Just Like a Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

promised he wouldn't pull a stunt like this again. He'd
promised.
Granted, the kid was only nine years old, so maybe he didn't appreciate the magnitude of a promise the way Michael did. It was still no excuse. Nine years old or not, Alex had to understand how unacceptable his behavior was. Because if it didn't stop, Ms. Hannah Frost was going to… to… to…
    Ah, hell. He couldn't make his brain go any further than
Ms. Hannah Frost.
Because the minute the woman's name entered his head, his brain shut down and other body parts took over. Body parts that had no business being in control, either, since they'd gotten him into trouble before.
    He hadn't expected the director of the Emerson Academy to be so beautiful. So young. Not that he was competing with Old Man Time himself—his fortieth birthday was still two months away, dammit—but she couldn't be far into her thirties. Whenever he'd spoken with her on the phone, she'd always sounded clipped and inhibited and no-nonsense. So Michael had formed a mental picture of a pewter-haired, crew-cutted, persimmon-lipped, evil-eyed matron of extended years, whose disposition was harsh and joyless.
    But even all buttoned up and battened down the way Hannah Frost had been, he'd been able to sense a barely restrained… something… simmering just beneath her surface. He hesitated to ponder exactly what that
something
might be, though, mostly because it made something equally
something
simmer inside himself. Instead of a gray crew cut, her hair had shone like pure honey in sunlight, the elegantly twisted style making him think it must be long and silky when allowed to flow free. And instead of evil eyes, she had the eyes of an angel, as blue and as big as the heavens above. And as for persimmon lips…
    Oh, baby. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Hannah Frost's mouth had been as soft as the rest of her promised to be, full and lush and ripe. It had been way too long since Michael had kissed a mouth like that. And there were other things he could imagine that mouth doing, too. Things to him, in fact. Things
on
him, in fact. Things he
really
shouldn't be thinking about when his son was anywhere in the same ZIP code.
    So instead of mentally undressing Hannah Frost, he made himself think about the way she
had
been dressed, an austere study in gray. The suit hadn't suited her at all, yet she'd seemed perfectly at ease wearing it. It was yet another puzzle he would doubtless spend hours ruminating about.
    Because ruminating about Hannah Frost was as far as Michael would let things go with her. And that was more than he should be doing. She was one cool customer, to be sure. Too bad she didn't have the same cooling effect on him. She made his blood ran hot and wild, even after one brief, passionless exchange.
    Damn. This was an unexpected development he certainly couldn't afford.
    And what the hell did she think she was doing going anywhere near Adrian Windsor? Okay, so the guy sat on the board of directors of the Emerson Academy. After all, that was the reason Michael had been instructed to enroll Alex at Emerson. And okay, so to the casual observer, Adrian Windsor was a forthright, upright, do-right, citizen. Michael knew things about the guy no one else at Emerson knew. For example, he knew that his name wasn't really Adrian Windsor. It was Adrian Padgett. And he knew that Adrian was trouble with a capital
T.
And that rhymed with
D.
And that stood for
Dammit.
    If Hannah Frost was involved with the guy, that was really going to cause some problems. And not just for Michael, either.
    Later,
he instructed himself resolutely. He could think about that later. Because he
would
think about Hannah later. Over and over again. Mostly, he'd think about what she was wearing—or not wearing—under that starched-and-pressed suit.
    Later,
he repeated to himself more adamantly. Right now he had more immediate problems to see to.
    "Alex," he said firmly to his son, "why do you do this? Why