she thought, in the next instant. That was an easy-out explanation, but she somehow knew it wasn’t true. It had been a man-woman thing, a sensuous something, that was disconcerting, to say the least.
Joe Dillon was one of those dangerous men who oozed blatant masculinity by doing nothing more than standing there. He was the type who had to beat women off with a stick. Oh, yes, Joe was very, very dangerous.
Polly settled onto a folding chair, smiled politely at the people on either side of her, then nodded her thanks to Joe as he set Jazzy’s cage on the floor in front of her. She folded her hands primly in her lap and plastered what she hoped was a pleasant, professional expression on her face.
Only then did she realize she was seated directly behind Joe, where he was now standing at the microphone on the table.
My, my, Polly thought, such delectable scenery. Coach Dillon certainly did have a nice tush, and those long, beautifully muscled legs weren’t too shabby, either. The man just didn’t quit. He had it all, from head to toe.
Oh, goodness, there was that heat again, only this time it was traveling in the opposite direction, swirling low within her. This would never do. She didn’t have reactions like this to men she’d known for about three seconds. She didn’t have reactions like this to men she’d known for three years.
Enough was enough. She was going to quit staring at Joe Dillon’s buns and get herself back under control.
Slowly and admittedly a tad reluctantly, Polly shifted her gaze to the side wall of the building, where a huge, snarling head of a bear had been painted with vivid yellow and blue colors. Beneath the bear was the blockletter word Grizzlies.
That must be the school mascot, Polly thought absently. The Abraham Lincoln Grizzlies. How nice. The years in high school were such fun. But then again, maybe they weren’t for the kids in this neighborhood. That was a depressing thought.
“Polly want a cracker?” Jazzy said.
“Shh,” she whispered, nudging the cage with her toe.
Joe fiddled with the papers he’d picked up from the table, then cleared his throat.
Lord, he thought, he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. When his fingers had slid over Polly Chapman’s, heat had rocketed up his arm, then slammed into his lower body.
That wholesome-looking, freckles-on-her-cute-nose woman had had a potent impact on him. He wasn’t accustomed to things like that happening to him, and he didn’t like it, not one damn bit.
Cripes, Polly wasn’t even his type. He didn’t keep company with women who looked like they could be a model for a box of cornflakes. He dated savvy gals, the single scene game players who knew the rules. No one got hurt, and a good time was had by all.
Enough mental talking to yourself, Dillon, he thought. If he didn’t get this show on the road, he’d have a mutiny on his hands. The natives of Lincoln High were definitely getting restless.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, speaking into the microphone, “settle down, please.”
“Bring on the Bird Lady, Coach,” a boy yelled. “We want the Bird Lady.”
The students cheered and stamped their feet, obviously in favor of the hollered request.
Oh, dear heaven, Polly thought, the building was going to fall down. All those stamping feet pounding on the bleachers was creating a deafening roar. Well, Joe Dillon, who must coach something or other, better not make her speak before the others, because she had absolutely no idea what to say.
“Chill,” Joe said, slicing one hand through the air. “Now.”
Silence fell so quickly it was as though someone had pulled the plug on a boom box.
“All right,” Joe said. “This career day is being presented for you, and I respect the fact that you should have some say in how it’s conducted. Therefore, please welcome Ms. Polly Chapman.”
Joe turned and smiled at Polly, who glowered at him and stayed glued to her chair. Joe closed the short distance between them and bent over slightly to speak to her.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “If I try to cram this program down their throats they’ll tune out from word one. You’ve peaked their curiosity and that’s terrific.”
“Terrific?” Polly said, raising her eyebrows. “What am I supposed to say?”
“Just tell them what you do and the kind of training it required to be able to do whatever it is you do.” Joe shrugged. “Wing it.” He chuckled. “That wasn’t a pun, Bird Lady.”
“Cute,” Polly muttered.
Joe smiled his best hundred-watt smile, picked up Jazzy’s cage and returned to the table, placing the cage in front of the microphone.
“Oh, dear, dear,” Polly mumbled, getting to her feet.
Joe stepped back to allow Polly access to the microphone. Polly moved to the table, then out of the corner of her eye she saw Joe settle onto the chair she’d vacated.
Her eyes widened as she remembered the clear view of Joe’s tush she’d had while sitting in that chair. She was going to have enough difficulty talking to this rowdy audience without knowing that Joe Dillon was probably indulging in a thorough scrutiny of her bottom.
Polly spun around. “You can’t sit there.”
“Why not?” Joe asked, confusion evident on his face.
“Because you’re making me nervous by sitting there.”
“Why? A chair, is a chair, is a chair.”
“Shoo,” Polly said, flapping her hands at him. “Go somewhere else.”
Joe planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself to his feet.
“Yes, ma‘am,” he said. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Polly said, then turned back to the microphone.
Joe sat down again in his chair.
“Good morning,” Polly said, sweeping her gaze over the students. “I’m Polly Chapman and I’d like to thank you for inviting me here.”
Ho-ho, Joe thought. No wonder Polly was all in a flutter about his having taken up residency in her chair. The pretty lady had executed a perusal of his butt, and figured he’d do the same to her.
How right she was.
And what a nice, feminine bottom Ms. Chapman had.
An instant later Joe frowned as he felt that heat again, that damnable heat, coiling deep and low within him.
This was ridiculous, he thought, with self-disgust. His body was reacting to Polly Chapman the way one of his students with a hormone rush might.
He wasn’t a randy seventeen-year-old,
