Sin and Discipline Read online

  The early bird boy raised his shaking hand. Nodding in his direction, I waited for his question.

  “May I-“ He swallowed hard, his face paler than when I first saw him. “May I be excused to the bathroom?”

  If he was sick already, I knew he wouldn’t last the first round of cuts.

  “Go,” I answered and turned to look at the rest of them. “And from now on, don’t bother asking me before going to the restroom.”

  The boy practically launched from his seat, uncoordinated feet stumbling over themselves in a mad rush to reach the back of the classroom.

  Shaking my head, I caught Amelia’s eyes one last time before heading to the piano to show them what it meant to live and breath the music they played.

  Amelia

  The universe was fucking with me.

  That’s all there was to it.

  At some point in my life, I’d pissed off the cosmos and it had chosen the perfect moment for revenge.

  Of all the men I’d decided to pickpocket, of course it would be this one.

  Lennon Carter. I’d never heard of him before, yet somehow I knew his name, his face, his reputation and voice would stay with me for the rest of my miserable life.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he would be the man to ruin my lifelong dream.

  All because I had a moment of weakness.

  All because I’d chosen to do a stupid thing.

  When I first walked into the classroom, I was too nervous to check out the instructor. Almost late because my piece of shit hatchback wouldn’t start, I’d arrived to class with just enough time to run inside at the back of the parade of shuffling students, sweat dripping down my temple and between my breasts because it was ninety degrees and my car lacked air conditioning.

  My hair was a mess from driving like a maniac with an open window, and my cheeks were stained pink from what I assumed was stroke inducing blood pressure. But still, I’d managed to get here on time and make it appear I was as punctual as the other students.

  After taking my seat and arranging my bag, I’d lifted my head to see a man standing at the front of the class wearing an odd jumble of mismatched clothes. It should have clued me in immediately.

  But no. I’d been too focused on the way his pants hugged his perfect ass and strong thighs like they were designed to showcase his bottom half. The way his shirt clung to every hard muscle and ridge of his back, stretching over his broad shoulders. The way his sleeves were shoved up to his elbows to reveal corded forearms.

  Unable to ignore the odd choice of skull-patterned suspenders he wore, I still hadn’t put two and two together until he turned to scan the class with critical eyes, a smirk tugging at his sculpted lips immediately when our gazes met.

  I would recognize that smirk anywhere after what happened. I hated that smirk, and feared it. Mostly, I remembered how he’d worn that smirk when forcing me to say please.

  As if his backside hadn’t been beautiful enough, Mr. Carter had turned around to reveal his ridiculously tempting face. Dark stubble still shadowed his strong jaw. He had observant blue eyes that were gorgeous now that the light could reach them, and a set of lips that pulled into a stern line to match the tension in his square jaw.

  I wanted to shrink beneath my desk in response to the look on his face, fear freezing me in place as his dark stare studied me with lazy fascination.

  It was entirely possible I’d died in my seat for several seconds, my breath absent, my heart skipping far too many beats, and my thighs squeezing together when his eyes scanned down to check out my legs.

  The moment he began calling names, I had a full body reaction to his voice, the smooth, deep tone and cadence reaching me in places it shouldn’t have been allowed. Anger straightened my spine to remember how that same voice had sounded when his body was pinning me down.

  This situation wasn’t just bad, it was cataclysmic. I had no doubt he would show me the door before the end of the day just to get even for my attempt to rob him.

  My knuckles throbbed as he went through his opening remarks, my mind disbelieving that someone like him could make a piano sing. But when he sat down on the bench to play through Chopin’s Nocturne op. 9 No. 2, I melted in place along with every other girl seated around me.

  How was it possible that his elephant strangling hands were able to pull off the soft sounds, the light touch, and evoke the emotion of the piece? The same hands that had gripped my wrists with bruising strength. The same hands that had held me down by my throat while he promised to paint my ass red for attempting to lift his wallet.

  Dad had been wrong when he’d said you could judge a person by their hands. Lennon Carter’s were deceiving in every possible way.

  I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the flash of his dexterous fingers, the snap of his wrists as he elicited perfect resonance from the piano, touching those keys with just the right pressure to evoke stunning emotion from the notes.

  I felt the music just as he’d demanded, every soft note targeting a place between my thighs that left me embarrassed, conflicted, and so out of breath that I feared I would be the next student running to puke. The sensation was far too much.

  Perhaps being booted on day one would work out in my favor because spending an entire summer with him would damn near destroy me.

  Finishing that piece, he moved on to Clementi’s Sonatina in C Major, the melody more jovial, my emotions shifting again to imagine myself in an open field with the sun warming my skin. I became lost to it, stunned that a piece I’d played a thousand times sounded different beneath the stroke of his expert hands.

  He moved to Bach’s Prelude in C Major after that, the first few measures spilling out smoothly before he slammed his hands down on the keys, the jarring sound causing us all to jump in our seats.

  Grabbing the sheet music, he tossed it behind him, the paper angrily fluttering in the air before sliding smoothly across the ground.

  “That shit will put me to sleep,” he said without turning to look at us. “Nobody’s playing that.”

  A few seconds later, the first hypnotic notes of Debussy’s Clair De Lune floated through the room, enchanting me into a mindless stupor.

  By the time he finished, the last note left echoing in the room on a whisper, not a single student moved or dared to disturb the tranquility of the moment.

  Mr. Carter spun on the bench, his eyes scanning over the stunned faces of his students to land directly on me.

  “Now you all know what I expect of you. Be sure to give me nothing less than what I demand.”

  My heart dropped into my stomach.

  Standing from the bench, Mr. Carter crossed the room, plucked the student roster from his desk, sat down in his chair, and turned to face the white board on the opposite wall from the pianos.

  “Mark Alexander. You’re up first.”

  He kept his back to the class and the instruments as a gangly, brown haired boy stood from his seat to take his place on the bench. “Play Clementi,” Mr. Carter demanded, never facing the student even when the first notes were played.

  Instead, he allowed his head to relax back, his eyes closing while the first student moved through the song. I thought he’d fallen asleep, but as soon as the student finished, Mr. Carter opened his eyes, scrawled a few notes on the roster, and called the next student’s name.

  “Kristen Avery. You’ll be playing Chopin.”

  While Mark returned to his seat to collect his bag and leave, a pretty blond girl rose from her chair to approach the piano. On the first few notes she played, Lennon closed his eyes again.

  On and on and on, until it should have been my turn.

  I was pushing to my feet when he called out, “Peter Eisner. Play Debussy.”

  What? The last student was Claire Demarco. I should have been next.

  Embarrassment heated my cheeks to have to retake my seat, a blond haired boy pushing to his feet instead. As he crossed the room, I glared at the asshole who’d just blatantly
skipped me, my anger pulsing and expanding with each additional student he called. Not once did Mr. Carter bother to turn and look at me.

  Five o’clock rolled around quickly, twenty-five of us remaining who had yet to perform. I was a ball of rage by that time, certain that he had skipped me on purpose. Would he cut me without even taking the time to listen to me play?

  “The rest of you can go home,” he said, spinning in his seat to face us. “We’ll finish the first round tomorrow.”

  Without bothering to meet my eyes, Mr. Carter stacked some papers while the remaining students gathered their bags and shuffled through the door. I remained in my seat, far too angry to move.

  When we were alone, he dragged his gaze from his papers to me. “Did you not hear me, Miss Dillon? The class has been excused.”

  “You skipped me.”

  With a blank expression, he asked, “Did I?”

  Attempting to mug your teacher is a bad idea, but yelling at him on the first day of class would probably only make it worse. Still, I wouldn’t let him ruin my chances at Hastings just because he had a bone to pick.

  “You can’t do this to me because of what happened yesterday. It’s not fair and I won’t let you. I’ve worked too hard to be here.”

  His brows lifted a fraction, the only outward response he had to what I’d said. Meanwhile, a set of lips that were intended for the darkest of pleasure and sin remained a relaxed line, eyes that saw too much boring through me.

  I thought the silence would suffocate me before he finally broke it. “Come here.”

  My butt was glued to my seat, fingers curling into my palms. “No. I want to know why you skipped me.”

  A spark of challenge rolled behind his stern eyes. “When I tell you to do something, Amelia, I expect you to obey immediately. Now come the fuck here.”

  The controlled tone of voice did something to me, fear and fury blending together into a toxic poison within my veins. I stood from my seat on shaking legs, hating how he watched me closely as I crossed the room to approach him.

  I was in arm’s reach when he held out his hand and demanded, “Let me see your injury.”

  My fingers curled more, pain throbbing over the knuckles. Sheepish, I attempted to maintain control over my actions. “No.”

  Mr. Carter cocked a brow, his fierce gaze holding mine. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

  Standing this close to him, I could smell the masculine notes of his cologne, could feel the pulse of his energy tingling across my bare skin. He saturated the space around him with calm determination, focused control, and absolute assurance that I would do as he said.

  “Say please...”

  The memory rolled through me on a shiver, rage tinting my cheeks red.

  Tension bled between us, my refusal to acquiesce to his demands clashing against his confidence that I would eventually give in and obey.

  This wasn’t fair. We weren’t on the same level in this classroom. I was the student begging to earn a scholarship while he was the teacher who stood in the way of my dreams.

  I extended my left hand, a spark passing between us when our skin touched. He pulled my arm out farther to remove the bandage and explore the damage he’d caused.

  His skin was warm, the calluses on his palms rough. My mind reeled against him as my body responded. Muscles weakening, my legs shook and my breasts felt heavy. This man was too much - too talented, too successful, too gorgeous, too stern.

  His voice was soft when he asked, “Did it ever occur to you that, due to your injury, I was giving you another day to heal before making you play?”

  Blue eyes lifted to mine, his fingers clamping down in refusal when I attempted to pull my hand away.

  “Answer me.”

  Shaking my head, I wet my lips, my mouth and throat suddenly dry and sticky.

  “No.” Pausing, I wasn’t thinking when I opened my mouth again to ask, “Doesn’t it bother you that you caused this injury?”

  Without an ounce of remorse, he answered, “You deserved it.”

  Silence beat between us before he asked his next question, his voice deeper than before. “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes,” I breathed, my hand trembling in his.

  Nodding, Mr. Carter released my hand and stood from his seat. At his full height, he towered over me, his broad shoulders, strong chest and trim waist unhidden by the white Henley shirt.

  Out of instinct, I backed away, my retreat stopped short by a hard wall behind me while a wall of tempting muscle and flesh caged me in from the front.

  With one hand braced next to my head, Lennon stared at me, his gaze tracking a slow path down the front of my dress and up again. “Who are you, Amelia Dillon?”

  Confusion flooded me. “What?”

  It bothered me how my question came out more as a startled squeak than a word.

  He grinned, just the corner of his lips curling with lazy satisfaction. Reaching out with his free hand, he trapped my chin between his fingers, holding my gaze to his without concern that I hadn’t invited the touch. Electricity sparked where his skin met mine, my head dizzy, my breath as uneven as my heartbeat.

  “Who are you?”

  Ah, hell. I wondered if he could tell my nipples were hard as rocks and my lungs were struggling to draw in a breath.

  As it was, my heart was in my throat beating staccato so hard that I swore I was a few seconds from passing out. “I don’t-“

  The gentle tone of his voice was at odds with his question. “Are you the shitty little thief hiding in a hoodie and baggy jeans? Or are you a musician who demands respect based on her talent and discipline?”

  He was enjoying this moment far too much, the truth of his amusement written in the line of his lips, the sleepy look in his blue eyes. It only frightened me more.

  “I’m a musician,” I whispered.

  Mr. Carter leaned forward and I panicked, my eyes locked to his lips. He shouldn’t have been this close to me. There had to be rules against this. He didn’t seem to care.

  I wasn’t a girl to be pushed around or controlled. Yet, in his presence, I stilled in place, unable to find the willpower to fight or move away.

  Breath hot against my cheek, he whispered, “I don’t think you are. I think a musician would know better than to risk her hands acting like a stupid hoodrat that robs people. I think a musician knows better than to question the man who will be judging her performance. I think-“

  My lips parted on a tremulous breath.

  “-you didn’t believe me when I warned you I would spank your ass red if I ever caught you doing something so stupid again.”

  There was no question about it; I was three seconds away from passing out.

  He knew it and I knew it, his blue eyes locked to mine when he warned, “You should know that threat extends to you questioning me in class as well.”

  Our eyes remained locked, mine as wide as saucers and his gleaming in the low light between our bodies.

  After a few seconds, he released me and pushed away. Relief flooded me.

  Tucking his thumbs in his pockets, Mr. Carter smirked, the expression becoming far too familiar.

  “Have a nice night, Amelia. I suggest you go straight home and do your best not to mug another person.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice.

  My legs wouldn’t cooperate and walk with a smooth gait, my arms putty as I reached my desk and grabbed my bag. I could feel his eyes burning holes in me, observing with perfect clarity the amount of effort it took me not to tear up in response to the storm of volatile emotions rolling through my veins.

  I was almost out the door when he said, “I hope you impress me tomorrow, Miss Dillon. It’s the only way you’ll remain in this class.”

  Flinching in response to the warning, I ducked my head and hurried from the room, my nerves on edge as hatred exploded in my chest.

  Pushing through the outside doors, I bent over and locked my hands to my knees, my body breathless, my mind in a
state of shock. Gulping air like a drowning woman who had just broken the surface of water, I willed my heart rate to slow down, the heat of the sun helping to warm my skin and chase away the chills Mr. Carter had forced through me.

  He shouldn’t have scared me as much as he did, but my entire future was gripped in his cruel hands, his warnings echoing in my head as I straightened my body and walked to my car.

  I made the drive home in silence, my thoughts racing through every time our eyes had met across the classroom, over every word he’d spoken. Despite no longer being in the same room as him, I could smell his cologne, could feel the heat of his body encroaching on mine when he’d caged me against the wall.

  On the surface, Lennon Carter seemed like your ordinary successful and driven man, but there was something else lingering just beneath his skin, something that drew me in and terrified me at the same time.

  It didn’t help my state of mind that my father was yelling again by the time I returned home, his nurse glancing up from a magazine she was reading on the couch.

  “Bad day?” I asked, the truth of it bellowing through the clapboard house.

  She nodded, her brown hair bobbing at the sides of her head. Elaine was a good nurse, usually relentless in calming my father down. Tonight, her dark eyes were exhausted.

  “He’s been upset since this morning. I wouldn’t let him go for a walk by himself and he’s been yelling ever since. Your brother is here taking care of him while I take a break.”

  “Did you try playing music for him? It might help calm him down.”

  “Honey, I’ve tried everything. This is just one of those days.”

  Sadly, those days were becoming more common, far outnumbering the good ones. “I’ll go back and see if I can help.”

  The magazine rustled in her hands. “I gave him a mild sedative a few minutes ago. It should take effect soon.”

  “Thanks, Elaine.”

  Heading down the hallway, I dropped my bag off in my room before walking to dad’s door. He was attempting to get up from the bed despite Ben’s efforts to hold him down.