Bared:Dirty Cruisers MC(10)

By: Brook Wilder

“See, Peter,” she said, gathering up the loose sheets of music from the piano’s small shelf, “That’s how ‘Clare De Lune’ is supposed to be played. It’s fluid.”

“Like water?” her student asked, looking up at her and she could see the confusion in his eyes.

“Yes, like water. Because–”

“Because it should be easy,” a voice interrupted from behind the piano and Elle jumped in surprise before stiffening like a post as recognition filled her. “It should just flow from your fingertips. Like Elle.”

“Miss Watson,” the boy corrected, looking curiously at the man who had just he stepped around, finally revealing his presence. He nodded with a roguish grin.

“Right, Miss Watson. Sorry.”

“But Miss Watson plays like…like magic. I can’t do that,” Peter said, a soft pout in his voice and Elle smiled softly down at him, trying to ignore her fluttering pulse.

“You will, Peter. Someday. You just have to keep practicing.” She ruffled his hair fondly, “And keep coming to lessons.”

“Yes, Miss Watson,” he said, gathering up his folder full of sheet music as a horn honked outside. “That’s my mom. I gotta go. See you next week!” And with that, the boy was off, tearing towards the front door. Elle had to fight the urge to call him back, to keep him there as a buffer between her and the man who was now staring at her, his gaze warm and wondering.

“See you next week, Peter!” she called after him. Well, if she didn’t have anything to distract him, at least she could ignore him. And she set about doing just that as she tidied up the already perfectly straight music books and dusted invisible flecks of dirt from the keys of the piano.

“You can’t just ignore me, Elle,” Honey said on a sigh as he walked closer and she realized he was right. It was impossible to pretend that he wasn’t there. Her pulse was going mad, her heartbeat racing like a speeding train and those damn butterflies where causing chaos in her stomach.

So she did the only thing that she could. She threw her shoulders back, tilted up her chin, and turned to him, “What are you doing here, Honey?” she demanded, “How do you even know where I live?”

Honey shrugged, unabashed, “I knew you and Carla were neighbors. I got Carla’s address from Joel. I lied and told him–It doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, coming closer, close enough to take the seat on the bench next to her where Peter had just been. But it was a hell of a lot more crowded with Honey’s body so close to hers, their thighs pressed together and his heat enveloping her like a warm blanket.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, fighting the breathlessness in her voice, “Why are you here?”

Honey looked at her for a long moment, just looked, and she swore she could see his thoughts flickering in the warm, melting depths of his dark eyes.

“I just…well, to be honest…damn, this is always so hard for me,” he muttered the words, jumping to his feet and pacing a few steps in agitation.

“What is?”

“This.” He bit off with a sigh, finally turning to face her again, “I’m…sorry.”

Elle stared at him for a long moment, slightly shocked by his words. “What was that?”

“Damn it, Elle,” he muttered again, once more taking the seat next to her, “I’m sorry, okay? For what happened yesterday. At the farm. With the pile of–”

“Yes, I remember. Thanks,” Elle said sharply, interrupting him and Honey just shrugged.

“I just thought, since we’ll be working together at the farm that–”

“Wait, working together?”

“Yeah. I thought Carla told you. I’ll be working there on my off hours–”

‘She did, but…she told me that you would barely be there.”

“Well, I’ll probably be there most of the days that you’re working. They need the help and I can–”

“So we’ll be working together,” Elle said faintly, more to herself than to him, “Nearly every day.”

“Would you stop interrupting me?” Honey growled the words at her, drawing her gaze up to his and it was instantly trapped in their dark, mysterious depths. “I just wanted to, you know, extend an olive branch. Because every time we’re in the same room for more than five minutes it seems like we end up arguing.”

By the end of his sentence, his voice had dropped an octave, the low, rumbly sound vibrating over her and sending moisture pooling low and hot. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but then he was there, his mouth hard and needy on hers. Desire burned through her as his kiss deepened, for a single moment letting herself melt against him but then she remembered the last time. What had happened. How she’d lost control.