Erotic Authoress Spotlight . . . V.L. Locey

Excerpt:

He was at the baby grand, his head bowed as he played each note with perfection. Lord Elton John would be proud of how well Veikko was playing Someone Saved My Life Tonight. The keys were hit with passion and agony. I lingered in the doorway of the living room as he lost himself in the song, or so I thought.

“Come sit beside me, Piglet,” he said, jarring me from my appraisal of him, the piano, the muted light in the corner, and the tumbler of liquid sitting within easy reach. Whiskey, if the smell was any indication. Not sure if I liked his nickname for me or not, I nonetheless moved closer to him. He glanced up, his long fingers never missing one key, then he jerked his head to indicate the bench. I moved behind him to sit primly at his side. Yes, it was whiskey in the tumbler. The smell was a thick fog around the man. So he had drunk his dinner tonight. That boded well.

“Tell me, Piglet, have you ever had a man break your heart?” he asked his accent slightly thicker from the ingestion of who knew how much Jack Daniels.

“Sure.”

“I get no other details than that?” His hands moved across the keyboard smoothly, leaving me in yet a deeper hole of disbelief. I had come into this job with a massive number of misconceptions about athletic types. Veikko was shattering all my stereotypes. Not only was the man not dumb, he possessed all his teeth, he was a lover of fine art, a philanthropist, a highly skilled pianist, and a deeply emotional human being who was now begging, in his own masculine way, for me to commiserate with him. Maybe it was the booze that had him beseeching in as manly a way possible for heartache tales.

“He was a college guy.” I sighed, hearing the lyrics written by Bernie Taupin clearly in my mind. “I was sixteen, he was twenty-one. He got what he wanted and I never saw him again. Typical, right?”

He said something unpleasant in one of his two native tongues that if translated might have made a sailor gasp. It sounded really vile.

“Hey, it was years ago, but thanks for getting all big brother about it, Pooh.”

His snort surprised me. As did the gentle elbow he pushed into my side. “Shy little Piglet needs a burly Pooh to defend her honor from time to time.” He chuckled, obviously a bit drunker than he should be given he had to play tomorrow night. “I am sorry he hurt you. You have such a good soul, kind and caring, not filled with conceit and self-absorption.”

Well, what did a person say to that? Going with the usual response I have ready for random acts of kindness, I muttered thanks while wishing I had let my hair down.

The music stopped. I found myself being drawn to look at him, even though it would make me flushed and unable to speak properly. He was too close. His eyes far too hooded.

“Sing for me,” he whispered. “I wish to hear the words. They are good words for tonight, don`t you think?”

Wetting my lips my eyes roamed from his face to the whiskey. Maybe I needed a few fifths as well.

“I`m really sorry about things, how they happened, I mean. You and she seemed…looked so good together, well, I think if you want me to sing you need to play.”

“Thank you, Piglet.” He exhaled, pressed his lips to my cheek then started at the beginning of the song once again. My lips were rather disappointed that I didn`t turn to catch his mouth with mine. I could have. I should have. It would have been so simple: just a turn of the head at the wrong, or right depending on your POV, moment. His lips on mine, just for a minute in a startling kiss that would lead to something hot, carnal, and as everlasting as the peaks of Mardavia.

Those kinds of moments don`t happen for skinny, shy chicks though. Closing my eyes, I began singing about east end nights, slip nooses, and thanking God for music that pulls us through.