Romance: Young Adult Romance: The Perfect Game (A Highschool Football Romance) (Bad Boy Nerd New Adult Romance) (23 page)

He closed his eyes, trying desperately not to touch her. What he felt wasn't
right,
and he was painfully aware of it.

''Yes. Back and raring to go.'' He wanted to tell her he hadn't had a drink for a week and that he'd
actually
decided to sculpt something again. But she didn't have to know how low he'd sunk. All she needed to see was how much he wanted his star student to win. ''Is that the beginning of it?'' he asked when he saw a clay model.

''Yes, that's the base
for
the cast. But I can't get it right.''

They looked at each other. Each full of lust and longing. He turned away and took a deep breath. He put his satchel on the desk and rolled up the sleeves on his checked shirt. ''Show me,'' he said, sitting down at his desk. ''Show me what you're having difficulty with.''

Marcella sat on her stool and picked up a knife. ''It's the proportions of the mouth and eyes. They aren't right.'' He got up and walked to the table.

He leaned to the sculpture and looked at it. ''A bit out of sync, you're right. Do you want me to show you how to get it
correct?
I'll get hung, drawn, and quartered if anybody knows I've helped you.''

''I want you to kiss me,'' she said desperately. She'd seen his
vulnerability,
and now he was showing her his strength and she wanted it all. He'd used a new
aftershave,
and she loved the scent of it. She imagined him between her open legs, thrusting into her, making her scream. ''Please kiss me,'' she said when the silence became too long.

''No, I can't. You're a wonderful woman. But I'm your tutor. We
can't....
'' She took hold of his arm and pulled him to her. He felt her breath on his face and smelled the fragrance of her hair. She knew he
was aroused
. He was standing, she was sitting. She could see it.

''Kiss me, I want you.''

''Arrrrghh,'' he cried. He pulled away, his back to her. His erection large and throbbing against the material of his trousers. ''I can't........I want to......but I can't.''

Marcella didn't
want
to push him further. ''Sorry. I shouldn't have asked you
to.
I apologize.''

When he turned back to her, she saw he was still hard. ''Come and show me what you meant, I will behave myself,'' she said.

He showed her the correct technique and told her she should start again.

''But it'll take ages if I start again.''

''You have to learn to destroy
bad
work and start again.'' He looked at her hair, shining in the sunlight that was streaming through the classroom window. Her bottom was hanging over the edge of the
stool,
and again he felt the need to turn away and sit behind his desk.

''Okay, I'll start again.'' He sat and watched her, entranced by the concentration on her face, the way her hair hung down her back and the way her legs wrapped around the stool.

''That's enough for today,'' he said. ''We can do some more tomorrow. After college.''

''I thought you said you couldn't help me,'' she smiled. He winked at her and pointed to his nose, in a keep it secret gesture.

That evening Peter lay in bed and tried not to fantasize about Marcella, but it was impossible. Never before, not even when he'd first met his wife, had he felt so hopelessly in love. 
He
was fearful he wouldn't have the strength to keep his hands from her. He hoped she'd change her mind and find a younger man.

*****

A week passed. A week in which Peter and Marcella spent late afternoons and evenings working on the sculpture. Only the caretaker saw them, and he had no idea that Peter wasn't supposed to be helping her. There were three days left until submission
day,
and the sculpture
was finished
.

Marcella smiled, sat back and stretched her arms above her head. She looked at Peter. ''Thank you. For all your help.''

''Do you know you saved me?'' he said.

''From what?''

''Alcoholism and myself. You gave me my motivation back.''

She got up and hugged him. It was a
hug
like the others had been. An innocent thank you. But it burst the dam Peter had built. He thought he'd managed to prevent his feelings from smashing through, but when she wrapped her arms around him, it all crumbled.

He leaned down and kissed her. Full on the mouth. He lifted her up and sat her on her desk as they continued to kiss passionately. He wanted her to tell him to stop. But she didn't. They were in a rush. She pulled his shirt from his trousers and unfastened his belt while his fingers undid all the buttons
on
her blouse. He slid her skirt up to her waist and tugged her panties down. She pulled his trousers and
shorts
down and reached for his penis. She gasped when she felt how hard he was.

He tried to stop. In his
mind,
he was in a meeting with the Dean. He was
being fired
for gross misconduct. When she felt him pulling away, she pulled him back by his penis and placed it at her entrance. ''No going back. I need you inside me. Push into me.'' He did. She gasped and threw her arms around him.

There were no frills, no preliminaries. Just
raw
passionate sex. An outing of sexual tension that had simmered for days and finally boiled over. The force of his thrusts threw her across the
desk,
and he had to pull her back to him. She clung on, breathless, as he took them to the summit. When Marcella reached
orgasm,
she bit
into his shoulder
to prevent herself from screaming. Her pleasure turned into
his,
and she slapped his buttocks when she felt him flowing into her.

*****

The Earl spat the toast out of his mouth. His wife gave him a disgusted look. ''What on earth are you doing?''

''Having a bloody heart attack. Look,'' he said holding up the Daily Record.

Charlotte read the headline.

Earl's Daughter Sculpture Queen.

He began to read the article to her. ''This year's National Sculpture Competition has been won by Marcella Horner, daughter of the Earl of Harwood. Never in the history of the competition has the prize been won by a unanimous committee vote. However, Miss Horner managed to convince all twelve judges, that her bronze statue of an owl, was of such a high technical standard, that none of them voted for any other entry.  Miss Horner is a student at the National Academy of Arts in London.''

The Earl put the newspaper down and looked at his wife. ''You're a fool,'' she said. ''An old fool. Go to your daughter and beg her to forgive you.'' He nodded.

*****

The Dean's office was plush. It was almost like stepping back into the Victorian era. The Dean sat behind a large mahogany desk and scowled at Peter. When Peter looked at the walls, he felt the eyes of many former Deans looking in a disapproving fashion at him.

''Peter, do you know why I called you to see me today?'' He leaned forward, peering at Peter over his reading glasses.

''I'm not
really
sure, no.''

''What is your relationship to Miss Horner?''

''I am her
tutor,
and I must say our relationship is cordial.''

The Dean put his hand to his temple and rubbed. ''Cordial,'' he repeated. ''I will tell you what I know, and you will then have the chance to deny or confirm it. Someone saw you having sex with Miss Horner. In your classroom, of all places. What do you say to that?''

Who'd
seen them? They'd been careful. How did he know? ''Who told you that?''

''It doesn't matter. All I want to know is whether it's true or not?''

''Miss Horner and I are in love. And yes we had sex in the classroom. In fact all over her workbench and it was bloody fantastic.'' The Dean's eyes widened. He'd expected Peter to deny it.
To play for time.
He hadn't expected such an outing of honesty.

''You know what that means don't you?'' the Dean asked.

''I assume you're going to suspend me and then fire me.'' The Dean nodded. ''Well, you'd better get on with it.''

When Peter left the Dean's
office,
he called Marcella. When they met at the Blue Boar on Chester Street, Peter took hold of her hand across the table. ''I've
been suspended,
and I'll be fired soon.''

''Someone saw us?'’ she asked. Peter nodded.

''I was bullish in front of the Dean, but now I'm scared. I don't have another job to
go to
. I'll be broke soon.''

''You know since I won the competition, I've been inundated with commissions. It seems the whole world wants a Marcella Horner sculpture. Just before we met, the Times called. They
want
to do an interview for the Sunday magazine. My phone's red hot.'' Peter beamed with pride. ''I want
you,
Peter. Maybe some people disapprove, but we're both adults.'' She squeezed his hand and leaned
across the table
to kiss him. He closed his eyes and felt himself getting hard at the smell of her perfume. ''Come with me to my barge and stay. It looks like I'll be able to keep us both for a while. Why don't you start sculpting or writing?''

Marcella sipped her wine and wondered why Peter was only drinking water. Peter didn't want to drink alcohol again. He’d been dangerously near the edge, but now he had something more important in his life than booze.

''Shall we go?” Marcella asked.

He whispered to her. ''Only if you promise to take me to your bedroom and wear me out.''

''That's
exactly
what I had in mind.''

After the most
strenuous
love making
session Peter had ever known, he pulled her to him and put his arms around her. Her hair fell over his
chest,
and he loved the feel of it. She
was covered
with
perspiration,
and he leaned down and licked her neck. She giggled. ''Salty,'' he joked.

''Jesus,'' Marcella cried.

''What?''

''My father.''

''Where?''

''Outside. I just saw his face through the porthole.'' She jumped out of bed and put on a robe. ''Stay here. I have no idea what he's doing here. He never comes here.'' Of all the times, he would have to show up now, she thought.

''Hasn't changed at all,'' the Earl said, looking at what used to be his mother's boat. ''You know she bought this barge after father died. We all thought she'd gone mad. But she loved it.''

Marcella handed him a cup of tea. ''What do you want?'' she asked.

He looked at her. She was beautiful, as beautiful as his wife. ''I want to say sorry.''

Marcella swallowed hard. ''You want to say sorry? That's not at all like you.''

''I read about
your
success in the newspaper.''

''Ah, now I'm successful you're interested all of a sudden?
Well,
it's too late.''

''I was wrong. I don't know what else I can say.''

''How about I love you. I've never felt loved by you.''

The Earl looked shocked. He wasn't able to show his love for
her;
he never had been able to. But he did love her. He'd had some misguided notion that she should enter a profession. He'd ignored her feelings. ''I do love you. All I wanted was the best for you. Now I can see I was wrong.''

''You were,'' Marcella wasn't going to let him off very easily.

''Why don't we start again?'' he asked.

''I don't need to try. You do.''

He laughed and turned his cup around. ''Okay. Will you let me start again?''

Marcella wanted to hurt him more, but she wasn't able. A grin came over her face. ''Alright, daddy,'' she said. She hadn't called him that for a long time.

''This is for you,'' he handed her a white envelope.

''I don't need your money now.''

''I know you don't. Open it.''

Marcella read the letter inside. ''Really? It's not a joke?'' she asked.

''No. The Marcella Horner Foundation of Sculpture is something I came
up with
. I hope you don't mind.''

''Mind? How could I mind?''

''I've managed to get charitable status for
it,
and I've bought a building in Ealing. I thought we could give disadvantaged kids the chance to learn to sculpt. All the smaller details need
finalizing,
but I've put a million of my
own
money into the fund to get you off to a start. We'll need a manager.''