Becoming His Muse, Complete Set (12 page)

“It may be too great a risk to take,” he says.

“Is that why you followed me here? To break this off before it’s even started?”

“To give you the opportunity to walk away, yes, but knowing the truth at least. I don’t want anybody else here, Ava. That’s why I made up a story about being engaged. I want everyone else to think I’m unavailable. Only you know the truth.”

I walk a few steps along the balcony and then place both hands on the railing, my back to him now. “What is the truth exactly?”

“The truth is that I want you…” He moves to stand behind me. He’s close enough for me to feel his warmth against my back but he’s not actually touching me. “I want
you
to be my muse.”

His words send a shiver up my spine.

I take a deep breath to compose myself.

“Maybe it is too great a risk. I don’t want to get expelled. What if I say no?” My words sound strong, as if I really am considering my options.

My back is to him but somehow I know he’s frowning. He sighs and says, “I won’t like it, but I’ll respect it.”

I step back, feeling the cool night air swirl around me. “And your need for a muse?”

“You’ll still be that for me. Even if I can’t touch you. The muse chooses the artist, not the other way around.”

He seems so different now from in his office where I felt his pressure, his desire, as if I had no choice but to fall in to his arms, to contort to the shape of his muse. But now he’s giving me an out. A choice. I think I should take it. But what are thoughts compared to the feelings running rampant across my skin, through my veins, in every fluttery heartbeat? I act as if I’m considering my options but I know, deep down, there is only one door I will go through, the door he has opened inside of me.

“What about your promises to me?” I say. “About opening me up to art and…and everything else you said.”

He slides one finger along my right hip.

“You have to choose that for yourself. Not for me.”

His finger presses lightly on my hip, an invitation to turn around, to face him, to face this possibility, this choice that lies between us.

I yield to his light touch and turn partway toward him. I look up into his green eyes, as intense as ever as he waits for my decision. It’s made, but I take my time voicing it.

“Let me kiss you,” he says, touching the edge of my jaw.

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re dying to know how someone who writes about kissing actually does it.”

I can’t help smiling. He’s kind of right.

“I don’t know if I’m
dying
.”

“Oh, but you are. A little bit everyday. We all are. Which is another reason you should let me kiss you.”

His eyes hold mine and won’t let go.

“Because we’re all dying?”

“Yes. And a kiss is a spark of life in the face of inevitable death.”

“The idea of death makes me feel sad.”

“But my kiss won’t. A kiss will make you feel alive.”

“Even though you say I’m dying? That we’re all dying?”

“Yes. A kiss is a taste of the divine—right here in the human mouth.” The tip of his finger grazes my lower lip. “The magic of life explodes between two people when they kiss. And when they do other things…”

I close my eyes. This is why I can’t say no. This is why I have to take the risk. Because, as innocent and inexperienced as I might be, I can sense that this life is brief, and full of meaningless moments, while the moments that matter, peppered unpredictably throughout a single human life, appear and disappear as suddenly and fleetingly as shooting stars. Then we’re left, at the end, on the cusp of death, with only the memory of stars. I know one thing for sure: I want to see stars before I die.

His finger moves away. I want him to touch me again. We stand so close together, yet we’re separate, with gaps between our edges, air and heat filling the space between us.

“I don’t like to think about death and dying.”

“Then let me kiss you, and you won’t need to think at all.”

His whispering lips are half an inch from mine. We share our breath, but the ripe, soft flesh our mouths does not yet meet. I feel dizzy, as if on the brink of some precipice. The lightest wind could push me forward; the tiniest tug could pull me back. My skin feels electric, and wavy, as if it’s undulating over the blood flowing just beneath the surface. We could stand and breathe like this all night. Feeling this edge, this brink, this abyss of desire. Or we could lean into one another… Fall…

“Say yes, Ava,” he whispers.

I breathe in. I breathe out.

“Open your eyes and say yes, Ava.”

I open my eyes — his green ones, heavy-lidded yet still intense, stare at me. I can make out each distinct eyelash, and the bone of his brow with the fine arcing hairs that cluster there make his look darker, sexier.

“Say yes to facing life and death with eyes wide open,” he says. “That is the artist’s calling. Say yes, and let yourself fall…”

Into the abyss.

His words are like the power of a great height that calls me over its edge. I tip, leaning into his words, into my fears, into our desires. I feel a ‘yes’ escape my lips; they part, my tongue softly flexes behind my teeth, and I exhale the tiny significant word; he inhales it gently, his lips bridging the last small space between us. Then it’s gone, this space, as his deliberate, hungry mouth claims mine.

I lose myself in Logan’s kiss. Coming up for air, I’m like diver who’s discovered treasure at the bottom of the sea; I want to dive back down a soon as my lungs are full so that I can claim the mysterious jewels at the bottom of this deep dark sea. I realize I am clutching him. His eyelids lift and I’m staring into those deep green eyes again.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, yes, yes.” I close my eyes, forgetting where we are, forgetting everything except the taste and texture of his lips.

And then I hear a voice.

“Ava?”

It’s not Logan’s voice.

“Where are you?” It’s Ruby.

My eyes flash open. Logan turns away from me.

We’re behind the drapes that mask the floor to ceiling windows, so we’re not visible from the office doorway, but the balcony door is ajar, and the drapes are pushed aside at that opening.

“Ava, are you in here?” Her voice is closer now. I step past Logan, push him further along the balcony, out of sight, and step into the glass door opening before Ruby has a chance to step through to look for me.

“There you are,” she says, stopping halfway between the office door and the balcony. “I was getting worried.”

Her brow furrows with concern as she appraises me. “You’re all flushed, Ava. Do you have a fever?”

Not the kind she’s thinking of.

“Maybe,” I say, touching the back of my hand to my head. My other hand is holding the edge of the sliding door frame, which is barely out of sight behind the dark blue drape. I feel something warm against my hand as I talk to Ruby.

“Want me to walk you back to your room?” she says.

“Are you leaving already?”

“A bunch of us writers are heading to Mick’s. Our hot teacher seems to have vanished. We’ve got a bet going that he’s there drinking whiskey instead of wine. Wanna join?”

The hot teacher’s lips are brushing along the outer edge of my wrist. I force myself to not look his way. With equal effort, I lock my knees in place so I don’t collapse. His lips are so soft, so tender…

“I think I’ll head home to bed,” I say.

I hear Logan sigh. “Good idea,” he whispers against the skin of my forearm, and then my elbow. He’s working his way down.

Ruby takes a step toward me, trying to look past me. Did she hear Logan’s whispers? My heart lurches into a panicky beat.

“How big is that balcony?” says Ruby.

Logan’s lips tense and stop their explorations. He steps away quickly, further along the balcony, into the shadows made by the drapes.

“Not that big,” I say in a slightly high-pitched voice. I try to block her approach but she seems determined to see for herself. I hold onto the doorframe, attempting to limit her view to the side. She steps one foot onto the balcony deck. I hold my breath. She looks directly out across the railing to the landscaped square below.

“Must be a nice view in daylight,” she says, looking to the right. Before she can look to the left, I say, quickly, “You know, I think I’ll take you up on that walk back to the dorm. I’m feeling pretty dizzy.”

“Oh sure.” She steps back into the Dean’s office, giving me room to follow her. I do. Halfway across the room she turns and says,

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Huh?”

“You’d better close up the balcony door.”

I turn back. Damn. What do I do?

I pretend to slide it closed and then I fiddle with the latch and pull the drapes over the gap I’ve left.

“There,” I say. “Let’s go.”

“You’re really not feeling that well, are you?”

She walks past me, back to the sliding door, and pulls aside the drape. I hold my breath.

“Look, it didn’t catch.” She closes the door fully and locks the latch. Double damn.

“Now we can go,” she says taking my hand and pulling me toward the hall. She flicks the light off and closes the office door.

I feel terrible. Logan’s locked out on the balcony and Ruby won’t let me go. She gets my coat from the pile now abandoned by the Teacher’s Assistant, Gwen, who’s drinking from two glasses of wine at the same time. I’m surrounded by Ruby’s writer friends, including the buxom Sherriann, and we’re all flowing down the hall and into the elevator. I look longingly toward the Dean’s closed door. Damn, damn, damn. I try to lag behind but Ruby’s fussing around me.

I tell myself I’ll just let her lead me back to my dorm. As soon as she drops me off and leaves, I’ll head back to the Dean’s office and rescue Logan. He must be getting cold out there by now.

At my door, Ruby helps slide off my coat and then lays a hand on my forehead. “I don’t think you have a fever anymore but get yourself a good night’s sleep, okay?”

I nod, say thanks and goodnight, and shut the door. I count to sixty and slide my coat back on. Making sure she and her friends are long gone, I run back to the building and end up thoroughly flushed again but for a different reason.

Getting out on the third floor, I literally run into Ronnie and Owen.

“Whoa, girl,” says Ronnie, catching me. “Party’s over, darlin’.’”

“At least this one is,” says Owen, grinning.

“Oh. That’s okay. I just… I left something in the Dean’s office.”

“Not the hot writer in residence by any chance?” says Owen with a snicker and a wink.

I feel my cheeks heat up even more. If they were pink before they must be strawberry red now. “Um. What?”

Ronnie chuckles. “Dr. T had to rescue poor Mr. O’Shane. Seems he locked himself out on the Dean’s balcony while escaping for a smoke.”

“The dangers of smoking are manifold,” says Owen with mock seriousness.

Ronnie chuckles again. I laugh along with him.

Dr. T rescued Logan? My hot blood starts to cool. I’m grateful I suppose. Though I still feel like a heel. I’ll have to find some way to apologize.

“We’re going to Mick’s for a beer,” says Ronnie. “Care to come?”

“Sure.” Shrugging, I turn to reenter the elevator out of which I have just tumbled.

Before the door closes, Owen says, “What about that thing you forgot? Don’t you want to get it?”

For a second I’m confused.

“In the Dean’s office?” prompts Ronnie. “We’ll wait if you like.”

“Oh. That. Um.” I step off the elevator, realizing I’d better see this story through. “You go on ahead. I’ll catch up in a few minutes.”

They wave as the elevator doors close. I sigh deeply after they’re gone. After a few moments pass, I push the elevator call button.

What a strange and anti-climactic evening. My heart and my hormones have been on a roller coaster ride. I actually kissed Logan O’Shane. I touch a finger to my bottom lip. It was like no kiss I’ve ever experienced. I want to experience it again. And again.

But after the fiasco tonight, no doubt he’ll call the whole thing off. I feel so silly and young, so unprepared for a complicated, experienced man like Logan.

The elevator seems to be taking a very long time. Just when I’m about to resort to the stairs, I hear the sound of clinking bottles.

Dr. T emerges from the faculty lounge carrying a box of unopened wine bottles.

“Hey, Ava,” he calls out when he sees me. “Thought you left with Ruby and the rest of that gang.”

“Oh, yeah, I did but… Need help carrying stuff?” I head toward him, ready to help alleviate his burdens.

“Nah,” he says as the lights magically click off behind him. “I have some extra arms here. Just hold elevator, will you?”

The doors slide open and I wedge my foot against the frame.

When I look up, Dr. T is just a few steps away. Behind him, carrying bags of leftover crackers, is the man I left standing on the balcony.

“Did you hear the scuttlebutt?” says Dr. T with a laugh. “Our new teacher here got himself locked out on the Dean’s balcony.”

“Oh?” I clear my throat, force myself to meet Logan’s eyes, which narrow to a glare when he sees me.

Dr. T readjusts the box in his arm. He’s still chuckling as we get in the elevator.

“Lucky thing I popped in for a few extra glasses or he might have frozen out there.”

“The valiant Sir Richard rescued me,” says Logan, his glare sharpening into blame.

“Hope that cigarette was worth it,” says Dr. T, looking up at the elevator lights.

I glance at Logan, try to say sorry with my eyes, to plead for forgiveness. His glare turns devilish, as if he’s enjoying my silent squirming. He and I are at the back of the elevator, with Dr. T in front. I hold onto the back railing. Logan leans against it. Feeling as if I’ve royally messed things up between us, I sigh and stare up at the numbers counting down. Then I feel Logan’s fingers next to mine. It’s like an electric shock. I meet his sidelong glance and see his eyes glittering with a hidden smile. Maybe I didn’t completely mess things up…?

The elevator doors open. Logan retracts his fingers before Dr. T turns around.