Crap. The Maybelline bottle lied when it said “natural finish.” I fold my hands in my lap to keep them away from my face, but I can feel myself blush, drawing more attention to the evidence. “I don’t think so.”
He leans a little closer. “It is.” His gaze becomes more scrutinizing, and I feel trapped in this tiny space. Recognition flashes in his eyes and a smile tugs at his mouth. “Makeup. You never wear makeup.”
“I’ve got a date after school,” I blurt.
Oh my God, just shoot me. I don’t even know where that came from. I’m a total basket case, putting on makeup to attract a potentially married man, then telling him I have a date. Talk about mixed signals. I’m even confusing myself.
He nods slowly and his honey eyes turn a shade darker as they regard me, lingering a long heartbeat over my glossed lips. “You look . . . nice.”
“You don’t sound too sure about that,” I say, feeling three parts self-conscious and one part defensive.
He tips his head a little and hesitates before saying. “If he thinks you need it, he’s wrong.”
“What?”
“Your date. You don’t need makeup. You’re beautiful without it.”
My stomach flips and I can’t form a coherent thought.
He clears his throat and looks past me out the window. “I’ve never been in the ocean.”
I’m thankful beyond words for the sudden change of topic. “Neither have I . . . at least past my knees.”
He gives me a curious tilt of his head. “Where did you grow up?”
“In the same house I live in now.”
His eyes grow wider. “In Port St. Mary?”
I nod.
“So, how have you never been swimming in the ocean?”
“Just never felt like it,” I say with a shrug, trying to play it off as no big deal.
“So it’s your first time too.”
There’s subtle innuendo in his voice that sends a shudder through me. But then I realize it had to be wishful thinking. He’s spoken for.
“No, actually. The teachers aren’t allowed to go in.”
If the fact I’m a terrible liar didn’t give me away, the glance he shoots at Theresa, who’s in a cover-up over her one-piece swimsuit, does. “Really.”
“Okay, no. That’s a lie.” Finally I give in and cover my face with a hand. “I just—”
“She’s got a shark phobia,” Theresa offers, and I’m not sure if I’m more mortified that she exposed me, or that she was eavesdropping.
Rob turns back to me and quirks an eyebrow. “So you’re sending your fourth graders to the slaughter while you remain safe on dry land?”
Theresa points at Rob. “Exactly what I said!”
Rob smiles and there’s that dimple again. My heart stalls in my chest. The smile is still in his eyes when he turns them back on me, deep pools of warm honey that I want to sink right into. He leans closer and says low in my ear, “You don’t trust me to protect you?”
I breathe a shaky sigh at both his words, and his warm breath on my cheek. “How do I know you wouldn’t sacrifice me to save yourself?”
Instantly, his gaze changes. The storm is back. “You’re perceptive,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “I’m generally an ‘every man for himself’ kind of guy.”
There’s a sadness in the storm that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen there before.
“So, what else are you scared of?” he asks, his expression returning to a practiced neutral.
You. The thought skitters through my head and I can’t deny it’s true. His intensity is intimidating. But it’s more than that. He impairs my judgment and makes it hard to think straight. He intoxicates me just by his presence. I don’t make good decisions when I’m under his influence. I say things I shouldn’t. But as I stare past the deep pools of his eyes, I see what he’s hiding behind all that intensity. He’s hurting. His pain is like a battle scar. And again, I can’t help but wonder if it has to do with the death of his parents. Mom’s death still haunts me, even if her spirit doesn’t.
“Public speaking,” I answer, because I can’t tell him anything I was just thinking.
He barks out a laugh. “Interesting career choice.”
I cringe a little. “It’s different with kids.”
A cynical smile curves his lips. “Because they don’t listen to anything you say anyway?”
As he says it, he leans in a little and his arm presses against mine, and there go my synapses, short-circuited by his touch.
I shake my head a little harder than I mean to. “That’s