I gasped when my gaze landed on the object of my visit. The piano, a glossy, ebony Steinway concert grand, was tucked neatly in a large, half-hex alcove at the back of the dining room. The alcove’s three leaded-glass windows were framed by the same beautiful mahogany wood as the rest of the room. The light from the setting sun shone through the windows and onto the instrument, making it glow. “Beautiful,” I whispered.
Caitlin smiled. “Mr. O’Neil really loves this room.”
“There’s a lot to love,” I said.
Caitlin pointed toward the alcove. “The staff will be in soon to make sure the dining room’s ready for the early crowd, so let me get out of your way so you can test out the piano.”
“It won’t take long,” I replied as I made my way over to it. I ran my fingers over the smooth, lacquered surface of the instrument. It was certainly well cared for. I pulled out the bench and lifted the fall board. The keys were clean, with no residue or dust. I lifted the music rack, pulled it forward, and sat.
As it was with every time I sat in front of a piano, I felt my soul settle. The tortuous five months I spent recovering from the accident were some of the worst of my life—if I didn’t count rehab. I placed my fingers on the keys and let out a soft sigh. It felt like home. I ran scales up the keyboard from one end to the other. To my surprised pleasure, the piano tuner had done an excellent job. The sound was superb, as good as any of the concert grands I had played around the world.
I heard rather than saw someone come into the room and knew my time was rapidly coming to an end. I reluctantly closed the fallboard and put down the music rack. I rose and pushed the bench back under the piano. As I walked away from the instrument, I hummed softly and caressed the closed lid. “Later,” I murmured. I made a mental note to ask Caitlin for a key to the dining room. I wondered if she’d give one to me. Maybe I should just talk to the owner, Mr. Sean O’Neil.
FOUR
SEAN
“It won’t be too busy,” I muttered as I hustled to get another drink order filled. Both Caitlin and I had forgotten that a lot of college students were home, and Moonlight was popular with the elite crowd who went to Ivy League schools. I swore if I got propositioned by one more girl named Brooke, I would have my mother go to my place and bring over my Pride T-shirt that hadI like cockprinted on the back. Jesus, it was like they couldn’t take no for an answer.
I glanced toward the end of the bar. There was, however, someone I would love to get a proposition from. He had quietly slipped into the bar when I was busy fending off another attempt to get my phone number. He looked to be in his early thirties, around my age, and gorgeous. The first thing I noticed was his soulful brown eyes. I caught him staring at me, and a blush tinged his high cheekbones as he looked away. His dark-brown hair was cut short but still long enough to grab hold of—if I could get him to put those luscious, full lips around my cock. I literally had to turn my back because the thought of him on his knees in front of me made my jeans uncomfortably tight.
When I had calmed my dick down enough, I approached him and asked, “What can I get you, handsome?” His cheeks flamed red again, and the blush crept down toward his neck—freaking adorable. He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, making me want to lick it.Jesus,get ahold of yourself,O’Neil.
He cleared his throat and answered, “Club soda with lime, please.” Then his eyes slid away from mine like he was ashamed of his choice.
“Coming right up,” I replied without missing a beat. I knew that look. I’d seen it dozens of times—including on my father’s face. People with drinking problems felt ashamed that they weren’t drinking when everyone else was. My dad was an alcoholic who had been sober for more than twenty years when he died. The cutie at the bar might be going through the same thing, or maybe he just didn’t like drinking but liked hanging out at bars. Who was I to judge? I put his drink together and slid it back to him with a smile. “It’s on the house.”
He blinked in surprise. “Oh, thank you.” A small smile touched his lips. “That’s very nice of you.”
“No problem,” I replied. I leaned closer and said more quietly, “Let me know if there’s anything else you need from me.”
There was that blush again. So cute. “I…I will,” he stuttered. He tipped his glass toward me in a salute and took a sip. God, I wanted that mouth on me so bad. Before I could say anything else, someone shouted for me from the other side of the bar.
The place suddenly got super busy—some pre- or post-graduation thing, I think—and I lost sight of the cutie at the bar. I hoped he’d wait until things died down so I could talk to him again, but when I finally got back to where he was sitting, all that was left was a middle-aged blonde woman—one of our regulars—and a twenty-dollar bill underneath his glass. “Damn it,” I muttered.
“Everything okay, honey?” the woman asked kindly.
“Yeah,” I said. “I just missed somebody, that’s all.”
She glanced down at the bill under the empty glass. “They must have liked you, at least.”
“Not enough,” I murmured as I picked up the tip and the glass. “What can I get you?”
“Just a glass of white wine,” she replied. “I’m going to enjoy my wine and then take a walk on the beach. It’s a full moon tonight, and I intend to take advantage of it.”
I looked out the window. I couldn’t see the moon itself, but I could see the silvery glow it cast over the garden. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. I think I’ll do that after I’m done here.” Maybe it would help clear my head—since that appeared to be the only kind of head I was getting tonight.
* * *
Jeremy
Alcohol was notmy drug of choice. I could sit at a bar, a party, whatever, and not crave the taste of alcohol on my tongue. But one drink would lead to two and often three. Then I forgot why I shouldn’t try to find those sweet little white pills. I forgot that they almost ruined my life—almost took my life. I forgot that the high didn’t even really feel that good. I forgot that I had people who loved me, and I didn’t need a drug to fill those empty spaces.
I wasn’t planning to go to the bar. I didn’t even know it existed until I saw it while eating dinner in the hotel restaurant. The food was excellent, and I was happy for Evan and Raphael that they had found such a lovely place for their wedding. I was concerned about the small room size until I noticed the sliding French doors between the restaurant and the bar. With both sides open, the room would be plenty big enough for the hundred or so people they’d invited.
From my table near the piano alcove, I saw the bartender hustling as he served the people lined up at the bar and made drinks for the waitstaff to deliver. I couldn’t see much of him, but I liked what I did see. Chestnut-brown hair fell to his well-developed shoulders. The defined muscles of his arms flexed in a most delicious way when he reached for a bottle above him. He had a tattoo going up his right arm, but from this distance, I couldn’t tell what it was. After a delicious dessert of chocolate lava cake with vanilla ice cream, I decided to enjoy some eye candy.
I was lucky enough to find a seat at the end of the bar to watch the hot bartender in action. And, oh my, was he hot. The muscles I saw from afar were even better up close. The tattoo on his right arm looked like a complex tribal symbol that went up his arm and disappeared under the short sleeve of his dark-blue polo. The black ink was accentuated by his fair skin. So yeah, I wanted to explore that tattoo in great detail—with my tongue. Dark jeans lovingly cupped a tight, rounded ass. I willed him to turn around so I could see the rest of the package—ahem—but when he did, he caught me staring. I swear I thought my face would incinerate right there. I looked away because I couldn’t meet his gaze, and when I looked back, he had turned around and was getting something from one of the shelves.
