Read Desert Spring for Free Online Page A

sharp crash came from the kitchen. It sounded as if a goblet had hit the tile floor. As we all turned, Erin popped up behind the pass-through bar, looking like a jack-in-the-box in a maid’s uniform. With a sheepish grimace, she said, “Sorry, Miss Gray.”
    Apprehensively, I asked, “What was it?”
    Thierry appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping a glass with a dish towel. “It wasn’t yours, Miss Gray. Just some barware from the catering company. We always expect some breakage.” The brittle sounds of glass being swept into a metal dustpan affronted us from the kitchen. Thierry continued, “We’re finished now, except for the final cleanup. Erin will stay to tidy up the living room and patio, but the rest of us will be going. I hope everything was to your satisfaction.”
    â€œVery much so, thank you. Everyone had a wonderful time. I’ll be happy to call on you again.”
    Thierry bobbed his head. “I appreciate that, Miss Gray.” Then he retreated into the kitchen, and I heard the sounds of whatnot being hauled out the back door.
    Grant sipped his drink, telling Tanner and me, “One for the road.”
    â€œCareful,” I warned.
    â€œBah—had plenty to eat tonight. Let’s just call this a breath freshener.” He sipped again.

    Tanner moved to me from the bookcase, extending his arms. “How can I possibly begin to thank you?”
    I growled suggestively. “As if you haven’t thanked me a million times over. Tanner Griffin, how can I thank you ?” And we embraced, sharing an easy kiss on the lips.
    Grant strolled toward us, swirling the drink in his glass. He observed us for a moment, finger to chin. “My,” he said, “isn’t this a cozy picture? Not quite the typical teacher-student relationship.”
    Not quite, indeed. When I’d first met Tanner, just before classes had begun the previous fall, I’d recognized an attraction that was instant and mutual. I’d also recognized the questionable propriety of our rush toward intimacy, but ultimately, I’d been unable to resist it. By winter, he’d moved many of his things into my smallish condo, spending most of his nights there—the primary motivation for my purchase of a larger house. Now, of course, the move may have seemed unwarranted, as Tanner would soon be leaving, but I was enjoying my new home and was glad to have had an excuse to buy it. Win some, lose some.
    Grant clucked. “How old are you Tanner— half Claire’s age?”
    Focusing on me, Tanner paid little attention to Grant, answering, “Something like that, yes.” More precisely, at twenty-six, he was less than half my age. Shame on me. Hell, lucky me.
    Grant pattered on, “Though I must admit, Claire, I admire your taste in men.”
    I turned from Tanner, saying, “Thank you, Grant. And I’ve always admired your taste in men—to say nothing of your taste in real estate.” I made a sweeping gesture that encompassed our surroundings.
    Grant flopped a palm to his chest, humbled. “Why, thank you, doll. I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from the illustrious Claire Gray—among the brightest lights in the American theater.”
    With a petite, ladylike snort, I sat at one end of the leather-cushioned
bench that served as my sofa. “I’m a director, Grant, not a starlet. And now, I’m a teacher, of all things.”
    Tanner stepped to the bench, telling me, “I’ll have to side with Grant.”
    Grant nodded—so there.
    Tanner continued, “The name Claire Gray shines as bright as that of any star, onstage or off. When you left your career on Broadway and moved here to join the DAC faculty, you took a bold step that’ll help to shape the next generation of American actors.” He reached for my hands and brought me to my feet, adding, “And I, for one, am eternally grateful.” He