Chasing Her Tail (2 page)

Bridget hesitated for a moment and then handed it back. “Sure. All his artwork will come home with him by the end of the year anyway. This will be one less thing to cram into his backpack.” She smiled at him and one side of his mouth curled up in response.

Bridget’s stomach squeezed again but, this time, it wasn’t from worry.

What the holy howling
fuck
was he doing?

Micah Foster shifted in the driver’s seat of his car, wondering for the five thousandth time that hour why he didn’t just drive away. The light was fading and his friend Laz was probably wondering where Micah was. He pulled his cell phone from the holder on his belt and hit a button.

“Yeah?” Laz answered after a few rings.

“Everything okay?” Micah asked.

“Fine and dandy,” Laz told him cheerfully. “The kid helped me work on the truck

’til we lost our light. We’re just making a manly supper now.”

“‘Manly’?”

“Hot dogs in the microwave with some processed cheese on top.”

Micah winced. “Could you at least give him some kind of vegetable?”

“Vegetable?” Laz repeated doubtfully. “Um, of course I’m giving him a vegetable.”

After a pause, he asked, “Does root beer count?”

“No. What the hell kind of vegetable would be in root beer?”

“I don’t know. Aren’t roots vegetables? Like a carrot or something?”

Micah groaned. “Never mind. I’ll just double up the healthy stuff tomorrow.”

“Ketchup!” Laz said triumphantly. “Ketchup is a vegetable! We’re definitely having ketchup.”

Micah heard Sam faintly in the background, announcing that he
loved
ketchup.

“Hey, Laz…” Micah trailed off, knowing that he shouldn’t even ask. He should just go to Laz’s house, pick up Sam and avoid a whole shitload of trouble.

“Yeah?”

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“Forget it. I’m leaving the school now. Should be there in twenty minutes.”

“Don’t hurry home on our account,” Laz told him. “We were going to watch a movie with cartoon bears or dogs or some shit in it—”

“Laz!”

“Oops, sorry.” Laz didn’t sound too contrite. “We’re going to watch a lovely film filled with upstanding moral values then. Why don’t you take the next couple hours and try to have a life? Go have a drink, find a hot babe and have some fun for once.”

“You’re expecting a lot out of two hours,” Micah told him dryly, although his heart accelerated at the thought of going out. What would it hurt?

“Whatever. Just so you know that I’m fine, the kid’s fine and we’re not even letting you in the front door until the last beaver or penguin or whatever has danced across my TV screen. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good, ’cause my hot dog’s getting cold and that makes the cheese rubbery. Later.”

“Thanks, Laz.”

Micah hung up the phone and saw Bridget Grace hurrying through the parking lot, her slight figure lit by the halogen lights that had just flickered to life a few moments ago. Micah’s entire body tightened at the sight of her.

His fascination baffled him—she wasn’t his usual type. He liked his dates taller, more muscular and…well, more male. He’d slept with plenty of women but he normally preferred men. There was a rough edge to the sex that drove him wild.

There was something about this teacher though, something that made him pay attention to things he never noticed—the way the classroom lights caught the highlights in the chestnut fall of her hair, or how she looked at him, her dark brown eyes intrigued and wary at the same time.

She made him hungry and eager to hunt.

She tossed her bag into the passenger seat of her car and climbed in. After she drove off, Micah counted to five and then started his own engine, pulling out of the dark corner space and following her taillights down the street, cursing himself the entire way.

“Happy now?” Bridget grumbled, thumping the empty shot glass onto the bar.

“Ecstatic!” Jodi laughed as she dragged Bridget toward the small square of a dance floor. “I can’t believe you actually came, much less had two drinks
and
a shot.”

Bridget’s swirling head was reminding her how unused to drinking she was. The dance floor tilted a bit and she closed her fingers around Jodi’s arm. Why had she decided to go to the Blue Donkey? She fuzzily thought it had something to do with Sam’s pretty, pretty uncle and the tingling heat his half-smile had inspired. After the conference, her stomach had been fizzy and her thoughts wouldn’t slow down. Since 10

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Bridget had known she would never relax if she went home, she’d figured she might as well head to the bar.

Now, however, with three drinks blurring her thoughts and the threat of having to dance looming in front of her, she reconsidered the wisdom of the idea.

“Come on,” Jodi urged, laughing as she started to dance. “Don’t freeze up on me now!”

Oh what the hell?
Bridget shrugged and joined in, amazed at how much better her dancing was after a few drinks.

Or maybe
, she thought in a panic,
I just think I can dance and there’s someone from
Girls Gone Wild
here with a video camera and I’ll be on YouTube and forever known as “that girl
who can’t dance” and—

“Hey, Bridget,” Jodi hissed, interrupting Bridget’s terrified train of thought.

“There’s a guy over there checking you out. A
hot
guy.”

“Does he have a camera?” Bridget blurted, spinning around as her eyes searched the crowd.

“What?” Jodi asked before shaking her head. “And real smooth there. You’re supposed to be stealthy and sneak glances over your shoulder. Haven’t you had a guy check you out before?”

“Um…” Bridget cocked her head and tried to think back, but the alcohol was holding her memory hostage.

Jodi laughed. “Never mind. I’ll do my appropriate wing-woman duty. Okay, very casually—and I stress
casually
—look over at the bar.” As Bridget’s head whipped around, Jodi sighed. “Yeah, you’re hopeless. Why don’t you just walk over and demand to know why he’s staring at you?”

Bridget saw him and blinked, not sure if he was real or just a figment of her alcohol-fuzzed imagination. When he didn’t disappear, Bridget concluded that he must be real.

As she started toward the bar, Jodi grabbed her arm.

“Kidding!” Jodi told her with a choke of exasperated laughter. “I was kidding!”

“What?” Bridget stared at her for a few seconds until Jodi’s previous words clicked in her brain. “No, it’s okay. I know this guy.”

“Really? You know the hottie already?” Jodi’s eyebrows shot up. “Aren’t
you
the cagey one.”

With a roll of her eyes, Bridget tugged free of her friend’s hold. “There’s nothing cage-like about it. He’s Sam Foster’s uncle. I just had a conference with him.”

“Oh.”

Bridget left a disappointed Jodi behind as she walked toward the bar. Mr. Foster was standing, one elbow propped on the bar in what appeared to be a casual stance. For some reason, Bridget didn’t believe he was as relaxed as he tried to appear. She could almost feel the tension drawing his muscles tight and the energy radiating from him.

He watched her as she approached, his gaze intent and serious, no friendly smile 11

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softening his expression. Bridget almost faltered, only the liquid courage of her previous drinks keeping her feet moving toward the man, who appeared bigger and bigger as she drew closer.

“Mr. Foster,” she greeted, feeling her cheeks flush as his name rose in a squeak. She cleared her throat. “Nice to see you again…um, so soon.” Her face grew even hotter.

Could she sound like any more of a dork?

“Micah.”

“Uh, actually it’s Bridget.” The second the words were out, Bridget closed her eyes, wanting to disappear on the spot. How dumb could she be? He was going to wonder if she had enough of a brain to actually teach his nephew. Her eyes flew open when Bridget realized she was standing in front of this man with her eyes shut. Now he’d think she was clueless
and
insane.

A half-smile kicked up the corner of his mouth. “
My
name’s Micah.”

“Right.” The abbreviated curve of his lips made her dizzy. “Micah. Hi.”

Then neither of them said anything and Bridget was pretty sure the awkward, wordless pause was worse than any idiotic thing she could say.

“So do you come here a lot?” she blurted and had to force her hand not to smack her head. Maybe the silence hadn’t been so bad.

Micah shook his head. Bridget watched, mesmerized. What a beautiful head.

Shaking herself out of her hotness-induced stupor, she once again tried to yank a conversation topic out of her muzzy brain.

“Taking advantage of having a babysitter, then?” she asked with the start of a smile, which fell away as a thought occurred to her. Maybe there didn’t
need
to be a babysitter.

Maybe there was a wife or a girlfriend or a boyfriend or—

“Something like that.” He shifted closer, just a tiny movement but enough to make it seem as if he were positively looming over Bridget. Looking up, her gaze was caught by his eyes, so incredibly green even in the dim bar lighting. She swallowed.

“Want to dance?” As soon as the words had fallen off her lips, Bridget wanted them back. Desperately. What was she thinking? With a sigh, she dropped her gaze to his chest and waited for the dismissal, the final blow-off.

Great
, she thought gloomily. The school year stretched in front of her, almost nine months of school carnivals and holiday concerts and conferences spent dodging the hot Mr. Foster out of sheer embarrassment. Hitting on a student’s parent—or guardian—

was a really, really bad idea. Why hadn’t she realized that five seconds earlier?

“Yes.”

Bridget blinked at him, his answer not sinking in for a long moment. When it finally penetrated, panic strangled her, freezing her in place. He moved forward until he was so close she could feel the heat radiating from him, an incredible amount of heat, as if he had a fever. His fingers, hot as a brand, closed around her wrist.

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The burn of his hand against the soft skin of her arm dissolved her bones and her will. She was willing to follow him anywhere with a single tug on her wrist.

“Actually,” Bridget croaked, panic forcing out the words, “this is probably a bad idea. I should go.”

Micah actually laughed at that, a harsh, short bark of sound. “Tell me about it.”

“What?” She hadn’t thought he could throw her any more off balance but he’d managed.

“I
know
this is a bad idea. One of the shittiest ideas ever, actually.”

Some of Bridget’s panic was shoved aside by indignation. “Well, it’s not
that
bad,”

she protested.

“Yeah it is,” he told her. Bridget realized he’d been nudging her toward the dance floor during their conversation and they were now standing in the dancers’ midst, the two of them an island in a churning sea of people.

“Fine,” Bridget huffed, stepping back and attempting to yank her arm free of his grasp. “I’ll take this half of the bad idea home.”

“No.” He tugged her wrist, pulling her toward him. Bridget was annoyed with how easily she complied, stumbling a few steps forward until she was pressed against his unyielding bulk. His arm wrapped around her back, pulling her tightly into him. She was so close she could feel his thigh muscles shift as he moved to the music, the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing quickened, the bulge of his growing erection against her stomach…

Bridget’s breath caught, threatening to choke her. “I can’t…” She trailed off, not even sure what she couldn’t do. The panic was back, fighting with the urge to give in and melt against him.

“Just dance with me,” Micah growled, his lips so close she could feel his breath against her ear.

“I thought you said,” Bridget managed to gasp, despite everything in her body wanting to shut up and obey, “that this is a bad idea?”

He’d grown even harder against her belly. Bridget shivered as her stomach dissolved.

“It is,” he murmured, his lips moving against the skin of her neck. Bridget shook with pleasure. Now that just wasn’t
fair
! How was she supposed to make rational decisions when he was doing that? “But that doesn’t seem to be stopping me.”

With that, he tightened his arm and ground his hips against her. Her brain went blank and Bridget gave in, her body, soft and compliant, molding to his. She gripped a fistful of his shirt in each hand, holding herself against him.

Micah smelled wonderful. As she rested her forehead against the unyielding strength of his chest, Bridget breathed in, trying to lodge his smell deep into her brain, lock it in so she’d never forget it. She marveled at the situation—held close to this beautiful man, smelling his beautiful smell, feeling the press of what felt like the most 13

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beautiful cock in the world. The most perfect moment she had ever experienced had snuck up on her, knocked her over the head with a club and dragged her away.

They moved to the music, more of a sway than actual dancing. Micah’s hands ran over her back, and the heat of his palms made her moan deep in her throat and tighten her grip on his shirt. He must have heard the low sound because a growl vibrated in his chest.

Bridget tilted her head back to meet his gaze. Desire tightened his jaw muscles and glossed his skin with sweat. His hair was tousled over his forehead and his eyes, so green they appeared to glow, peered through the fringe. He looked almost…wild.

Spooked, Bridget pushed back against his unyielding grip. She didn’t know this man. What was she doing, grinding against this almost-stranger in front of everybody?

“Let me go!” Panic edged her voice as he held on to her for an interminable few seconds.

“Bridget.” His voice was gritty, a coarse, guttural sound, but the underlying hint of a plea lured her in. She hesitated, meeting those hot and needy eyes, wanting so badly to give in, to be drawn back against his hardness and heat.

“Bridget,” he rasped again and she was lost.