by Brook Wilder
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.
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 gr
eenhouse, 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 the 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.
Chapter 2
Elle crashed through the door to the office, jolting to a halt. Carla was towards the back, talking tensely to someone over the phone and hadn’t noticed Elle’s sudden, and odiferous, arrival. She took another step forward, opening her mouth to let out all the anger and humiliation that Honey had drawn up in her out in the form of an early resignation but then Carla’s loudly spoken words stopped her.
“…What do you mean you can’t do it?” her friend sounded pissed off, but under that was a note of worry that made Elle want to reach out. That was, until she realized that she still smelled like a pile of manure. Carla probably wouldn’t appreciate the gesture that much just then.
“You promised me three weeks ago…I know that we’ve never worked together before, but you’ve done business with Honey Bud Farms before. You know we have a good, solid product and with this new strain we’re working on…of course,” Carla finally said with a sigh as her expression fell into one of pained resignation, “Right. I understand. Thanks anyways.”
Carla hung up the phone before slamming it, several times, hard down on the receiver before taking a deep breath, “Yeah, thanks for nothing!” she murmured towards the disconnected phone and, Elle assumed, directed at whoever she’d just been talking to.
“Um, everything okay, Carla?” Elle asked softly, noticing for the first time the new lines of strain in her friend’s face. Lines that hadn’t been there before she’d taken over the farm. That hadn’t been there before everything that had happened with her old boss, and the old owner of Honey Bud, Maurice.
“Yeah,” Carla sighed, “It’s fine. Just these assholes that are–Oh my god, Elle, what happened to you!?” She’d finally glanced up, catching an eyeful of Elle in her dirt smeared skin and compost caked dress.
“It’s a long–Honey was–Listen, I don’t think I can help you anymore,” she finally spit out, cringing at the look that Carla gave her. The same disappointed light in her blue eyes that had been there after that tense phone call.
“Elle, please,” Carla said, walking around the desk to let herself fall into the office chair, “Please, I really need a friend right now.”
“I am your friend! I’ll always be your friend,” Elle hastened to explain, guilt already eating away at her, “But…but…I’m just not cut out for this type of work.” She gestured to herself as example A and Carla tilted her head to one side, some humor finally breaking through the clouds in her eyes like sunlight.
“You know, I think you’re right. But to be honest that’s not the worst thing that could happen to that dress,” a small smile tugged up one corner of Carla’s mouth, “It was pretty horrific to begin with.”
“I’m glad you find this funny. I know it wasn’t the prettiest thing, but I didn’t have anything else to wear. I’d been meaning to ask if I can borrow some more appropriate work clothes, but…Anyways, that’s not the point,” Elle said, cutting off her rambling, “The point is that I can’t do this. I can’t work with…him.”
There was no need for her to say who, exactly, she was referring to. Carla knew. Elle could see it in her eyes, in the sympathetic look that she cast her.
“Elle, if you would just tell me what happened between you and Honey, maybe I could–”
“No.” That was it. Just a single word but it cut through the office like a knife. She couldn’t talk about that with anyone, not even her best friend. But unbidden, like a ghost rising out of the fog of her mind, the memories haunted her.
It had been that fateful night over six months ago. Maurice had been trying to blackmail Carla over a shipment of stolen weed, a shipment stolen, in fact, by the Dirty Cruisers, and Elle had helped uncover the fact that Maurice was actually dirty himself. He’d been dealing his product illegally over state lines. They’d just had to figure out a way to prove it.
It had seemed like a foolproof plan. Distract Maurice, draw him away so that Carla and Joel could search his office, this very office at the time, to try and find any evidence. So Elle had done her part, making the call to Maurice to tell him the lie that Carla was missing. The call that had drawn him from the office and gave Carla and Joel the time they needed.
And
then she’d had nothing to do but wait, sitting at the clubhouse with only Honey for company as everyone else had left to do what they needed to do. They’d been alone, just her and him, adrenaline and fear for her friend rushing through her and she’d weakened, for just a moment. Letting him in, for just a bare moment.
It had been a wonderful, breathless, golden moment. He’d dragged her back to the storage closet, enclosing them in the small, intimate space as he kissed her. Boy, had he kissed her. Like nothing she’d ever felt before, nothing like the tepid kisses she’d had before. He’d kissed her like he couldn’t get enough of her, like he never wanted to stop. Like he never wanted to let her go.
And then his touch. The same touch that had haunted her nights, tortured her dreams. His fingers, callused and hard running over her curves, pushing up the hem of her skirt until he reached the bare center of her.