Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1), Babette Jongh [books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT] 📗

The studio phone rang, but I didn’t answer, being too busy pumping the plunger into the toilet like a person possessed. It was either that or hit the child over the head with it, and I didn’t think her parents would appreciate that, no matter how much she appeared to need it or some similar form of correction.

The phone stopped ringing, and moments later I heard footsteps on the stairs. The door at the top of the stairs opened and shut, and a chorus of excited voices informed the visitor, “The toilet overfloated! It overfloated! Miss Casey stuck her hand in the potty water!”

I blew out a sharp breath, shook my head to get the wildly waving hair out of my face, and stood to confront Ian. Holding the plunger in front of me like a sword, I warned him: “Don’t say a word. Not one word.”

CHAPTER NINE

Ian stopped in the middle of the studio foyer and held his hands up in surrender. “I know better than to confront an armed and angry witch.”

I wilted in relief, because he wasn’t angry even though his desk must be soaked. He came close, pushed the toilet plunger aside and took me in his arms. “This has been a horrible day,” I muttered into his shoulder. “And it’s just barely started.”

He cupped the back of my head and caressed the base of my skull with his thumb. Oblivious to the crowd of little girls surrounding us, or the fact that we were standing in almost an inch of potty water, I closed my eyes and leaned into him.

“I’ll take care of this,” he offered with a light kiss on my forehead. “You go back in and teach your class.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. I stepped back, near tears.

He rolled his shirtsleeves back, revealing tanned, muscular forearms that would have made my mouth water if I weren’t about to dissolve into a pitiful crying heap.

“Go on,” he urged, taking the plunger. He seemed to know that the least amount of comfort would have me blubbering like a fool, so he turned away, tossing the last comment over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Okay.” I sniffed back my silly tears and herded the girls back to class. “Make a circle, and sit criss-cross-apple-sauce. I’ll be back in two seconds.” I ducked into my private dressing room, washed my hands and feet, put my ballet slippers back on, and made it back into the classroom in one-point-five.

At the end of class, parents collected their children, and while I had a quiet word with Amber’s parents about the recent incident, the next set of girls trickled in. Leaving a trusted ballet-mom in charge for a minute, I peeked out into the foyer. The floor was dry. I ventured to the bathroom door. The floor in there was clean and dry, too, and the air smelled faintly of bathroom cleaner. I flushed the toilet, and watched the water swirl right down.

At the end of my last class, I felt Ian’s presence and looked over to see him standing in the doorway with shower-wet hair, butt-hugging jeans and a flimsy sweatshirt. I ushered all the stragglers out the door, then stopped in front of Ian feeling tentative and unsure of myself in a way I never had before. “Hi.”

He drew me into his arms, drew my tongue into his mouth and sucked, as if he was unbearably thirsty and I was the drink he craved. His kiss was hot, hungry, possessive. His hands roamed my back, slid down to cup my backside, then pulled me up against the hard bulge in his jeans. He didn’t stop kissing me until my lips were swollen and tingling, my mind incoherent.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, just like that.

“I’m glad you’re back,” I responded, offering a truth of my own. “Do you want to come to my house for dinner?” What I would cook, I had no idea, but I didn’t want to wait through an entire evening at a restaurant just to have him to myself.

“Oh, yeah,” he answered in a pretty good imitation of a southern drawl. “You could tempt me with food... or anything else you’ve a mind to tempt me with.” He smiled, and I was speared once again by his movie-star good looks. This guy was gorgeous, and before the night was over, I’d have him in my bed.

I knew it because of the confident sexuality that radiated from him.

I knew it because I wouldn’t be able to resist him even if I wanted to.

I knew it because the sparkle in his eyes warned me: this time he’d be fully prepared.

“What are we waiting for?” I rubbed my hands up his strong arms, twined one leg around his legs, unable to behave like anything other than a cat in heat. I went up on tiptoe, squashed my breasts against his chest and slid my tongue along the seam of his sensuously curved lips.

He kissed me again, hard and quick, then looked over at Lizzie—whose presence I had completely forgotten. “Come on, Liz.” He snapped his fingers, and Lizzie moved faster than she’d ever moved at my command. Ian rewarded her with a quick caress, and she gazed adoringly at him all the way down the stairs.

I was just as enthralled as she, both of us completely taken in by him.

Ian drove us home and waited in my living room with Lizzie and a glass of Cabernet while I took a shower. Though I’d washed my hands (and my feet) after the toilet escapade, I still felt nasty from stirring around in the potty and couldn’t wait to wash myself from head to toe.

Okay, that’s not strictly the truth.

Ian smelled wonderful, and I wanted to be clean and good-smelling for him, too. Because I knew tonight would be our first night together. Because I wanted him to be at least as bowled-over by me as