The Back-Up Plan by Debra Webb Page A

lips. She had really nice lips. “Is he an exceptional player?” she asked, continuing her interrogation.
    Hank shifted and ran a hand over the late afternoon stubble on his chin. “Not particularly. He’s a hell of a runner. I—”
    “Let me see your hand.”
    The demand caught him so off guard that he almost drew back a step. “What?”
    She moved in closer and took his hand. “Did Stevens do this to you?” With a touch whisper soft, she traced the bloody bite mark on his finger.
    How in the hell she aroused him by just touching his hand was beyond comprehension. “I tried to keep him from hurting himself, but I—”
    “So you let him hurt you instead?” Her gaze lifted to his.
    God, she smelled good. The idea that the lovely brown-eyed doctor had already betrayed him once in the span of their short acquaintance punched him in the gut.
    “I’m fine,” he muttered, pulling his hand from her grasp.
    “You should wash your hands thoroughly and use some antiseptic.” She studied him for a moment before turning toward the door. “Good day, Mr. Bradley.”
    Hank watched her go. His frustration expanding with every step she took. Why had she gone to Masters? Would she report this incident to Masters as well? If she just didn’t like him, he would learn to live with that; but making things worse for him with Masters, Hank couldn’t tolerate. He had to know. “I have a question of my own, Dr. Jacobs.”
    She paused and turned back to him. “Yes.”
    Another few seconds and she would have been out the door. He shouldn’t have stopped her. But he had. There was no turning back now. Half expecting her to run, he strode to where she waited and glared down at her. He knew one sure fire way to make a person spill their guts—intimidation. He had a feeling that male aggression tripped this doctor’s trigger quicker than anything else.
    “Why didn’t you tell me what you’d done?”
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her gaze never wavered from his, though he knew exactly how threatening he must look at the moment looming over her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back—”
    “We had a deal.” He purposely kept his voice low and ominous and took a step closer. “And you didn’t hold up your end of the bargain.” She was intimidated now. He saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty...or maybe guilt.
    “Mr. Bradley, you’ve evidently been out in the sun too long this afternoon. Or perhaps the incident with the Stevens boy affected you more than you realize. Whatever the case, I’m convinced you’re not thinking straight. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
    “I’m talking,” he pressed, “about Melissa.”
    “What about Melissa?” Outrage swept away all signs of uncertainty or guilt. “Your note said she was doing fine.” She nailed him with a challenging glare of her own. “I strongly recommend you get to the point of this senseless conversation before I walk out that door.”
    “You took your complaint to the principal after you agreed to work things out with me.” He took yet another step, putting himself in her personal space now.
    “You’ve lost your mind. I’ve never met the principal.”
    “Right.” Hands on his hips, he leaned in, his face only inches from hers. His pulse raced. His body hummed with desire now rather than irritation. “I guess that’s why I got called into her office and warned that you were considering removing Melissa from my classroom.”
    “The only person I said that to is you, mister.” She punctuated her statement by jabbing him in the chest with one perfectly-manicured finger.
    He grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him. His other arm curled around her waist and before he had the good sense to stop himself, he pressed his lips to hers. Then nothing else mattered. Soft and sweet. She tasted good. His heart hammered, wanting more.
    Her hands flattened against his chest, he felt her feeble attempts to push away. He held her