Dean's List

'Then it must have been a very happy first.' She forced herself to smile and kept her gaze on his name at the top right corner and not devouring the words he'd written. Did he remember her…remember anything?

'It's been a long time,' Dan said. 'We used to be neighbors.'

He did remember! But how much? How fondly? Student, younger. 'I remember.' She sounded like one of the breathless teenagers who used to stalk him. 'Hard to forget the best yard worker I ever had.'

He smiled. His gaze landed on her mouth. 'You made the best lemonade.'

'Secret family recipe,' they said together, then chuckled. It was Countrytime Lemonade and they both knew it.

The tiny bit of camaraderie chased some of her nervousness away.

'I know a great place that has the best ice cream,' he said. 'Want to go grab a cup with me and we can catch up?'

Leigh did want it, more than she could say. She also wanted to retreat into her shell before each of them revealed too much, before one of them got hurt. She shuffled all the papers together and somehow managed to keep her gaze on him. 'I'm so sorry. College policy forbids any type of fraternization between student and teacher.' And right now those rules were the protection her heart and body needed.

'Ah, I see.' Dan nodded. 'Well, see you tomorrow.' He headed toward the door and lifted a wave her way. She waved back while guilt burrowed under her skin.

His had been a friendly gesture. She'd been making something out of nothing. She was pathetic…and horny. Thank goodness she hadn't been stupid as well. Still, rules were rules and even overtures of friendship had to be set aside to avoid possible conflicts of interest at the college.

Leigh reached for the stack of papers Lois handed her way, but her eyes kept drifting to those words Dan had written. Words she couldn't wait to savor in the privacy of her home. Words she prayed would be horribly written, illegibly scrawled, so she could find some flaw to crush her raging hormones.

Chapter 3

Midnight and Leigh had yet to read Dan's paper. It was the last of the bunch, resting in the center of her brick red kitchen table…waiting. Vegas lights weren't as bright as that white rectangle of presumably innocent paper.

She paced the floor, eyeing it while she sipped a second glass of chenin blanc. Or was it her third? Second, since the heat thrumming in her pussy had yet to quell. A third glass would have numbed everything. Presumptuous on her part to think the words were written just for her-well, technically they had been since it was her assignment that had set the ball in motion.

It was his invite to have ice cream. Old acquaintances catching up. He'd been a kid at the time, and Leigh a young woman. It was a gesture of friendship. Like asking someone out for coffee. Why was she making something out of nothing?

Because it was ice cream. Sweet, cool, make all your cares go away ice cream. The kind of feeling she was supposed to be getting from this wine, but wasn't. It could have only meant more if he'd invited her out for lemonade. Temptation niggled at the corners of her resolve and steered her toward a path Leigh shouldn't take.

A shiver rattled through her. Leigh brushed away the explosion of goose bumps. The image of an Adam's apple bobbing with each thirst-quenching gulp didn't help. She tried to superimpose teenager Danny on it. Grown up, hot as hell Dan refused to disappear.

'This is ridiculous,' she muttered to herself. She was making something out of nothing.

Leigh stabbed the papers with one finger and pulled them nearer. The words sank into her pores.

The first time I saw her, my world changed. She was the light, all that would ever be. My breath, my hope, the path I'd take on the long road to manhood. It was because of her I realized the type of man I wanted to be and, more importantly, the type I didn't want to be. Although, if truth be told, I'd have to give credit to my dad and older brothers for setting a good example for me as well. From them, I learned respect and teamwork. Love was a given-at least in our family. I learned yet again that fateful summer others weren't as fortunate, and it damn near broke my heart.

Leigh's hand shook as she flipped the page. She steadied herself with another sip of wine. It didn't help. She couldn't get a good breath. One part of her continued to fear reading on; another part couldn't wait to read the next word.

She was blonde with eyes that said, 'I love you.' Big eyes that could swallow a person whole, if that person had a decent soul. I've been sucker for blondes with big eyes ever since…more or less. Even I have standards, which I admit are fairly easy to please when it comes to dogs. I was six years old. She was the runt of a litter of eight. I named her Goldie. Go figure.

Leigh laughed. It was the dash of reality she needed. She remembered Goldie very well. The little cock-a-poo followed Dan wherever he went.

More firsts came with the responsibility of adopting my little canine friend. I'd like to say I cherished every one, but I was only six years old. Goldie forgave my missteps. I forgave hers-never leave Star Wars action figures out where a pup can chew them. Goldie taught me that sometimes the best course of action is retreat. That when all else fails, take a nap. That you've got to take the time in life to sniff the grass. She'd fight a grizzly if she thought I was threatened. Truth is, I would have fought one for her. One thing I couldn't fight for her was old age.

Tears welled up. Leigh knew where this was going. Her heart clenched at the memory.

When you spend every minute with someone, it's easy to miss the subtle changes that occur. That's how it was with Goldie. She looked thinner. I realized she'd drink a lot, but food didn't seem to set well anymore. By the time we realized she was sick, it was too late. She was close to ten years old. I was on the cusp of being sixteen, caught in between a kid and a man. I did what any man would do for someone he loved; at least I'd like to think so. Goldie passed on in my arms. The last words she heard were me telling her how very much I loved her. And then I cried, harder than I thought it was possible for anyone to cry.

Leigh let her tears fall unrestrained. The emotion was raw and fresh, even for someone who hadn't been there.

Goldie's loss hit the whole family hard. Friends, too. She was a much-loved pup. We scattered her ashes throughout the neighborhood, hitting all the places she loved to visit with me. The grief stayed. It was another blonde with big eyes who helped me get through it. She kept me busy that summer. She let me share my grief and get it out. Lemonade and long talks. Backyard barbeques and ice cream sundaes. My friend, my confidante, my advisor, my strength. She was friendship and love, married to a man who was everything but.

I cursed the day he revealed his true self. I'd never wanted to hurt a person more and I was seconds away from going over there myself to let the son of a bitch have it. But she found them first. I felt her pain, then felt her power and cheered her on. I knew then this was a woman to cherish. The kind of woman who'd fight grizzlies for someone she loved and wouldn't take shit from anyone. The kind of woman I'd want for myself. What I didn't realize was that I'd be walking back into her life years later. It was the first time all over…only better.

I couldn't tell her then how much she meant to me, how much she influenced my life. I didn't have the words then or the life experience to know how to tell her that. But I have it now and I'm going to tell her, because there's one other thing Goldie taught me-never miss an opportunity. This is mine.

Leigh stared at the words and tried to figure out exactly what they meant. The bold strokes rolled across the paper in homage to her, thanking her for the friendship they'd once had.

The kind of woman I'd want for myself.

Why did it feel like Dan was staking a claim on her? Why did she want him to? Her body ached for possession. To be swept off her feet and laid out for loving. Fingers and lips seeking out those places longing for attention. Holding her captive and…