Loving a Prince Charming - By Danielle Monsch Page 0,37
with emotion. “That’s good to know. But my point is, it’s been very good for the village, growing like we have. There’s even talk of building a school. I won’t believe it until I actually see it, but it would be a dream to be able to teach somewhere other than McGrudy’s barn and not have to worry about stray farm animals trampling over any lesson books or staying in the section where the roof doesn’t leak on rainy days.”
He stopped loading wood to look straight at her. He had ice-blue eyes, so pale that in some lights they almost appeared colorless. She had heard them referred at various times as “unholy,” - “demonic,” - or even “scary as shit,” - but when he looked at her with the full force of his gaze, all it engendered in her was a desire to whimper and bare her throat in submission. “You want to teach boys like the two from today?”
“I want to teach boys and girls, and all boys are idiots at that age.”
From the way his jaw tightened, Nissa would bet her best dress he was grinding his teeth. “Any others upsetting you?”
Oh no. Overprotective Benton spread a warm glow through her body, but she could not let him go on a terrorizing spree against the teenage boys of the village. Though the fathers of the teenage girls would be supportive, Nissa might find herself out of a teaching job if her students were afraid to be around her. “I can deal with my kids. Part of growing up is testing boundaries, and boys can be a little aggressive during that time. It’s nothing unusual or worth getting upset over. Weren’t you?”
“Couldn’t be.”
With those words Benton’s voice went beyond flat to almost lifeless. There was a story not being told. Nissa prodded. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged, going back to the wood pile. “I get aggressive, bad things happen.”
Definitely a story, but not a good one, and not for today – not when they had a picnic spread out before them that she’d been looking forward to all week. Nissa finagled herself between him and the woodpile and gave a teasing smile up into his scarred, grim face. “I have brought absolutely delicious food for us to enjoy together, and I am not going to let you work anymore while I’m here. Go get cleaned up so we can eat.”
He looked down at her, and though his features didn’t change, his eyes brightened, the heavy burden he carried dissolving for the moment. “Will you read to me after?”
“Of course I will, though I’m still waiting to hear when you’re going to read to me like I’ve been asking you to do for months.” She placed her hands on his arms and stretched upwards, going on tip-toe to add a few inches of height. “Please Benton.”
Since she was the one who had taught him how to read, he couldn’t use illiteracy as an excuse, but he had come up with every other possible reason not to fulfill her request. For someone as straightforward as he was, it was almost impressive how cagey he became in his efforts to avoid the subject.
His eyes widened the barest fraction before he turned away. “You have a beautiful voice,” he said and, not waiting for a reply, walked to the little lake behind his house.
Nissa was as rooted to the earth as the great maple trees behind her. Benton had never complimented her in such a direct manner, and she had no idea he liked her voice. There was nothing special about it. It wasn’t too squeaky or too growly, and when she sang cats didn’t join in, but those weren’t exactly qualities to brag about. Yet, he called it beautiful.
Her cheeks were so warm she used her cool palms to lessen the heat, and only when her hands touched the enflamed skin did she realize she was smiling. Enough of that, Nissa. You are not a schoolgirl.
Yet she couldn’t force the smile from her face the rest of the day.
And now the day was ending as it often did, with them sitting against a thick oak a few feet away from the lake’s edge while Nissa read. Today’s selection was love sonnets at Benton’s request, the eloquent, sometimes naughty verses stoking Nissa’s longing for the man whose head now lay in her lap.
One hand held the book while the other stroked his thick, dark hair. As she finished reading the last sonnet, she