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No way was she allowing him to do that
But before Katarina knew what was happening, Ben swiftly pushed up the loose leg of her jeans and exposed her knee. She saw him study the long railroad track of her scar, as well as the other jagged patches of scar tissue from where the bullet had ripped through the skin. Looking at it now in the firelight made even her a little queasy.
“It’s gross, I know,” she said.
But then he did the unexpected. He lifted her knee and he lowered his head. And with an aching sweetness, he kissed her leg. Not just her leg, every inch of her scars.
Katarina’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You—you don’t have to do that,” she said.
He lifted his head after planting one last feathery kiss.
“Yes, I do.”
Dear Reader,
I live in a small town. The other day I was walking my dog when I passed two neighbors deep in conversation. The man was a young German engineer whose company had transferred him to America three years ago, but who now was returning home. The other was a spry woman in her seventies, a former actress who taught drama. He was saying goodbye before leaving. “I hope you have something planned for the weekend,” he said sweetly. “Honey, I’m busy every day of my life,” she replied.
My first reaction was, only in a small town! Where else can people who’ve known each other forever or just a few years become so close? And where else can we gain snippets of wisdom while walking the dog?
I was delighted to bring the fictitious town of Grantham, New Jersey, to life in this story, as well as highlight a great community resource—adult education classes. I hope you will enjoy going back to school with me!
Tracy Kelleher
Falling for the Teacher
Tracy Kelleher
MILLS & BOON
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tracy sold her first story to a children’s magazine when she was ten years old. Writing was clearly in her blood, though fiction was put on hold while she received degrees from Yale and Cornell, traveled the world, worked in advertising, became a staff reporter and later a magazine editor. She also managed to raise a family. Is it any surprise she escapes to the world of fiction?
To Jan and John, for providing the perfect place to write, not to mention the inspiration of their dog Mickey.
A special thank-you to Katarina Sekacova, my expert in Slovak.
And in loving memory of my dad, my biggest fan.
CONTENTS
PREFACE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PREFACE
Six weeks earlier…
FROM OUTSIDE THE HOUSE, Ben Brown could hear the insistent ring of the kitchen phone. But Ben had more urgent concerns to address. Chief among them, breathing.
He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his forearm, bent over at the waist and sucked in oxygen, ignoring the stitch in his side. He had told himself that turning thirty-eight the week before had been no biggie—just another nonexistent birthday candle on a nonexistent birthday cake.
But if it was so inconsequential, why the hell was it becoming next to impossible to clock seven-minute miles on his daily run along the towpath? Father Time was a cruel son of a bitch. Not to mention, almost as irritating as the phone that continued to drone on, demanding attention like an early morning alarm clock.
Ben straightened up—breathing was becoming tolerable—and considered the situation. Only three people had his unlisted number: one, his housekeeper; two, his one remaining friend from his former job—may everyone else burn in their greed and sense of entitlement; and three, his lawyer. Ben always thought in terms of numbers. According to his ex-wife, that was his strength but also his failing. What had been her name again?
He shrugged and cocked his head toward the open upstairs window, toward the sound of the vacuum cleaner going in his bedroom. That could only mean Amada, his housekeeper, had showed up when he was out running. So much for possibility number one. As for option number two, Ben knew that his friend and partner, Hunt, was in Davos, theoretically skiing, but more likely courting Swiss investors for their new venture capitalist firm. He looked at his sports watch. Four o’clock in the afternoon, which would be ten o’clock at night in Switzerland, too late for Hunt to be calling. So it had to be his attorney.
Never a happy option if recent history was any guide.
Ben considered letting the call go to voice mail when he heard the vacuum cleaner stop. God knows he didn’t want Amada to get mixed up in his business. Quickly he pushed open the door, the wood scraping
