by V. K. Sykes
“Your sarcasm is duly noted. Just like a man to not like color. What are we going to do with your daddy, Stanley?”
Oh, I can think of plenty of things you could do with me, sweetheart.
Ry followed her inside and propped his guitar case against the wall. Claire pulled the chain off Stanley’s neck, and the dog shook himself all over, sending a stream of drool flying onto the wall of the small foyer.
“Ack! Stanley!” She hurried into the kitchen and ripped off a paper towel.
“Sorry about that.” Ry took the towel and wiped both the wall and Stanley’s muzzle. “When I got Stan, the woman from the rescue organization showed me a mug that said Newfoundlands—Slime Flies When You’re Having Fun.”
She slapped a hand to her forehead. “Oh God, that is so bad. It’s so bad, it’s actually good.”
Stanley headed for the living room and started sniffing the furniture. “Want some more coffee?” she asked.
“I’m good, thanks. Why don’t we get started on the lesson? Then maybe we can grab some lunch. I’m buying.” He brought out his guitar.
She led him into the small, light-filled living room. A bay window overlooked the street and the waterfront. “I have a better idea. Why don’t I make us some lunch? I can put together a pretty good grilled cheese.”
“A woman of many talents. Sure, you’re on.”
Claire grabbed her guitar from its stand and sat down on the comfortable-looking sofa beside Stanley, who’d jumped up on it a moment earlier. Ry was surprised when she didn’t shoo the big dog off. Maybe she figured he’d had enough bossing around for the day.
Ry sat on the hard-back chair next to the sofa and did a little tuning while he surreptitiously inspected his new student. She was wearing skinny stonewashed jeans and a tight white T-shirt with the Brides Bay Lobster Festival logo on it—a red, bug-eyed cartoon version of a lobster. Though her curves weren’t as spectacular as Sylvie St. Germain’s, Claire might be the most naturally sexy woman he’d ever met. She wore little if any makeup, and nothing at all on perfect lips that were as deliciously sweet as the most decadent chocolate.
He forced his mind back to the reason he was here. “Why don’t you start by telling me what you’re having trouble with?”
She scrunched her face in a dramatic grimace. “It’d be easier to tell you what I’m not having trouble with. Heck, you saw how I played the other night. Totally clunky. So I just stick to songs with the simplest chords and the easiest changes. You, on the other hand, play like a god. What you did at the reception was so easy and so rich sounding.”
“More like sleep-inducing, I think. But, hey, you’re not a clunky player. When I watched you at the Dory, it just looked to me like you were too tentative. Anyway, your voice is so beautiful that nobody is going to pay much attention to whatever you’re doing on guitar.”
She glanced down at her fingers on the frets. “But I really want to be able to play more like a real musician.” Then she raised her eyes and smiled. “Still, I hope you won’t judge me too harshly.”
“Isn’t judging what teachers do? So-called teachers, that is.”
“True. Just don’t give me an F, okay?”
“Not going to happen. But speaking of Fs, one thing I recall from the Dory was that you took the easy way out on that chord.” She’d consistently opted for the Fmaj7 instead of the full bar F.
“That’s because I can’t manage to play solid bar chords to save my life.” She waggled her left hand. “Weak fingers, I guess.”
“You probably just need a bit better technique. In any case, you can always do finger strengthening exercises.” And there his mind was back in the gutter again, going straight to things he wouldn’t mind her practicing with her fingers. On him.
“So says the guy with hands the size of plates,” she mocked. “Easy for you, buddy.”
“Hey, are you going to be a problem student? In that case, I just might have to give you a detention.”
It was clear she’d read the innuendo in that flippant remark. Her eyes widened and she flushed under her golden tan.
“So, technique, huh?” Her gaze went back to the frets. “Why don’t we begin there?”
“Sounds good.” He got up and waved his hand at Stanley. “Scoot, buddy.”
The dog instantly obeyed. Getting off the furniture was one thing Ry had managed to teach him through the liberal use of food bribes and half-baked threats.
He sat down beside Claire—their hips close but not quite touching. Surprisingly, she didn’t move to put more space between them. “Okay, it’s time to show me your full bar F.”
“You have to promise not to laugh.”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that mockery is a bona fide teaching tool?”
She shook her head. “You are such a brat, Ry Griffin.” She carefully placed her middle, ring, and pinky fingers on the correct notes and then stretched her index finger across the top fret. But she made no move to strum the chord.
“Well, go ahead and play it, then.”
Claire sighed before using her pick with good force. The resulting sound was a buzzy mess. “Told you I suck at it.”
Ry knew he could help her. He picked up his guitar and rested the body on his thigh. “Now, none of that, Ms. Maddox. Just watch carefully when I do it, then we’ll talk about any differences you notice.”
“I will give it my full, rapt attention, Professor Griffin, sir.”
Ry slowly formed the chord that was giving her trouble, and then played a perfect sounding note. “Okay, tell me what looked different about the way I did it.”
She stared at his fingers, and then carefully made the F chord on her guitar again before refocusing on his hand. “Well, for starters, your index finger is about twice the size of mine. Big man, big fingers, right?”
Well, that sexy little salvo didn’t sound accidental.
Ry decided to ignore the innuendo, intentional or otherwise. For the moment anyway. “Try again. Concentrate hard, because there could be a quiz later.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Fine, fine. Well, okay, one thing I noticed is that your finger overlaps the fretboard and mine doesn’t.”
“Very good. That’s your first step toward avoiding a detention. Any idea why it’s helpful to use that position?”
She frowned before shaking her head.
“It’s because it avoids having the strings—especially the thin ones—under the creases in your fingers.”
“Okay, that makes sense. You can’t transmit as much pressure onto the string if it’s under a crease, right?”
“Bingo.”
“Let me try again.” Claire slowly placed her fingers back on the strings, the index in a higher position this time and then strummed. The sound was a little cleaner than her last effort.
“That’s getting better. Now, did you notice anything else I do differently?”
She gave him a smile that practically glowed, and it set off corresponding warmth in his chest. It was such a simple, easy thing, that smile, and yet it felt…important.
“Let me see how you do it again.”
He formed the chord. “Take a look at where I place my thumb.”
“Thanks, Professor.” She peered down at his hand. “It’s directly in line with your index finger, right?” Then she looked back at her own hand. Her thumb was cocked to the left and hardly putting any pressure on the guitar neck. “Ah, okay, I get it. If I put my thumb right underneath, in line with the index finger, it should make it easier to squeeze.”
“You really are a quick study, Ms. Maddox.”
She gave him the stink eye. “You’re good at many things, Ryder Griffin, but sarcasm isn’t one of them.”
“Nah, I was serious. You’ll be getting this in no time.”
She ducked her head, her lips curving in a pleased grin. She quickly strummed the chord again, and this time it sounded even better, although still with a fair bit of buzz. “Oh, confound it,” she said, grimacing.
“I guess my fingers just aren’t strong enough. They hurt when I put that kind of pressure on the strings. I know that makes me sound like a wimp, but…”
“Forget it—you’re doing great. Now, I’ve got one more suggestion. It’ll make it a lot easier on your fingers, once you practice a lot and get used to it.”
“Thank God. Having wimpy fingers is a terrible burden for a girl to bear.”
“Ha, ha. Take a close look at the angle of my index finger. See how I tilt it slightly up instead of laying it flat on the board? That way it’s the bony part that’s flush and hard against the strings, not the fleshy part.”
Bony part? Fleshy part? Hell, he was almost making the lesson sound like a sex education class.
She shot him a startled look. “Uh, of course. Using the hard, bony part makes total sense.”
Then she snickered.
“I can see your mind is now firmly in the gutter. I’m shocked, Ms. Maddox. Deeply shocked.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” she said, apparently biting back more laughter. “You have to admit that your choice of words—”
“Was completely accidental…and unfortunate, I suppose.”
“Your nose is a foot long already and growing, Professor.”
That’s not the only thing that’s getting bigger. “Just strum the chord again, okay?”
Being a teacher was turning out to be a lot harder—literally—than he’d anticipated.
* * *
Were the sexual innuendos inadvertent on Ry’s part? Claire didn’t know whether to laugh or to squirm. But if they kept this banter up, they could end up ripping each other's clothes off and getting into a ton of trouble.
She couldn’t possibly have casual sex with Ry. Not only was he her client, it would surely lead to heartbreak.
Focusing her gaze on the fretboard, this time she raked her pick across the strings with fierce determination.
The chord rang out with surprising clarity. She could scarcely believe it.
A grin lit up Ry’s face. “Wow, you nailed it.”
When he gave her shoulder a congratulatory squeeze, his touch seemed to sizzle through the fabric of her shirt.
“Thanks. You shouldn’t have worried about being a lousy teacher because you’re far from it. Everything makes perfect sense now.”
She strummed the chord again, laughing after another crisp note rang out. When she glanced up at Ry, she froze. Her breath was stuck in her throat as she took in the sexy upturn of his mouth. They were only inches apart, and it would take so little for either of them to lean in for a kiss.
Unbelievably, she found herself doing exactly that when her landline rang. She jerked back so hard that her guitar nearly slipped from her grip.
“Whoa, cowboy,” Ry said, steadying her. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Sorry. Sometimes I forget how loud that darn phone is.”
“Feel free to take the call.”
“Thanks, but I’ll let it go to voice mail.” A big part of her wanted to get up, just to break the tension. But taking a phone call in the middle of the lesson would be rude.
Focus on what you’re here for, Claire.
“Now, after I’ve thoroughly mastered the F bar chord, I’ll be able to play others just by sliding my fingers up and down the neck. I’ve always wanted to be able to do that.” She grinned again. “Kind of like a rock star.”
He smiled and started to reply when she heard a voice message start. “Claire, it’s Elsie. Please pick up if you’re there, dear. It’s very important.”
She gave Ry an apologetic grimace. “I’ll make it quick, okay?”
“No worries.”
She got up and grabbed the phone. “Hi, Elsie. What’s up?”
“Oh, Claire, I’m so glad I reached you. I’m sorry to say that Anson and some others are making trouble.”
The mayor was clearly upset.
Claire tensed. “What kind of trouble?”
“They’re trying to organize some kind of big demonstration at the Promise Island bridge. You know, to pressure the Homeowners Association not to go through with putting up a gatehouse. A peaceful protest would be fine, I suppose, but you and I both know it could lead to all sorts of trouble if the hotheads get carried away. You know how Anson’s been talking about it.”
Claire stifled a groan. “Are you sure, Elsie? Maybe they were just blowing off steam down at the Dory.”
“I wish that was all it was, but I’ve gotten calls from four different people about it. Anson is the ringleader, but even Pam and Tammy have climbed aboard.”
“I suppose you’re calling to ask me to talk to them, aren’t you?”
“Pam and Tammy listen to you, Claire. Me, they’ll barely give the time of day.” She muttered something under her breath that Claire failed to catch. “I will speak to Anson, however, even though I hold little hope of calming him down.”
Trying to talk the PamTam duo out of anything would be a tall order, too, to say the least. Still, Claire wondered if the cleaners had thought about the possibility or even the likelihood of losing some of their Promise Island clients by fomenting trouble. “Okay, Elsie, I’ll give it a shot.”
“I knew I could depend on you, dear. Keep me posted.”
“Well, that certainly sounded interesting,” Ry said when she flopped back down on the sofa, trying not to groan. “You’re supposed to talk somebody out of making trouble?”
Claire really didn’t want to talk about it, especially to him. “It’s nothing to worry about. How about we work on some more chords?”
He put down his guitar and turned his big, strong body toward her, stretching one arm along the back of the couch. She had to fight the impulse to snuggle into him.
“You know I’m normally not curious about what goes on in Brides Bay,” he said. “But I have a feeling you’re trying to shut me out about something. Is it because I’m still a CFA to you?”
She blew out a resigned breath. “And here I thought jocks were supposed to be kind of dumb.”
He smiled as he gently tugged on a lock of her hair. “Spill, Maddox.”
The sweet little gesture melted her insides. “I’m afraid Anson is trying to organize a demonstration at the bridge to protest the gated community proposal. Pam and Tammy are apparently into it too. The mayor asked me to have a word with the ladies.”
“What kind of protest? Shotguns at the bridge?” His smile indicated he was joking.
Oh, man, she hoped it would be nothing like that. “Oh, I’m sure it’s not quite that dire.”
“Then what are they talking about?”
“I don’t know yet. I worry about some kind of blockade. You heard Anson talk about that at the meeting.”
Ry frowned. “Yeah, but like you said then, something like that would be a really stupid move. You can bet it would drive some island people who aren’t keen on the gating idea to change their minds.”
People like me seemed to be the implication.
“I know. But I’m afraid our little gang of hotheads could get a fair amount of support around here, even if they were to do something over the top. People are really unhappy about the plan, Ry. It feels like a slap in the face to the whole town.”
He pulled back, crossing his arms over his chest. It was a defensive posture if Claire ever saw one. “I suppose, but aren’t island homeowners entitled to some privacy? Some peace and quiet? We sure as hell paid big bucks for it.”
She smiled, trying to ease the sudden tension. “Well, you have to admit that it’s awfully peaceful and quiet out there already. Coma-inducing, I think you said.”
He impatiently waved that remark away. “Look, the gawkers don’t bother me that much, but Derek and quite a few other people aren’t happy. More and more tourists and even paparazzi are coming onto the island just to drive around, checking out the estates and taking pictures. After
Maya Calderon built that big place up on Bluewater Ridge, the paps started staking out not just her place but others too. You must have seen those assholes poking around.”
Calderon was starring in a New York-based police procedural on network TV.
Claire nodded. “I get your point. But is that a good enough reason to deny local people the kind of free access they’ve enjoyed forever? The Austin family owned most of that land since the beginning of time, but they always let us go anywhere we wanted as long as we didn’t tramp around the houses of their various children and grandchildren. We could enjoy the beaches and the views from the bluffs as much as we liked. Now, even though there’s hardly any public access left, at least we can still drive around the island and hike trails on any land that’s vacant.”
Ry didn’t look convinced. “Okay, but if a gate does go up, there could be guest passes available for local folks. Like they have for visitors at resorts. Hell, all people would have to do is ask me and I’d let them through the damn gate. I’d let anybody in except tourists and photographers. Those guys can forget it. They have no business bugging people who just want to be left in peace.”
“True, but making local people pass through a gate is going too far. You guys would be effectively keeping us off the entire island, even though it’s been part of our heritage for as long as anyone can remember.”
“You guys?” His tone had suddenly turned frostier.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds. “Sorry. You know what I mean.”
He shook his head. “Claire, if you still lived in my house, would you want people gawking at you and trespassing on your property?”
While she thought the island homeowners were exaggerating the problem, she had to admit that Promise was no longer the place it had been when she was a kid. Maybe her mom was right—some things could never go back to the way they were.
“I’m sure I wouldn’t like it. Still, there are better ways to deal with problems than putting up a physical barrier. I wouldn’t want to live on the island again if it were some kind of walled-off ghetto for one percenters.” She managed a smile. “Not that I’ll ever have the chance to find out.”