by Brook Wilder
“What can I get you?”
Elle jumped at the sound of his voice, much too close, and definitely much too familiar, “What?” She said, hating the breathlessness in her voice.
“To drink?” he smiled at her then, that lopsided grin that tugged up one corner of his lush, far too kissable lips and had his dimples winking at her from the edge of his cheeks, “Unless, of course, there’s something…else…that you have in mind?” He leaned even closer as he spoke, his voice dropping an octave as his words melted over her and she just stared at him for a long moment desperately trying to get her thoughts out of the gutter he’d just flung them into and back to the mission at hand. Namely, don’t fall for any more of Honey’s tricks.
“Um, anything is fine,” She saw his grin widen lasciviously and hurried to clarify, “to drink. Anything is fine to drink. No–nothing else.”
“Whatever you want, Elle,” he said with a shrug and a devilish look in his melting gaze, “Your wish is my command.”
She snorted loudly at that before turning away, missing the way his eyes followed her even as he made her cocktail and served the other biker’s that wandered up to the bar for another refill. Elle let her gaze wander around the packed clubhouse, feeling claustrophobia settle around her once more as her pulse raced and her head pounded, the urge to flee filling her. She needed to be someplace quiet, someplace alone, somewhere…that wasn’t in the middle of a group of a rough and tumble hard partying biker gang and definitely far, far away from–
“Are you ready for your Screaming Orgasm?” Honey’s voice, low and sultry, bit into her thoughts, tearing them to shreds as she turned to him with a gasp.
“Excuse me?” Elle said, hearing the prim edge to her own voice but knowing there was no way to stop it. There was also no way to stop the bright red flush she could feel burning across the pale skin of her cheeks. Honey just grinned at her, nodding once at the tumbler full of liquor he set in front of her, but his eyes never once leaving hers and the heat in his gaze only added to her blush.
“Your drink. It’s called a Screaming Orgasm,” Honey leaned closer then, “I made it especially for you. Go on,” his expression fell for moment, turning cynical, “I’m sure you haven’t tasted one of those in a long time. About, oh, six months or so, am I right?”
“What are you–Why, you despicable–You are a bastard, Honey,” Elle spluttered as his words washed over her and the blush tinging her cheeks crimson morphed from one of desire to one of mortification. It was made even worse by the fact that he was right. She shoved the glass back towards him, spilling most of the liquid on the bar, and some on him. It wasn’t enough. She should have thrown the damn thing in his face.
He knew damn well the last time she’d had an orgasm, because it had been Honey who had given it to her. It had been one glorious moment, and the biggest mistake of her life. At least she hadn’t slept with him. It hadn’t gone that far. But it had gone far enough. Too far for her own peace of mind, or the peace of her dreams, either.
Ever since that hurried, fumbling moment in the dark, full of adrenaline and waiting to find out if Carla and Joel’s plan to bring down Maurice had worked and she had given in to him, her dreams had been tortured by visions of him. Of them together. And then he had to go and throw it in her face. Well, she didn’t have to stand there and take it.
Elle turned away sharply, starting to storm away but his words stopped her, spoken so softly it was a wonder she heard them at all through the noise of the party but she did. She heard them, and she felt them shudder all the way through her.
“You know, whenever you’re ready, Elle, I’m here. I’ll wait as long as I need to. I’m not going anywhere.”
She didn’t turn back, she didn’t answer him. She couldn’t. Her throat was tight and her chest felt like it was about to burst. She couldn’t breathe. She had to get out of there, now. Elle had almost made it back towards the front door when her friend’s voice reached her.
“Hey, Elle, where are you going?” Carla asked, appearing in front of her.
“I…I have to go, Carla. I’m sorry, I…I just have to go.” With those broken words still hanging in the air and Carla looking at her with confusion shining in hereyes, Elle fled.
***
Honey watched her, his eyes never leaving the stiff line of her back as she shoved her way towards the exit. He sighed, shaking his head at himself, at his own stupidity. He couldn’t just say Hi, Elle. It’s great to see you again. You look absolutely beautiful tonight. And she had.
With her long natural blond hair falling in waves like silk, contrasting with her dark eyes that stared at him like they could see all the way through him. From the first moment Carla had brought her into the bar, since the first moment he’d met her, he’d been entranced by her eyes. So dark, so mysterious. They saw everything, and at the same time, hid everything. Her thoughts, her emotions. She was so damned hard to read. Well, not tonight. Her anger had been more than apparent.
Honey shook his head again. Why couldn’t he have just said something nice, something simple? But no, he had to go and open his big mouth and push her, tease her, knowing damn well it would only stiffen her back even more. Speaking of stiff, he adjusted himself as surreptitiously as he could behind the bar.
All it took was to be in the same room as her and his body responded, tightening, drawing to attention as memories flooded him. Memories of that one, breathless moment in the pitch black broom closet in the back of the bar. He had known then it would be a mistake, but he’d been desperate for any taste of her, any touch. And he’d gotten more than that.
Every time he closed his eyes he could feel the way she’d ridden his hand, the sound of her panting breath broken and desperate in his ears as she came, her body writhing in the most exquisite agony. It had been so dark in the cramped closet that he hadn’t even gotten to see her, not that they had even taken the time to shed any clothes. He’d just hitched the skirt of her calf length dress up to her waist, feeling her sweet curves in the dark. Feeling her move against him.
And then, as quick as the storm had struck, it was gone. She’d mumbled something, drawing away enough to put her clothes back to rights and then she had fled, leaving him standing there dumbstruck and in more pain than he could ever remember being. The type of pain that no amount of cold showers would cure.
He groaned under his breath as his body rose to attention once more at the bittersweet memories, memories that had haunted his dreams since that night. Because the truth was, it had been a stab in the dark that Elle hadn’t had an orgasm since that day, but he knew for a fact that he hadn’t slept with anyone. Sure, he’d spent plenty of nights, just him, his memories of her, and his fist, but he didn’t count that. No, he hadn’t had any. Not for six long months, the longest dry spell he’d had since he hit puberty, and it wasn’t for lack of opportunity.
There were always club chicks and biker groupies who were more than willing, and in the past, he would have been happy to oblige them. But something had happened that night with Elle and the thought of sex with anyone else just left him feeling…empty. Unsatisfied.
Honey grimaced as he cleaned up the spilled liquor, downing the rest of her untouched drink in one gulp. It was probably the closest he would come to a screaming orgasm until he could untangle this Elle situation. The only problem? He had no clue at all where to begin. She was so different than all the other women he knew. His charm had no effect on her. She was kind, gentle, and sweet, but with an edge to her that turned him on like nothing else. She was…clean, untouched by the gritty underworld that he’d lived in for so long. She was unattainable.
He groaned again, pouring himself another drink as his thoughts ran in circles and he drank it down gratefully when a thought occurred to him. Copious amounts of alcohol. Maybe that would do the trick. Maybe then he would have one night where he didn’t wake up sweating and hard and desperate for the one woman who didn’t want anything to do with him. Elle Watson.
&nb
sp; Chapter 1
“…Please, Elle. I’m begging you here,” Carla’s voice pleaded over the phone, “I’m drowning out at the farm. I just need some extra hands–”
“Carla, I know absolutely nothing about farming, or running a farm, or marijuana for that matter. You’re the botanist, not me,” Elle huffed as she dried the last floral patterned tea cup and put it back in its place in her white lacquered kitchen cabinet, “I’m a piano teacher, for pete’s sake!”
“I know, it’s just, with everything that’s happened with Maurice, I’m really short staffed. I’ll pay you extra! I know you can use the money. And besides, it will be fun!”
“Playing in the dirt is your idea of a good time, Carla, not mine.”
“Please? I wouldn’t ask unless I really needed the help. Please, Elle? Pretty please?” It was the note of desperation that Elle could hear just under the pleading in Carla’s voice that finally made her sigh, her resolve crumbling.
“Oh, alright. I’ll help–”
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Elle!”
“But only on the days I don’t have piano lessons to teach. It will probably only be a few days a week.”
“Absolutely! No problem at all. You are a life saver, Elle, truly. I’ll see you at the farm in an hour.”
“An hour? Wait a minute, today?” Elle argued but she was speaking to dead air. Carla had already hung up the phone, probably off to deal with some other problem at the farm. She glanced over at the calendar hanging on wall of her kitchen, fluffy kittens staring back at her and shesighed.
Damn. She didn’t have any piano appointments. It looked like she’d be starting her new job at Honey Bud Farms sooner than she realized.
It was a forty-five minute drive to the farm, and she was running late after the twenty minutes it had taken her to scour her closet looking for something, anything, to wear that would be appropriate to work in. She had finally settled on an older olive green dress that looked like it was straight out of the 1940’s and a pair of rubber boots that hit her mid ankle. It was the best she could do on short notice. Next time she would have to remember to borrow a pair of work pants from Carla.
She parked her compact car, noticing that there was only Carla’s truck and one other vehicle there already, a motorcycle parked haphazardly that she assumed belonged to Joel. With a deep breath to bolster her courage, she jumped out and walked up the small incline to where the office was. It was little more than a converted farmhouse but it did the trick.
Next to it was a large, glass encased greenhouse and just as she reached it Carla came rushing out.
“Elle, thank god!”
Elle looked up at her friend in shock. Carla’s hair was pulled up into a messy top knot with tendrils flying everywhere and dirt smudged across both cheeks. At least she hoped it was dirt.
“Carla? What’s going–”
“No time,” she said, out of breath as she grabbed Elle by the arm and dragged her towards the greenhouse, “Come with me.”
Carla pushed open the clear glass door and walked in, Elle following with a gasp at the humid interior, and the pungent smell. And not the smell she was expecting either. It smelled like…well, to be honest it smelled just like…
“Manure,” Carla said, interrupting her thought as she pointed to a large pile of the stuff that sat in the corner, “It’s compost, for transplanting the seedlings. After they’re big enough we plant them in the rich soil inside the greenhouse until they firm up. Then, when they’re ready, the plants are transferred once more out into the fields.”
“Uh huh. Okay, and you want me to...?” Elle trailed off, her voice slightly horrified as Carla looked from her, to the pile of manure and compost, and then back to her. Carla gestured to a bucket hooked up to some contraption and her worst fears were confirmed.
“It’s easy,” she said hurriedly, reaching over to grab the bucket, “Just pull this lever here and it scoops up the compost and drops it into the funnel, then you take the funnel out over the hole that still needs to be filled and pull the lever again. It drops the perfect amount of compost into the hole. Then, just move on to the next one. See, easy peezy.” Carla finished hurriedly as the sound of a motorcycle engine drawing close reached them.
“No, Carla. Not easy peezy. I have no idea what you just did–”
“You’re smart, Elle. I’m sure you can figure it out.” Carla was just turning to rush away again when the door opened and another member of the Dirty Cruisers walked in. It was Hot Wheels. As far as Elle knew, she was the only female member in the club and the only thing that gave it away was the patch covered leather jacket that she wore proudly.
Her white blonde hair was tousled from the ride and her pale green eyes were focused like a laser on Carla. And they looked worried.
“Hey, Bluebird,” Hot Wheels said, using Carla’s nickname, “I need to talk to you. Now.” The short, but forceful, woman didn’t say anything else before leaving, letting the greenhouse door slam shut behind her.
“You got everything here, Elle?” Carla asked, not even bothering to look at her as she took off after Hot Wheels. Elle couldn’t even get a word in before she was continuing, “Okay, great.”
And then she was gone, and Elle was left on her own with the greenhouse, and the machine that she didn’t know how to work, and a massive pile of manure.
“Yeah, I don’t really got it, Carla. Thanks for explaining everything so thoroughly,” she muttered under her breath as she rolled up the sleeves of her cardigan. It had been fine in the cool spring morning air, but in the greenhouse, the extra layer made her feel claustrophobic in the humid heat.
Elle stared balefully at the bucket full of foul smelling compost. Carla had made it look easy, and really, how hard could it be? She was just moving it from the big pile to each little hole. It seemed simple enough.
She threw her shoulders back, steeling her resolve once more as she stepped forward. She gave a small prayer of thanks for thinking to wear rubber boots. At least they would be easy to clean. With one hand she reached forward and grabbed the funnel, or wait, was it supposed to be the lever? Maybe both?
Hoping that she was doing it right, she tugged in the bucket full of compost, trying to hold her breath as she did and then yanked on the lever, just like Carla did. Only, at that exact moment, the sound of the greenhouse door opening made her lose her focus and for a split second she stopped paying attention to where the bucket was as the lever depressed all the way, releasing its load full of manure and compost.
It landed with a splat directly over her head. She tried to jump, to leap out of the way of the disgusting mess as it fell, but her boot slipped on the slick surface and she went tumbling straight down, literally falling into a pile of shit.
“No, oh no,” Elle cried softly to herself as she tried to wipe off as much of the awful brown muck as she could, “No, no, no.”
“Oh, yes,” a voice said from behind her. A masculine voice. A horribly familiar voice, “I have to say Elle, you always look beautiful…but I’m not sure if that color really suits you.”
“Honey!” she growled the word, heat firing through her more from embarrassment than anger, but it still made her power to her feet. Or at least try to. She slipped, falling back down again with another horrendous splat.
“Here, let me help you,” he said, laughter thick in his voice as he drew closer.
“No!” she said, pointing at him with a compost smeared finger, “Just stay right where you are.”
“You are being ridiculous,” he muttered, his own voice growing angry as he reached out, grabbing her hand and yanked.
“I said no. I don’t need your help.”
“Yes, you do!” He growled back, heaving her a few slippery inches off the pile.
“Honey, stop! Let me go this instant.”
“Fine!” With a sudden jolt as he released her hand she went sliding back into the muck, cringing as it squelched beneath her dress. It was official. She was burning t
he thing when she got home.
Mortification burned through her once more, spurred on by the laughter shining in Honey’s melting brown eyes.
“What are you even doing here?” she spit the words out at him as she finally managed to pull herself up to her knees, refusing to take the hand he’d held out for her. With an irritated sigh, he dropped it, with what sounded suspiciously like a muttered stubborn woman but the words were spoken too softly for her to make out.
“What was that?” she asked crossly, embarrassed beyond belief and angry at…well, she wasn’t even sure why she was angry but she knew it had to do with Honey. It always had to do with Honey. Ridiculous man.
“I’m here helping out a friend,” his look swept over her, “Doing actual work. Being actually helpful.”
“I was work–I don’t have to justify myself to you. In fact, I don’t have to be here at all.” Elle said, biting off the words as she turned her back on Honey, not seeing the look of instant remorse that flashed over his handsome features as she stormed from the greenhouse in the direction of the office.
