach. How can he be so normal after that? I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten my own name.
He steps aside for me to exit, but his dark gaze locks on mine as I inch past him to the door. His hand reaches out to brush my cheek, taking me by surprise. I glance at him questioningly, but Juliana calls out again, her voice closer now.
“You in here?”
Panic flares in my chest, and I wrench my gaze from Theo, slipping out into the classroom.
“There you are.” My friend smiles. “You ready?”
I nod, face hot. She tilts her head, examining me closely.
“What’s up? You look weird.”
Guilt bleeds through me. What would she think if she knew what I’d just been doing? What her father had just been doing?
“I’m fine.” I paint on a smile, grabbing my bag off my desk and slipping my arm through hers, steering her from the classroom before the situation can get any worse. “Let’s go have a drink.”