by Lily White
A few students giggled, namely his fan club of slutty girls who couldn’t be bothered with wearing anything appropriate to class.
“No, Sir.”
Slowly, his eyes blinked, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Arrogant male pride flashing behind his gaze to hear me call him Sir.
“By the looks of it, we might be keeping you awake. Do you want to be here today, or did you have something better to do?”
Like rob a bank or set up some poor idiot to be mugged, he didn’t say. Not that he needed to. The man could speak with his eyes. Right there in the depths of that storm ravaged sea, he managed to drown me in the censure of his thoughts.
“No, Mr. Carter. I’m just-“
Exhausted? Embarrassed? Hurt? Turned on?
Hell, he could take his pick and it wouldn’t be wrong. I was all of those, confused mostly, conflicted and desperate to be understood.
Mostly, I was being shredded at the edges by the desire to know this man who had haunted my every thought for the last ten hours. I was torn by my refusal to give in to him, not in life, in body or in music. Who was he to critique what I had done when he couldn’t keep his hands to himself?
Who was he to judge when he had a slight obsession with punishment in a blatantly sexual manner?
I would have given anything to join Julia’s class. To step away from a man who had tastes that went beyond the ordinary. And to think I’d only touched on the surface of all that was Lennon Carter.
“I’m just tired.”
A silent pause, his eyes searching my face before his mouth ticked up at the corners. That damn smirk. I would gladly smack it from his handsome face.
“I’m sure you are.”
Eyes narrowing on him, I curled my fingers against my palms. His gaze tracked down to my desk, noticed the loose fists, the smirk deepening before he lifted that tempest storm stare back to my face.
“You might want to listen more closely while I explain to the class what is expected of you. It would be a shame for you to lose your place in the program because you couldn’t be bothered with appropriate behavior.”
I fought not to roll my eyes. Who knows what form of punishment he’d come up with for that?
Unaffected, he clasped his hands together behind his back, his strong legs solid beneath his houndstooth patterned pants, feet set at shoulder width apart. If I didn’t know his backstory, I would have believed this man had been in the military for the way he moved with such confidence, for the way he stood still as if he could run you down without warning.
I already knew he was fast. For three years in high school, I’d run track. I was the fastest, my endurance superior, yet Lennon had caught me that day in the alley without barely breaking a sweat.
“We have three days to get through all twenty-five of you. During these sessions, my focus won’t be on the skill and technique you’ve already developed, but more on your ability to take instruction, to learn, and to improve. The ten who remain following these three days are expected to know how to alter their thinking, to receive a critique and conform to what is being demanded of them.”
Another flick of his eyes toward me. “To prove they can be as disciplined as me.”
A full body shiver coursed through me at the thought of just how disciplined he wanted me to be. Had wanted, actually. Past tense. After spanking my ass he’d practically sprinted to take me back to my car.
Still, my mind couldn’t stop drifting to the image of Lennon with Jillian bent over his lap, jealousy stepping in to mingle and dance with the other caustic blend of emotions I was already battling.
“The list has times for each of you to be here. If it’s not your forty-five minutes, you’re free to do whatever you like. Go shopping. Go home. Or, in Miss Dillon’s case, take a nap.”
The class laughed softly around me.
Refusing to react, I stayed in place while the other students pushed from their chairs to walk over and scan the schedule. Lennon moved out of their way, dropped his weight into the leather seat behind his desk and lifted his feet to desk.
I studied him through the curtain of my hair, watching as he flipped a pen through his fingers, uncaring that I hadn’t moved a muscle, hadn’t jumped up to see when we’d be alone again.
After the other students noted their time slot, they returned to their desks, grabbed their bags and shuffled out of the room, a slow crawl of bodies until there were only a few left. Sitting here wasn’t doing me any good. It’s not like my show of defiance had drawn his attention.
Or maybe it had.
“Miss Dillon, your time is not until late this afternoon. As such, I suggest you go home and catch up on the sleep you obviously need. It might put you in a better mood.”
He didn’t bother lifting his eyes to me, didn’t turn his head, just leaned back in his seat flipping that damn pen between his fingers with his eyes closed.
If anybody needed a nap, it was him. What had kept him up so late? Again, why did I even care?
I pushed to my feet, slung my bag over my shoulder and marched toward the door.
“Don’t you want to check what time, Miss Dillon?”
Stilling in place, my skin bristled, anger crawling like fire beneath my skin. Every instinct in me demanded I disobey him, that I keep walking forward without concern for whatever time he’d selected for me. But then, I’d be the one out of luck. The scholarship as good as gone. My future relegated to back alley schemes with Ben.
Lennon dangled that over my head without giving a damn what he was doing.
Over to the schedule I went like the obedient student I was, my eyes searching the bottom to discover I was the last student to meet with him that afternoon.
Time noted, I moved toward the door to leave, but not before he could lob one last reminder at my back.
“Drive safely, Amelia.”
My eyes closed, a breath leaking out of me as I was returned to the night before, as I remembered in all too vivid detail the moment we’d almost kissed.
I knew he’d used those words on purpose. A not so gentle prodding to remind me that when it came to who held the power between us and who was to remain obedient, I was the weak link, a girl who needed him a hell of a lot more than he needed me.
Stepping through the door, I made my way down the hall toward the parking lot, wondering if he was getting even with me for not telling him that the men with me last night had been my brother and his friend.
Lennon wouldn’t get the information out of me no matter what he did. Losing Ben would be the end of my family. It would tear us apart and leave us homeless.
With six hours to kill before it was my turn to be locked in a room with that asshole, I climbed in my car to notice I was low on gas. Driving home and back wasn’t possible, so I sat in the Florida heat with my windows opened, the screech of cicadas rising and falling across the parking lot, the low murmur of voices whispering when other students passed by.
Maybe I was tired after all. Eventually my eyes closed, sweat beading on my brow and between my breasts while the gentle hum of Florida wildlife lulled me to sleep.
I woke to a loud bang on the top of my car. Eyes flicking open, my head jerked left to see a pair of blue, stormy eyes staring down at me.
“When I told you to get some sleep, I meant in a bed where you were safe from strangers watching you as they passed by.”
Anger was the stern line of Lennon’s lips. I was beginning to believe there was nothing I could do to please the man. Perhaps I’d been born with the sole purpose of pissing him off.
“Do you know what time it is, Amelia?”
I didn’t, but judging by the setting sun behind him, I assumed it was a lot later than my allotted time slot. Shit.
“I’m-“ My voice was groggy from sleep.
“You’re an annoyance riding my last nerve, is what you are. Follow me inside so we can complete your evaluation.”
He spun on his heel and stalked off, his bag slung over a shoulder. Lennon must
have been leaving when he found me sleeping in my car.
Stumbling from the car, I walked like a drunk woman, my legs uncoordinated, the thick fog of sleep still wrapping around me. A gust of cold air slammed into me when I let myself into the building, my shirt stuck to my chest and back from sweat. The only noise was my feet hurrying down the empty hallway, the shuffle of Lennon rifling through papers when I turned to enter the room.
Blue eyes peered up at my face, tracked down to my sweat soak shirt over my breasts and up again before narrowing. “It’s like you want someone to take advantage of you. Why not just skip all the stupid antics and tape a sign to your forehead that says ‘rape me’?”
Startled by the vehemence of his comment, I stood frozen, unsure what to do with my hands as he stared at me.
My nipples were hard in response to the cold air against my wet shirt, the material molded to me like a second skin. Lennon didn’t appear to miss that fact as his gaze dragged down me, his eyes closing for a brief second before he threw an arm out to his right
“Piano. Now.”
It was instinctual to respond immediately to his voice, the sharp tone and intolerant demand forcing my feet in the direction he’d pointed, my brain not quite catching up until I was seated on the bench with my fingers lightly caressing the keys.
This was my happy place, a respite from the world, a safe harbor where it was just the music and me. Nothing mattered. Nothing hurt. Nothing could touch me while the notes wrapped around me in a thick, soft blanket of sound that blocked the rest of the world from view.
“You’ll be playing Scarlatti’s Sonata in D Minor, no.141-“
I scoffed, the sound hissing over my lips before I had time to think about what was I doing. I’d mastered that particular piece when I was still in middle school.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, his words clipped, tone dark.
Answering quickly, I breathed out, “No. Sorry. I didn’t mean to-“
He was closer now, sneaking up on me with such silence it was frightening. “Obviously, there is. Why don’t you enlighten me as to your thoughts.”
“No, it’s-“
“That wasn’t a request, Amelia.” Closer now. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Teeth clamped over the inside of my cheek, I closed my eyes, imagined where he stood in the room. How he stood. The expression on his face.
“Although the piece is pretty, Scarlatti isn’t exactly difficult music, at least not the Sonata in D Minor.”
My fingers pressed down on the keys, enough to nudge them while preventing the hammers from striking the first notes. Preferring to rebel and refuse to be Lennon’s trained monkey, I understood that to impress him, I needed to throw him off balance. Steal his control. Show him that I was worth more than the back alley girl he chose to see rather than the musician I knew I would become.
He hadn’t moved another step, but then, he didn’t need to. I’d memorized that particular piece a long time ago.
My fingers moved over the driving tempo without him asking me to start, the sheet music in my mind’s eye, a rush of notes as my wrists snapped, my fingers nimble, a crescendo driving up the keys and back down again, my left hand jumping back and forth over my right like a child playing hopscotch, the melody chaotic, so delicate yet demanding.
Sweat beaded at my temples again, although for an entirely different reason. I was lost, the scaling notes pushing me high before crashing down again like rolling thunder. Fortissimo to pianissimo, hard to soft, loud to quiet. Over and over, until there was no aggravating man standing behind me, until my mother wasn’t dead and my father hadn’t forgotten me, until I no longer lived in a town where the midnight hours were a monster threatening to swallow me.
I was just a woman and a song, notes dancing delicately across the air, blowing within the frenetic winds of a warm, spring day.
Just me.
Removed and forgotten.
A soul having left its body to discover what lies on the other side.
The piece didn’t particularly call to me. It wasn’t dark enough, demanding enough. But still, it poured out through my hands, the resonance of the last notes carrying through the quiet room before my fingers could lift from the keys.
Music, to me, wasn’t just a series of notes, it was poetry without words, a story without pages, life beyond the confines of a stark reality.
“Was that good enough?” I finally asked, the high of playing wearing off to reveal the distrust I felt to have Lennon standing behind me.
The silence was deafening. Chills, like ants crawling over every inch of my skin.
Had I angered him yet again?
Only when I thought the silence would suffocate me did he speak.
“That was-“ He paused, his voice just above my head. His close proximity startling.
“Proficient,” Lennon finally said, voice deep, the heat of his body against my back, causing my breath to catch and my thighs to clamp together.
Unable to bear having him so near, I rounded my shoulders, took a breath. “You’re in my space,” I whispered.
“I’m owning your space,” he answered without concern for what he was doing to me.
Strong hands slammed down on the piano keys on either side of me, the noise jarring, his body leaning over mine until his mouth was against my ear. On a whisper, “And you might as well get used to it.”
The knot in my throat was a choking hazard, my pulse racing out of beat. Lips parting, I attempted to drag in a breath, to gain control. But that, he’d apparently stolen as well.
Hypnotic, his scent, masculine and earthy. It trapped me in a memory, my body buzzing with the sensation of having lost the will to fight.
“Mr. Carter-“
It was a bare whisper, so low I doubted he’d heard me speak.
If he had, he didn’t react to it, his head beside mine, his mouth so close to my shoulder I could feel the heat of his breath wash over my skin.
The metronome of time kept ticking, a steady beat that paused for no person, no moment, no seduction or sin.
Only, in this, it was Lennon’s beat I followed.
Helpless.
Hesitant.
And afraid.
Lennon
Amelia was an enigma.
That’s all that could be said about a young woman with so piss poor an attitude, but yet had the ability to produce near perfection of sound when she played.
Perplexing.
Puzzling.
Incongruent in attitude versus talent.
She wasn’t a girl who should be pickpocketing men or running scams in back alleys. She was a woman who should be sitting before an audience daring them not to react to the music bleeding from her fingers.
All day, I’d listened to the other students stumble through the Sonata, their fingers uncoordinated, their brows furrowed as they fought the piece tooth and nail, some proving their ability to learn, others practically crying when the music proved to be the better opponent. My criticisms had fallen on deaf ears. My demands had proven to be too much.
I didn’t begrudge them the failure. This particular Sonata is a difficult piece, but not the most difficult by any stretch of the imagination. In truth, although the Sonata was complicated, it was still too simple to my ear. A jumble of scales that made sense, treble dancing against bass, the notes in accord.
It didn’t cause my pulse to surge, didn’t catch me off guard, didn’t freeze me in place as my body absorbed it and my mind fought to make sense of the dichotomy of notes assaulting me all at once.
Until it was produced by Amelia’s hands, at least.
But not because she’d changed the piece. Only because she shared her soul while playing it.
Her dark soul.
Her beautiful, dissonant soul.
A soul that called into the shadows in answer of mine.
Now I understood why I couldn’t get her out of my head, why after a day of fighting to keep her at a distance, I was now so
close I could hear the rasp of her breath, could see the flutter of her pulse, could feel the heat of her body reach out to tangle with my own.
In music, we were the same.
In life, we couldn’t be further apart.
In this class, we were forbidden from touching each other in the ways I was desperate to touch her now.
“Mr. Carter...”
A soft voice dragged me further into a moment where my self control wavered. Our bodies an inch apart. Mine hard as a fucking rock simply from listening to her play.
Lifting my hands from the keys, I traced the shape of her arms, barely touching, listening to the music still pouring through her with each soft breath, every pulse of her heart, the creak of the wooden bench beneath her body when Amelia stilled in place.
“You’re impossible,” I murmured, voice low, fear of shattering the slow adagio between us, the beat of my heart the first ominous notes of Liszt’s B Minor Sonata. Deep, dangerous, a Sotto Voce pulse, a whisper, a warning.
“Lennon-“
My fingertips brushed over her shoulders, left hand hovering, right hand breaking every rule I’d made for this woman by wrapping softly over her throat.
She swallowed, the movement harsh against my palm before I clasped the point just beneath her jaw and tilted her face up to mine.
A question fell from my lips before I could think to stop it. “What are you doing to me?”
Leaning over, my lips hovered a teasing inch above hers.
“Oh, there you two are. I saw your cars in the parking lot and-“
At the sound of another voice, I pulled my hands from Amelia’s body and turned, pulse racing, my gaze meeting Julia Pickens’ where she stood in the doorway.
“Julia,” I answered, clearing my throat of the grit, praying to all that was holy she wouldn’t look down and notice the half-mast tent in my pants.
Behind me, Amelia stood from the bench, pink dusting her cheeks. “Hi, Julia. You’re here late.”
“As are the two of you.” Glancing between us, an odd glimmer in her eye betrayed her curiosity. “I was actually leaving, but then I saw Amelia’s car in the parking lot.”
Her gaze pinned me in place, accusation written into the arch of her eyebrow. “I was worried it had broken down and I came to make sure she was okay.”
