Misconduct

  My breath caught. God, I’d missed her.

  Her skin glowed, and her rose lipstick made her lips look plump and edible.

  Corinne closed the door behind her, and I blinked, regaining focus as I tried to force nonchalance.

  “You coming to my office can’t be a good thing,” I teased, remembering the last time she’d been here.

  She clasped her hands behind her back, looking vivacious and flirty. “I missed your birthday this weekend,” she pointed out. “And I wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”

  A smile played on her lips, and I leaned back in my chair, taking her in.

  “You look beautiful,” I told her. “How’s school?”

  She leaned forward, placing her palms on my desk and pinning me with a smirk. “Wouldn’t you rather have your present, Mr. Marek?”

  My pants instantly got tighter.

  Jesus.

  I cleared my throat and played the game with her. Looking her up and down, I simply shrugged. “I’m not seeing it. Where is it?”

  She stood upright and held my eyes, the blue hue of her gaze turning sensual and dark. She slowly began unbuttoning her coat, and my cock immediately stiffened with need for her.

  She pulled the coat off, letting it slide down her arms, and then she dropped it on a nearby chair.

  My lungs emptied, and I suddenly felt starved.

  She wore black stockings with lace trim, a black necktie around her neck, and absolutely nothing else.

  I groaned as I took her in. The beautiful olive skin of her hips and upper thighs looked soft and smooth, and I wanted my mouth on her flat stomach and full breasts. Her nipples were hard, and her hair floated across her chest, making me want to bury my hands in it.

  “Just my size,” I said in a low voice.

  One corner of her mouth turned up. “Oh, this isn’t your present,” she admitted, turning around to take something out of the coat pocket.

  My eyes landed on her ass, and I saw the little bruise she still had from the pool table.

  Looking up, I saw her tear off a piece of duct tape from a roll and meet my eyes. “This is.” She gestured to the tape. “No backtalk.”

  And she placed the strip over her closed lips and batted her eyelashes at me.

  I started laughing, loving her ingenuity. If only she knew how much I really loved her mouth.

  She rounded the desk, stepped out of her heels, and straddled me, slowly lowering her body down and resting her arms over my shoulders.

  I reached out and ran both hands up her sides, kneading her skin, unable to help myself.

  She moaned behind the tape, and I threaded my hand in her hair, grabbing a fistful of it and burying my lips in her neck.

  But then I stopped. I let my forehead fall to her chest, wondering what the hell I thought I was doing.

  Christian.

  He came first. He had to come first.

  And this would hurt him.

  I was thirty-six. What was I doing with a twenty-three-year-old teacher who taught my son?

  I couldn’t have this no matter how much I wanted it. Brynne was right. I was a mess.

  Looking up at her, I saw the question in her eyes. She was wondering why I’d stopped, and then she ran her fingers across my forehead, pushing away the hair that had fallen forward, and I knew that I was in too deep with her.

  I would hurt her, disappoint her, and throw away any chance with my son along the way.

  I dropped my hands to her hips and gripped them hard, my resolve ready to cave, because I didn’t want to choose.

  Sitting back, I raised my weary eyes and slowly peeled the tape from her mouth.

  “I’m sorry. I have a meeting,” I told her. “I don’t have time.”

  She sat still for a few moments, probably trying to figure out if I was really kicking her out when she knew I just wanted to keep her here.

  I’d never not had time for her.

  And that was the problem. I’d put her before everything else.

  She rose off me, looking everywhere but at me, and walked around the desk, slipping on her coat as fast as she could.

  I tightened my hands into fists, feeling like everything inside of me was hollowing out.

  She turned to leave but then spun back around. “If you’re pushing me away, just say it. Don’t leave me guessing.”

  I clenched my teeth together as I stood up and forced a glare. “I said I have a meeting,” I bit out. “I don’t show up in the middle of your workday, do I?”

  Her eyes widened, looking surprised. “Tyler” – she held up her hands – “when a naked woman sits on your lap, offering herself up, you take it. And if you can’t – for whatever reason – you at least say sweet things to her. I can’t believe I —”

  “You want to know why I’m aggravated today?” I grabbed my phone and brought up Twitter. “Look at the negative comments on the tweets you’ve been telling me to post,” I shot out. “And this morning someone wrote a blog post calling me ‘immature’ and ‘unprofessional.’ ”

  I tossed my phone down on my desk, feeling like the walls were closing in. She blinked several times, and I could tell she was caught off guard and hurt.

  “You’ve also gained just over five thousand new followers in the past couple of weeks.” Her voice cracked. “The more you put yourself out there, the more negativity you’ll see. That comes with the territory. I was trying to help.”

  I planted my hands on the desk and steeled myself, forcing my eyes to stay on her despite the hurt I could see in her eyes. “I didn’t want your help. I just wanted you in bed.”

  She pulled back, instantly straightening her posture.

  The pain on her face disappeared, her expression turning to stone. “I see.”

  She looked just like the Easton at the open house. The one who was cold and distant and far away from me.

  “I guess I’ll see you, then,” she said, sounding cordial.

  But this was goodbye.

  I nodded, forcing myself to meet her eyes. “Yeah.”

  She turned and walked out, and I immediately shot out from behind the desk, ready to go after her. But I stopped myself, planting my hands on the desk and bowing my head, trying to calm myself.

  Fuck.

  I wanted her.

  I needed her!

  I slammed my fists down. “Goddamn it,” I growled under my breath.

  “She really is gorgeous,” I heard behind me, and I recognized Jay’s voice. “Just don’t do it at the office, okay? Be more careful.”

  I brought my head up, scowling at him. He must’ve seen her leaving.

  “Relax,” I snapped. “It’s over.”

  “Why?” he challenged, actually looking concerned. “You were definitely happy. I don’t see anything wrong with it as long as you’re both discreet.”

  He slipped some file folders onto my desk, and I shook my head, unable to admit to my brother what I could barely admit to myself.

  I looked forward to her. More than anything else.

  And I couldn’t put her first anymore.

  TWENTY-TWO

  EASTON

  T

  he cool breeze blew down St. Ann, and I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying its caress in my hair.

  Laurel’s “To the Hills” drifted like a heartbeat through my earbuds, and I soaked in the sun and the wind blowing my off-the-shoulder blouse against my skin.

  I’d been strolling all day, playing tourist and enjoying the atmosphere that I rarely took the time to experience even though I’d lived here for more than five years.

  It was funny. I’d woken up this morning with a list and a plan. Clean the inside of the stove, work out, and then research field trips for my classes, since we’d been discussing so much war history, and New Orleans had some wonderful sites to visit.

  But when I’d gotten dressed, I’d realized I wasn’t in the mood.

  I’d crumpled up the list, tossed it in the trash, and grabbed my little b
ag, which now hung at my hip with the strap across my chest, and walked out of the house.

  I took a streetcar to Canal and hopped off, disappearing into the Quarter.

  Around the corner from St. Louis Cathedral, with its madness of artists, musicians, and palm readers, I traipsed a block or two to Maskarade, a little shop I’d discovered last Mardi Gras when I was searching for my first mask.

  I wasn’t interested in the gaudy souvenirs sold in the French Market or tourist shops. I’d wanted handmade work by real mask makers, and I’d always intended to come back, perhaps to start building a collection for my wall.

  When I stepped in, the rough wooden floors creaked under my sandals, and the woman behind the counter smiled at me before returning to her paperwork.

  That was one thing I liked about New Orleans.

  Merchants didn’t jump on you the second you walked into their establishments.

  Masks covered all of the walls but were divided into categories. Leather to the left, then animal-inspired masks and feathered work to the right. Many of the masks were styled simply for male customers, while others were jeweled, glittered, and ornate for even the most audacious buyer.

  “It’s almost Halloween,” I told her, looking around and seeing the place empty. “I thought you’d be busier.”

  “It goes in spells,” she explained. “Mardi Gras is the really busy time.”

  Yeah, I could imagine. I couldn’t believe it was only about four months until the next carnival season began.

  Nearly a year since the first time I’d met Tyler.

  And – I let my eyes drop for a moment as I walked around the shop – it had been more than a week since the last time I’d talked to him.

  I’d seen him – once.

  He’d picked up Christian last Monday from school, and even though I wasn’t sure, because I’d refused to look for him, he was most likely there every day this week to get his son.

  I’d smiled at the parents, wished the students a good afternoon every day when they left, and returned to my classroom, closing my door and blaring Bob Marley as I worked late and didn’t think of him.

  Or tried not to think of him.

  But then I’d see the bra in my drawer that no longer had matching panties and remember that they were left in an alley in the Quarter. Or I’d wake up hot, the sheets chafing my naked skin, and let myself fall apart, wishing my hands were his.

  He was right, though. What we were doing was careless and selfish.

  I turned back to the clerk. “Where are your metal masks again?” I asked.

  She pointed behind me. “Through there on the left wall.”

  I saw the French doors in the middle of the room and gave her a small smile. “Thank you.”

  Walking into the next room, I gazed at the walls, all adorned with masks, much like the first room, and went straight for the small selection of metal masks they carried. Some looked very much like the one I had purchased here last winter, but that was another perk of this place. No two masks were alike.

  I picked up an ornate gold one, shining with crystals built into the center part that sat in the forehead. Along the sides, curling designs traveled up both temples, and exotic eyes gave it an erotic look, like a mixture of sex and mystery.

  A smile I actually felt crept out for the first time in a week.

  I loved the black one I’d worn all those months ago. I didn’t know where I would wear this one, but I was buying it.

  I picked out a mask for my brother as well, since he had mentioned he had a Halloween ball to attend for his new internship at Greystone Bridgerton, letting her wrap both up and bag them before heading back up to Canal to catch a streetcar.

  It was after three in the afternoon, and even though I hadn’t accomplished anything useful today, I’d promised Jack I’d make him dinner.

  The only things he cooked were Hot Pockets and scrambled eggs.

  Carrying my bag, I walked under the fragrant lilac tree in my quiet neighborhood and crossed the street to my apartment.

  But as I jogged up the steps to the porch, I slowed, seeing my front door open.

  What the…?

  Fear attacked me, slicing across my chest like a giant claw, taking everything in its grasp, and I instantly backed up, stepping down the stairs.

  But I locked the door.

  I remembered locking it, because a neighbor had greeted me, and I’d turned around to say hello before clicking the lock and jiggling the door handle to make sure it was secure.

  I shook my head. No. I am not going through this again.

  I charged up to the door, pushing it open with my hand.

  “Who’s here?” I shot out, trying to keep the shakiness from my voice.

  Air rushed in and out of my lungs as I quickly scanned the room, looking for any movement. The interior was dark. I’d turned off all the lights before I’d left, but the day’s last light was coming through the windows.

  “Who’s here?” I shouted again, dropping the bag to my feet. “Come out right now!” I dared.

  The cabinets, the window, the shower curtain… They weren’t my imagination or lapses in concentration.

  Someone had been coming into my house.

  I forced down the lump in my throat and inched into the foyer, searching the area for anything out of place.

  And then I widened my eyes, seeing the pile of wreckage in the center of the living room.

  I rushed for the debris and fell to the floor, the skin of my knees burning on the area rug.

  “No,” I gasped.

  Someone had broken into my house, and they’d known right where to go.

  My shoulders shook as I cried silently.

  My treasure box – the one Jack worried about – lay shattered on the floor, its contents scattered about and ripped to pieces.

  I squeezed the scraps of papers in my hands, feeling the agony that I’d felt all those years ago when I’d locked them inside the box.

  Chase.

  All of his letters. His threats. Everything he’d sent me after my parents fired him as my coach. Everything they’d hidden from me.

  After they died, I’d found the file in their home office with his “love” letters to me. From the dates, he’d been mailing them since he was fired.

  I’d found them and read them, and my instant reaction was to want to self-destruct. They made my skin crawl and made me hate my parents for never pressing charges. They’d confiscated my phone not long after the stalking began, and also cut off my e-mail, so these letters were the only proof of what he was doing. Hard proof to give to the police. Why keep this from me instead of using it to protect me?

  How could they have read these letters – some of them disgusting and perverted – and not done anything?

  And then I remembered that they were dead because of me – because of what I’d done that night – and I didn’t want to be rid of the evidence.

  Jack would’ve burned them, but I kept them locked in this box, never opening it and yet keeping it in plain sight, as a constant reminder of what losing control of your own life does to you.

  Never again.

  “Easton?” I heard a voice come from behind me.

  I forced a deep breath.

  “Easton,” Jack’s voice repeated. “What the hell happened?”

  “You need to leave,” I demanded, hurriedly taking the handfuls of paper and stuffing them into my arms.

  “Easton, what are you doing?” He stopped next to me, but I ignored him.

  Dropping to his knees, he grabbed a piece of paper and studied it as I took my armful to the kitchen to find a gallon bag to keep them in for now. This pile of trash had kept me on a straight track for five years.

  “Easton, stop!” Jack called. “How did you get these?”

  I charged back into the living room, grabbing more scraps from the floor, pushing the pieces of wood out of the way to get every bit of paper.

  “Easton.” Jack grabbed my arm. “You can’t kee
p them!”

  I pulled away, gritting my teeth as I marched back into the kitchen and stuffed everything in bags.

  But Jack dove around me, taking the bags out of my hands.

  “Leave me alone!” I shouted.

  “Like hell!” he bellowed. “You’re not keeping all of this. It’s sick!”

  My whole body felt tight, and I growled, shoving at his chest.

  But he just dropped the bags and pulled me into his arms, wrapping them around me.

  I instantly closed my eyes and shattered.

  My chest shook, and I collapsed against him, sobbing. “Jack, please,” I begged.

  “I’m sorry, Easton,” he nearly whispered, and I could feel his short breaths as his chest shook. “I’m so sorry.”

  I hated this. My brother had suffered enough. Suffering he shouldn’t have had to go through if it weren’t for me, and here I was again, center stage with the drama.

  No more.

  I pulled away, pushing at his chest to distance myself. “I don’t need to be taken care of.”

  I stared up into his eyes and narrowed my own, forcing my tough outer shell into place. “Stop worrying about me and stop interfering,” I demanded.

  And I circled around him, picked up the ziplock bags, and ran upstairs.

  On Monday I left school after the bell, having changed into my workout clothes, and crossed into Audubon Park for a jog. It was something I did every Monday and Wednesday, but instead of hanging around school a few extra minutes like I’d done the last week in some pathetic hope that Tyler would seek me out, I just left.

  I’d spent the entire day yesterday filing a police report about the break-in, and then I’d cleaned the house from top to bottom, removing any trace that someone had been in my home.

  This morning, before I’d left for school, I’d remade my bed twice, checking the corners, and then checked to make sure the windows were locked and all of the cabinets were closed.

  Four times.

  I’d pushed my car locks eight times, and I’d counted my steps into the school.

  And then I’d sat down at my desk and laid my head in my arms, crying my eyes out before first period, because I didn’t want to be scared anymore.