Angel sent the compliment silently across the space between them. She smiled with satisfaction when his gaze met hers, and he faltered over his words.
His eyes were extraordinary—an intriguing shade that hovered between gray and green. Occasionally when he hit a favorite topic, his eyes would glow and the green would turn to a bright emerald.
Abandoning her notepad, Angel rested her chin against her palm and studied the young history teacher. He was as blond as she was dark. Tall and muscular, he always dressed professionally. Today he’d worn her favorite combination, a denim shirt and khaki pants. He looked, she thought idly, just like she liked her men to look.
Immediately the sheer absurdity of the thought struck her and she laughed out loud.
“Angel, perhaps you’d like to share with the class what you find so amusing about nerve gas usage during the Vietnam War.” Jake Weston quirked his eyebrow.
Angel groaned to herself. Even though she was twenty-six and not eighteen years old, she still refused to look foolish. Angel thought quickly. “That they had the nerve to use it?”
Laughter filled the classroom. Jake Weston’s lips twitched, but his expression was stern.