Just Like a Man (4 page)

"Alex," she cautioned. Unfortunately, her tony private school director voice carried nowhere near the impact of his father's. Probably because she wasn't a parent. And parents, she knew, still held more weight than school directors. More was the pity sometimes.

"Alex," his father echoed, "just promise you'll stop saying the kinds of things you've been saying, okay?"

Alex nodded, though whether in concession or simply to acknowledge that he'd heard his father, Hannah couldn't have said. What she also couldn't say was why she wasn't quite content with how the meeting had gone. In spite of Alex's cooperation, she felt no sense of problem resolution, couldn't quite convince herself that the boy's lying would now stop. She didn't know why, but she just wasn't satisfied with the outcome.

Then she made the mistake of looking at Michael Sawyer again, and the word
satisfied
took on a whole 'nother meaning altogether. Except that she still didn't feel it. On the contrary, looking at Michael Sawyer generated a potent mix of frustration and yearning that pricked every nerve she possessed and rubbed it raw.

She couldn't imagine any woman having irreconcilable differences with a man like him. The way he was looking at her now, and the fact that he'd been looking at her that way every time she'd glanced in his direction, made her wish she was the center of his attention every day. He was supposed to be focused on his son, but every time she'd looked at him, she'd caught him studying her. Oh, certainly he turned his attention to Alex when he spoke to him, but when he wasn't talking to Alex, he'd been homed in entirely on Hannah.

She told herself it was only because the two of them were in adversarial positions, so naturally he would be watchful, even intense. Yet there was nothing adversarial in his watchfulness. It was, however, intense. In fact, he had watched her in much the same way that a cheetah watches an aging wildebeest—though maybe that wasn't the best description for her to use for herself—as if he wanted to chase her, seize her, fell her, then consume her, methodically and thoroughly, enjoying every moment of the hunt and the pursuit, and savoring every last mouthful once he caught her.

And my, but it seemed warm in her office today. Hannah was going to have to talk to the custodian about her thermo-stat. The school one, she meant. Her personal thermostat was something to discuss with her doctor at her earliest convenience. Almost thirty-six was way too young for a woman to be experiencing hot flashes. Even if the woman in question had just had a man like Michael Sawyer enter her orifice.

Office,
she quickly corrected herself. Enter her
office.
She squeezed her eyes shut tight in an effort to banish the very idea of any of her orifices being entered by him. But the idea held a lot more appeal than she would have liked to admit, and she could tell right away that it wasn't going anywhere soon.

Wishful thinking,
she thought wistfully, training her gaze on one of the ornate bookcases on the other side of the room, instead of on Michael Sawyer. The last thing she needed to be pondering with longing these days was any of her orifices. Unfortunately, having gone without anything even remotely resembling a romantic relationship since moving to Indianapolis from Chicago two years ago, Hannah found herself wishing for a lot of things these days, not the least of which was the nearness of another human being now and then. Preferably a male human being. Preferably a warm male human being. Preferably a warm male human being with washboard abs. And bulging biceps. And an intrepid jaw, and chiseled features. And strong, potent thighs and a full, throbbing—

Well. Suffice it to say that, these days, her orifices were just languishing on the vine. To mix metaphors. Badly.

"Ms. Frost," Michael Sawyer said in his dark, enigmatic voice, tugging her back to the present.

Hannah made herself look at him again, but had to glance up to meet his gaze, because he was standing. And then she had to glance up some more. And then more. And then more. Boy, he was tall. So she stood up, too, hoping to minimize the impact or his height, but she still had to tilt her head back to connect with him eye-to-eye.

"Yes, Mr. Sawyer?" she said.

But he didn't say anything else at first, only continued to gaze down at her in a way that made her mouth go dry and other body parts go… Um, never mind. Then he smiled, a slow, cryptic, cheetahlike smile, and extended his paw—or, rather, his hand—to her. "Thank you for your time," he finally said, dropping his voice to a low, beguiling growl that made Hannah think of saxophones and red high heels and sultry summer nights.

It couldn't possibly be a good idea to touch him, she told herself as she eyed the proffered hand. Not when the summer night got more sultry and the red high heels started to tango and the saxophones began murmuring "I Got You Under My Skin," which sounded way too much like "I Got You In My Orifice."

Not wanting to be rude, though, Hannah accepted his hand, only to have it completely swallow hers at the first brush of her fingertips against his. Michael Sawyer's hand was nearly twice the size of her own, warm and rough and strangely familiar. Then she realized it wasn't his hand in particular that was familiar. It was simply the fact that it was so masculine, and somewhere way back in the darkest recesses of her memory, she recalled how nice it was to have big, manly hands skimming over her body. Michael Sawyer, she felt certain, would know exactly how—and where—to touch a woman.

Hastily, she withdrew her hand from his, telling herself she only imagined the way he tried to hold on to it for a fraction longer than was necessary. Or acceptable, under the circumstances.

"Hopefully, it won't be necessary for us to meet again," she said.

"Not under these circumstances," he qualified. And once again, she noted his fierceness. And his urgency. And his smoldering.

"Or any others," she made herself say. Then, to avoid sounding impolite, she clarified, "Save a few school-related functions. I'm certain Alex will be the picture of honesty from now on."

Unfortunately, she wasn't certain of that at all. But it wasn't until her office door clicked shut that she finally realized the reason for her uncertainty. Yes, they'd addressed the existence of Alex's inappropriate word-weaving. And yes, his father had told Alex that the things he had said were unacceptable. And yes, he'd made Alex promise to stop saying them.

But not once had Michael Sawyer conceded that Alex didn't tell the truth.

Out in the parking lot, Michael Sawyer paused by his Volvo sedan and ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair for about the billionth time since Alex's new school year had started. He eyed his son with much agitation. Alex had promised he wouldn't pull a stunt like this again. He'd
promised.
Granted, the kid was only nine years old, so maybe he didn't appreciate the magnitude of a promise the way Michael did. It was still no excuse. Nine years old or not, Alex had to understand how unacceptable his behavior was. Because if it didn't stop, Ms. Hannah Frost was going to… to… to…

Ah, hell. He couldn't make his brain go any further than
Ms. Hannah Frost.
Because the minute the woman's name entered his head, his brain shut down and other body parts took over. Body parts that had no business being in control, either, since they'd gotten him into trouble before.

He hadn't expected the director of the Emerson Academy to be so beautiful. So young. Not that he was competing with Old Man Time himself—his fortieth birthday was still two months away, dammit—but she couldn't be far into her thirties. Whenever he'd spoken with her on the phone, she'd always sounded clipped and inhibited and no-nonsense. So Michael had formed a mental picture of a pewter-haired, crew-cutted, persimmon-lipped, evil-eyed matron of extended years, whose disposition was harsh and joyless.

But even all buttoned up and battened down the way Hannah Frost had been, he'd been able to sense a barely restrained… something… simmering just beneath her surface. He hesitated to ponder exactly what that
something
might be, though, mostly because it made something equally
something
simmer inside himself. Instead of a gray crew cut, her hair had shone like pure honey in sunlight, the elegantly twisted style making him think it must be long and silky when allowed to flow free. And instead of evil eyes, she had the eyes of an angel, as blue and as big as the heavens above. And as for persimmon lips…

Oh, baby. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Hannah Frost's mouth had been as soft as the rest of her promised to be, full and lush and ripe. It had been way too long since Michael had kissed a mouth like that. And there were other things he could imagine that mouth doing, too. Things to him, in fact. Things
on
him, in fact. Things he
really
shouldn't be thinking about when his son was anywhere in the same ZIP code.

So instead of mentally undressing Hannah Frost, he made himself think about the way she
had
been dressed, an austere study in gray. The suit hadn't suited her at all, yet she'd seemed perfectly at ease wearing it. It was yet another puzzle he would doubtless spend hours ruminating about.

Because ruminating about Hannah Frost was as far as Michael would let things go with her. And that was more than he should be doing. She was one cool customer, to be sure. Too bad she didn't have the same cooling effect on him. She made his blood ran hot and wild, even after one brief, passionless exchange.

Damn. This was an unexpected development he certainly couldn't afford.

And what the hell did she think she was doing going anywhere near Adrian Windsor? Okay, so the guy sat on the board of directors of the Emerson Academy. After all, that was the reason Michael had been instructed to enroll Alex at Emerson. And okay, so to the casual observer, Adrian Windsor was a forthright, upright, do-right, citizen. Michael knew things about the guy no one else at Emerson knew. For example, he knew that his name wasn't really Adrian Windsor. It was Adrian Padgett. And he knew that Adrian was trouble with a capital
T.
And that rhymed with
D.
And that stood for
Dammit.

If Hannah Frost was involved with the guy, that was really going to cause some problems. And not just for Michael, either.

Later,
he instructed himself resolutely. He could think about that later. Because he
would
think about Hannah later. Over and over again. Mostly, he'd think about what she was wearing—or not wearing—under that starched-and-pressed suit.

Later,
he repeated to himself more adamantly. Right now he had more immediate problems to see to.

"Alex," he said firmly to his son, "why do you do this? Why do you say these things that you know aren't true? Why did you tell your friends all that stuff about me hacking into the computers of the Pentagon, the Kremlin, the United Nations, the World Monetary Fund and Toys 'R' Us? You know that's not true." He did his best to glare at his son. "I have
never
hacked into the computers of Toys 'R' Us. That was
you
who did that."

"But you did those other ones," Alex complained.

"The United Nations was a complete accident, and you know it."

"But the others—"

"The others," Michael interrupted his son, "are none of your business. And you wouldn't even know about them if you hadn't hacked into
my
files."

"But—"

"But nothing. I don't want to hear, ever again, that you're telling stories like these to your friends." He frowned. "I mean, c'mon. Twin sisters sold into bondage? Where did
that
come from?"

Alex had the decency to look contrite. He dropped his gaze down to the ground and halfheartedly kicked a chunk of asphalt with the toe of his sneaker. Obviously the Emerson Academy hadn't vacuumed their parking lot as well as they should have this morning, Michael thought wryly. He wished Alex could attend a school that wasn't so… so… so prissy and overpriced, the kind of school that normal kids attended. But even without his current assignment, he needed for Alex to be someplace like this. Michael was a security freak—for good reason, too—who needed to know his son was safe at all times. And Emerson, like Alex's last school, had a security system that put Fort Knox to shame.

It also had Adrian Padgett.

"I'm sorry," Alex said now. "But I never told anyone Susie and Lily were my sisters. I only mentioned them by name. And they
were
twins. A couple of the guys just assumed they were my sisters, and I guess I let them go on thinking it."

He glanced up at his father, and when Michael saw the earnestness in Alex's expression, he knew his son was telling the truth. Just as he always did.

"And I didn't say they were sold into bondage, either," Alex added fervently. "Just that they were taken against their will. I don't know how that part got messed up." He blew out a melancholy breath. "But I sure do miss Susie and Lily."

"They're guinea pigs, Alex," his father said, striving for patience. "And they weren't taken against their will. They moved to Pensacola with the rest of the Faradays next door."

"They wanted to stay with me," Alex said.

"They belonged to Timmy Faraday," his father reminded him. "Really, I think you should put the past behind you, kiddo."

"Oh, like you have?" Alex challenged him, his head snapping up again to meet his father's gaze.

Boy, Michael hated it when Alex did that. Not just because it put him on the spot, and not just because Alex reminded Michael of his ex-wife when he did that. But because it also emphasized how big his son was getting, and how quickly time was going by. Even though Alex had Tatiana's fairer coloring, he took after Michael in his features and his size. The kid was already nearly five feet tall. He'd be in double digits on his next birthday. Man, where had the past nine years gone?

"My past is none of your business," Michael told his son decisively. "And you wouldn't even know about it if you hadn't decided to do a little snooping in my files. I'm not kidding, Alex," he stated emphatically. "You have to forget everything you saw there. We have a good life here in Indianapolis, and there's much to like here. Let's not screw it up."