"OK, bye, guys! I'll see you tomorrow. And Camilla, text me about the weekend."
Elizabeth waved to her friends and began to walk down the pavement to her house. It was about a half hour walk and under any other circumstances, she would never have walked it, but her father's car had gone for an MOT, so even he was housebound today. Mum was at work and had a meeting so couldn't pick her up and her older brother, James, was in Oxford in his second year at uni. She was the youngest in her family and the only one still in secondary education, albeit a private school.

She paused outside the school's main entrance, wondering whether they'd bother to call and pay for a cab, but she sighed and thought the better of it, shuffling around in her bag for her purse, which seemed to be non existent. Sighing, someone caught her eye as they walked down the steps of the entrance and she took no notice. It was Mr Harkness. He was her English teacher and the youngest member of staff. Twenty five years old, he was also taken to be the most handsome member of staff. Well, it was an all-girls school. They were desperate. He had been assigned the badge of 'hot teacher' when the girls had found out that not only was he soulful and literary, but wrote poetry, had his own band, was a captain in the RAF, flew his own plane and…wait for it…wore a uniform. His looks did no harm, of course. He had thick, dark hair and warm blue eyes, which, when coupled with his strong, manly build, easily made him the most muscular and attractive man in college. His light American accent curled around his words and the lazy, careless way in which he reclined decadently on his chair, kicking his legs up onto the table, did no harm to his sex appeal. He wore fitted Ralph Lauren polo shirts and tight blue jeans which always caused the girls in the corridor to mutter surreptitious compliments about his arse. Elizabeth remembered what had happened today.

Ellie had been standing in the corridor with Elizabeth's friend, Catherine, when Mr Harkness walked past, bag slung over his shoulder, height full and manly.

He ran a hand through his sexily messed hair which allowed the girls a breeze of his heady aftershave. He truly was the epitome of walking sex.

"Oh, my God, just look at his arse! Does he even know how hot he is?" muttered Catherine in exasperation to Ellie. Mr Harkness walked past with a sexy chuckle.

"Yes, Cathy, I do have a very tight ass, I know," he said with a smile.

Catherine stared at him in shock.

"Thank you for complimenting, I'm very flattered. Now you're late for class, come on. I'm waiting to be the Heathcliff to your Cathy."
All the girls around her exploded in screams of 'oh, my God!' as Jack walked off, winking teasingly at her. She fainted promptly on the floor.

Elizabeth had walked to class, unawares, opening up her copy of 'Wuthering Heights' when Mr Harkness asked.

"We seem to have one missing. Who is it?"

"Cathy, sir."

"And what's wrong with her?"

"She fainted, sir, before the lesson."

Mr Harkness hid a smile.

"Oh, it must have been heat stroke."

"I think it was, sir," confirmed Elizabeth, sharing a naughty smile with him.

In this way, Elizabeth knew that he knew and enjoyed the effect he had on girls but somehow didn't mean to cause it in the first place. He didn't know that if he walked down a corridor, a thousand girls would swoon at the sight of him, but he couldn't help it. He, himself, didn't know what was so attractive about him.

Elizabeth never really took notice of him. He was one of her nicer teachers, that was all she thought. He marked her generously and always said hello to her in the corridors. Sometimes he invited her into the staffroom to have some coffee over a copy of Byron's Selected Poems, but that was just his way of in-formalising the teacher/student relationship. He always said how imperative it was that his students felt comfortable with him or there was no chance they'd ever progress if they were too scared to ask him questions.

As she finished searching in her bag fruitlessly for her purse, she began the long trek down to her house. She'd just received a text from her father telling her he'd popped out for dinner around his friend's house, so her house would be empty. There was no rush, then.

As she walked, her dress ruffled in the breeze. They did wear uniform, but they were allowed to change out when the left college and since it was going to be a long walk and her college uniform was universally ridiculed throughout town, she thought it better to change than to be called a 'posh whore' on her way home. She'd chosen a simple white, fitted sleeveless dress with an extensive, very girly knee length skirt, with a plain white cardigan to keep her from the cold. Her hair fell in warm, rich and dark curls down her back to her waist and she walked along merrily, iPod in her ears. She always had been the girly girl and looked too fragile and delicate to be a tomboy. She had a slight, womanly, curvaceous figure with warm, large gold eyes which made a beautiful contrast with her dark brown hair. Her smile was warm and shy, setting her aglow every time she displayed it. She was the archetype of innocence, warm, tanned skin radiating a flush of naïve happiness. She strolled along the road.

"Lizzie? Lizzie, is that you?"
She paused and turned her iPod off, turning around. It was Mr Harkness.

"Yes. Hello!" she called with a smile.

He motioned for her to stop and walked towards her. He was decked in a dark green Ralph Lauren Big Pony shirt with a black jacket on top and blue jeans, carrying a black leather shoulder bag. He smiled as he walked towards her. Now, it was hard for him to explain his feelings about Elizabeth. If anyone asked, she was a girl in his class and she was very sweet. In reality, he kind of thought she was actually quite beautiful and had been interested in her for about a year and a half. It was perverted, he knew. He was twenty five and she must be…what….eighteen? But she was pretty, everyone knew that. Her bright gold eyes had their dark allure sometimes which surprised him. At times, he would catch her eye in class and her eyes would seem dark and inviting, then she'd look down and carry on with her work. He'd obsessed for a few months over the fact that maybe she wanted him too, then discarded it. He was sure he was imagining it and even if it was true, she didn't mean to look like that. She was too innocent.

He loved the way she said his name in class. He said it in a formal, sweet voice that made him melt inside. She was always attentive and eager in class, eyes bright, smile warm and enthusiastic. She would always be the first to get down to work, head bowed over her sheet of paper, dark curls falling over the desk. And sometimes it was her hair that mesmerised him. In morning prayers, he sat behind her tutor group and almost always sat behind her. She let her hair loose most days and it always fell in a rich cascade down her back. He tried to divert his attention from the luxurious warmth of her hair, but it never worked. She'd walk past him in the corridor and her hair would brush accidentally against his waist. It would only be a touch and he'd flinch. And the fragrance of it was intoxicating. It smelled of warm rose petals and when she coupled that fragrance with her heavy, deeply scented Dior perfume, he had to grip the wall at times to stop himself fainting.

But it was her innocence that got him most of all. He was a man of twenty five. He'd been through university, he'd been three years in the world of work and had more women that most people had met. He'd had almost every kind of woman, but never one like her. He'd never met a woman so shy, so nervous, so eager to please as Elizabeth. Against his sure, sexy arrogance and sexual prowess, her innocence and naivety drove him insane. He was doubtful she even knew what 'giving head' meant.

He bit his lip as he walked towards her. Don't think about head now, he muttered.

She waited dutifully and he caught her up.

"What are you doing out here by yourself? It's late and dark."

"Oh, I have to walk home," she explained with an easy smile.

"By yourself? Isn't your father coming to pick you up?"

"Car's gone for an MOT, blah blah blah," she explained.

Mr Harkness smiled easily.

"How far is it?"

"About half an hour."

"Half an hour in at this time of night? Lizzie, it's half five already. It's winter, you have no idea how dark it gets. You're probably going through backstreets, aren't you?"

"Oh…oh, I guess I am!" she realised in worry.

"Got any money for a taxi?" he asked in assurance. She shook her head.

"Even I don't feel comfortable letting you get into a taxi with some deranged driver at this time of night, or I'd lend you money. Come on, I'll walk you home."