Learning Pleasure

Fiorella is at the National Romance Writers of America conference in New York. While she is there, you're invited to sample the beginning of one of her novels. LEARNING PLEASURE has won two writing contests and placed in two others.


Chapter One

“How do you do, Mr. Graham,” Ann said, holding out her hand and hoping he wouldn’t take it.

Neil Graham was exactly the sort of man she tried to avoid: tall, handsome, and charming. But handsome is as handsome does, and twelve years ago she had learned not to trust handsome any further than she could throw it. And Ann wasn’t too fond of height either. Risking a quick glance upward, she realized that the top of her head would barely reach his shoulder.

He shook her hand briefly and smiled, revealing a dimple in his right cheek. “I’m delighted to meet you, Ms. McCoy. You’re my son’s favorite teacher. He talks about you all the time.” He winked. “I think he’s got a crush on you.”

“He--he’s a darling boy,” she answered in a tight voice, jerking her hand away before she had a full-blown panic attack.

Better to seem rude than crazy. She readjusted her heavy, black-framed glasses on the bridge of her nose and backed up two discreet steps.

He smiled again, as if encouraging her to smile in return, but she had long ago disciplined herself not to respond to masculine smiles, dimpled or not.

Neil Graham was a looker, all right. Her artist’s eye appreciated his regular features and springy, dark mahogany hair, even as she noted how well that white polo shirt and casual corduroy jacket showcased his wide-shouldered build. Women probably drooled all over him, she thought, but not her. She’d sooner cut her throat than try to attract his attention. In fact, as far as she was concerned, attracting Neil Graham’s attention would be the same thing as cutting her throat.

Her visitor glanced around the room, frowning slightly. Assuming he was offended by the tabletops covered with cardboard tubes and extravagantly turreted castles in mid-construction, she lurched into a garbled apology. “I’m sorry for the mess. The glue smells terrible and I haven’t had time to tidy up anything yet . . . ”

Again the dimpled smile. “I wasn’t looking at the tables, Ms. McCoy. It’s where we’re going to sit that concerns me. This may take a while, and I don’t think either of us would be comfortable on these pint-size chairs.”

She almost did smile then, picturing him trying to fit his long, tall frame into one of the student chairs. His knees would probably touch his nose.

“I--I have a visitor’s chair at my desk, and I’ve got a stack of Aidan’s artwork up there for you to see.”

Damnit, Ann, get hold of yourself.

Walking away from him without waiting for a reply, she pushed her way through a display of colorful animal-shaped piñatas dangling lower than she’d thought they would from criss-crossed lines strung from wall to wall. She moved quickly so her visitor wouldn’t get too close. Then, picking up the drawings from her desk, she turned to hand them over to him.

God! He was right behind her, close enough to touch her. Barely stifling a shriek, she dropped the pages all over the floor.