#1 Muse

by T Gephart

  “No.” I swallowed, the air feeling thick and harder to breathe. “Everything else was fine.”

  His lips spread into a grin, tipping his chin toward his couch unaware of my fond feelings of his furniture. “Good, why don’t you take a seat.”

  My butt answered before my mouth did, dropping to the soft leather, only this time without the heavenly weight of him against me. “So, about that story.”

  I had played out the possibility of throwing my body at him and trying to seduce him into oblivion, but we—me and what was left of my conscience—had already decided to be professional.

  It really sucked doing the right thing.

  He laughed, joining me on the couch. “Right to the point, okay, I like that.”

  Lord I hoped this was not an indication of how the evening was going to be. I thought it was fair that since I had shelved my plans of seduction, he should have the decency to do the same.

  “Yes. We should get to the point.” After all that’s why I was there, right? Not like I was there under the pretense that he was interested in me, and that we were on some kind of pseudo date. “You see, I wrote it. And it really wasn’t ready for public consumption. So, I’d like it back, please.”

  That was the abridged version, and the one that made me sound less like a crazy person. And it wasn’t a lie, the fact it was never going to be for public consumption didn’t need to be mentioned at all. It was irrelevant. The important thing was that I stand up like a woman, admit it was mine and that he didn’t have the right to read it. With manners of course, because there was no need to be rude.

  Or something along those lines.

  He pressed his lips into a tight line, his arm resting against the back of the couch. “If you’re worried that I read it, you can relax. I haven’t. You said you would tell me about it, so I thought we’d do a read through together.”

  Oh thank you, God.

  It was like every single muscle in my body relaxed and if not for my spine, I might have melted onto the floor like an unattractive skin bag. The ease of tension made me spontaneously smile, fireworks of happiness bursting in my chest as I vowed to the universe I would take the gift it had given me and be the best person alive.

  “Great.” I tried not to leap into his lap and show my appreciation with a celebratory kiss. “Where is it?”

  His smile dropped, his perfect plump lips—seriously, I bet they’d be fantastic to kiss—pulled into a pout. “Here I thought you were interested in me, but you only came for the story?”

  He was joking.

  He had to be joking.

  Please, God, let him be joking.

  “I-I.” He gave nothing away, his eyes locked on me while I tried to think of something to say. “I thought you would be perfect for the lead.”

  What.

  WHAT.

  OH.

  MY.

  GOD.

  WHAT?!

  Those fireworks of happiness that had exploded in my chest, turned into an atom bomb the minute the words left my mouth. The force of the detonation was enough to stop my heart, at least that’s what it felt like as I took a gasp of air and forced myself to stay upright.

  Whatever I had “planned” to do when I had walked in, had been left on the man’s front stoop. Because if there had been some plan, I’d have already been out the door, story tucked under my arm, commenting what a fine night it had been.

  Instead I was undone by a pouty mouth and a pair of puppy dog eyes that I was positive were not respecting the rules of engagement.

  Was it too late to call “no fair-sies?”

  “You are here for me,” his smile emitting another megaton watt blast, “I’m really glad to hear you say that.”

  Firstly, what the hell did that mean? And secondly, where did I go from the corner I had tossed myself into?

  Okay, don’t panic. I forced my lips into something that would pass for a smile. “I’m glad you’re glad.” I was panicking. “So glad.”

  If there was an opposite of glad, I was that—anti-glad, if you will. And I was about to take it all back, come clean completely and tell him the truth when he turned and looked at me and opened his mouth.

  “You want to hear something funny?”

  Lord I wasn’t sure. “Of course, who doesn’t like funny?”

  Who answered a question with another freaking question? The whole conversation was a train wreck, and we weren’t even an hour in.

  “When I woke up the other morning, and saw you in my house, I knew you looked familiar.” His finger tapped my nose, teasingly. “First I thought it was because we’d slept together, not that night, because like I said, I always know when I have sex.” He rolled his eyes like it was the most logical thing ever. “But from before.”

  Okay, so maybe we could take honesty and put a pin it for a minute. I mean, I could always tell him later. Half an hour, tomorrow—there was plenty of time.

  My eyes got wide. “We haven’t—”

  “Yeah, I know.” He laughed, cutting me off. “I realized when I saw your picture from when we worked together.” His eyes floated over my body making their way back up to my eyes. “I never forget a face.”

  God he was hot, looking at me like I was a piece of cake and he was desperate to have a taste.

  “Well . . . it wasn’t that much of a conversation,” I stuttered, ironically not much better than the one I was currently having.

  His brow rose, his tongue teasing his bottom lip with a quick flick. “You know, I was going to ask you out.”

  “What?” It shot out of my mouth almost as an accusation rather than a question. The need for more information making me want to break out into hives. “Ask me out when?”

  When I was in his living room, camped out on the couch like a bum? Or when I had a bad dye job and dreams filled with delusion? Not that it mattered, I would have said yes either time. Hell, I’d say yes now if the offer was on the table.

  Unless that was his way of putting it back on the table?

  His hand moved to my hair, grabbing a loose strand and curling it around his fingers. “You really do look better as a brunette, which is insane considering how hot you were as a blond.”

  There was no noise, like a vacuum had sucked it out all the air and left a weird ringing in my ears. He wasn’t serious; he couldn’t be serious.

  It was a joke, a laugh at my expense because he undoubtedly had read my story and thought it would be freaking hilarious to play with my emotions.

  “Oh, you’re an asshole.” I shoved his hands from my hair, standing up and putting the distance between us that I should have kept all along.

  Gone was the illusion of the sweet, charming, hot man with the body that defied reason and in his place was a cocky, arrogant piece of shit, who thought it would be funny to make fun of me.

  Yeah? Well not today, sir.

  He had the nerve to look surprised. “What? Why am I an asshole?”

  “Why? Why?” I waved my hands animatedly in front of his face. “You really think I’m that dumb? That I would fall for your routine? Lure me in by being charming and sweet,” I had been so dumb, “only to what? Hope that I dropped to my knees and gave you a blow job as thanks.”

  I was so mad, mostly at myself because I had been so caught up in the fantasy of him that I had forgotten I really didn’t know him. And there were a million men like him in L.A., swiping left and right indiscriminatingly, treating women like menus and checking out before settling the bill.

  “Whoa, I wasn’t asking you for a blowjob.” He held his hand up in surrender. “Is this because I mentioned your hair color?”

  “It’s not about my hair color, you ass.” I pushed against his chest. It was a nice chest too, and I might have enjoyed it if I weren’t so mad. “It’s about you thinking I’m an easy lay because I—”

  “Wait a fucking minute.” He grabbed my hands, holding them hostage so I couldn’t beat on his chest. Shame. It was making me feel better, to be honest.
/>
  “Do I want to sleep with you? Of course I do, I just told you how hot I think you are. But that isn’t a fucking expectation, and I sure as hell didn’t think it was going to happen tonight.”

  “What did you say?”

  I stopped fighting against him. It was probably for the best because I had a hard enough time trying to move his weight when he was incapacitated, now he had all his faculties, I stood no chance.

  His head lowered, leaning closer as he looked directly at me. “I don’t expect you to sleep with me.”

  “No, the part about me being hot.”

  He laughed, the light hitting his eyes as he lowered my hands. “Why, so you can tell me I’m an asshole again?” He dropped his gaze following the lines of my body. “You’re fucking stunning. Like I said, I remember you. You were smart and funny, and I’d hoped we’d have more time to hang out. But one of us definitely got hotter.”

  That was my line.

  He wasn’t allowed to steal my freaking line.

  And also, holy shit.

  “You meant that?”

  “Claire, I thought when we agreed I was going to be sober, you would be too. Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?” He dropped his head, bringing it inches away from mine.

  “I’m so confused.”

  With the anger dissipated, my hands decided it was time to get reacquainted with his chest. Man, it was a nice chest, so strong and tight.

  So. Freaking. Nice.

  “Can we assume that you fondling my chest is a good thing?” He glanced down at my hand. “Or do we need to explore more of this confusion thing?”

  “You are really, really good looking.”

  “Thank you.” A grin spread across his lips. “Which incidentally is the normal response when someone you’re attracted to says that.”

  “Oh shut up with your normal.” I pulled him down toward me, his lips fusing to mine.

  He didn’t argue, his hands threading through my hair and bringing me closer as he deepened the kiss. His mouth took more as I gave it to him.

  “In case there’s any confusion,” his lips moved to my neck, his tongue trailing up to my jaw, “I’m still not asking for a blowjob.”

  My hands moved to his ass, grabbing it as I rubbed against him. “I thought I told you to shut up already.”

  He laughed, pushing me up against the wall so that I got the most out of my effort. “I don’t remember you being so bossy. It’s kind of hot.”

  And lord help me, I know we had established he wasn’t asking for a blowjob but he was closer to getting one every single time he said something like that.

  I knew I was going against everything I talked myself into. That I wasn’t interested in Nick in anything other than to feed my creativity. That I didn’t want to risk my career for a fling with a guy who could be with any woman he wanted. But I didn’t care. All those problems would be there tomorrow and I would deal with them tomorrow.

  Or the next day.

  Or next week.

  Basically any other time when he wasn’t kissing me like my mouth was responsible for keeping him alive.

  It was intoxicating, fantasy and reality intersecting in a craziness I couldn’t have scripted even if I’d tried. And believe me, I’d scripted plenty.

  He was into me.

  Not a character I created, not a different, more improved version of myself.

  Me.

  And if the world ended and this was the first and last chance I had to make out with him, I was going to take it.

  Being sensible was for losers, and it had never done me much good, anyway.

  Except . . .

  “Wait.” I pulled my mouth away from his while I still could. “I need to tell you something.”

  Nick’s mouth wasn’t as obedient, skimming the edges of my lips and teasing them to come back. “You can tell me later, I’m in the middle of something right now.”

  “No, no, I need to tell you now.”

  Oh, I wasn’t going to tell him everything, don’t get too excited. I still wasn’t sure if my “usage” of him in the literary sense would be endearing, or creepy. It was a risk and would possibly put a stop to all the kissing forever. But I felt like I had to at least meet him half way.

  “Tell me.” A trail of feather kisses moved down my neck. And given how hard that was making it for me to keep talking, I wasn’t sure he genuinely wanted to know.

  “Okay, so the other night when I came here and found you. I wasn’t really visiting a friend.” I took a step back, there was no way I could multi task. It was either going to be kissing or talking. And I’d already committed to talking.

  He laughed, shaking his head like he was amused. “I know, you were trolling the streets looking for men to save. You told me.”

  Ugh.

  Things had been going so well too. He had admitted to liking me. And then kissed me. But I had to go and sabotage the whole thing. I swear, if I got a chance to kiss him again, I was going to keep my mouth shut. As far as talking went I meant, the other stuff with my mouth I would happily do.

  “No, I mean I was looking for you.”

  “Specifically?” His smile hadn’t disappeared, probably had gotten bigger if I was honest. “So it’s not random men like you alluded to, huh? Well that just makes me feel even more special. How did you know I was drunk?”

  Oh lord.

  I bit my lip, bracing myself. “I didn’t, I mean, I didn’t until I was here.”

  Claire, this was why you couldn’t have nice things.

  “Is there a why you were on my doorstep? Or am I supposed to guess?” He tilted his head, waiting for my response. No anger, no suspicion, and no freaking idea how crazy I was.

  “Ugh, it’s so freaking lame.” I took a deep breath, deciding I needed to just say it and move on. “I was trying to get my story back. Scully thought she’d given it to you, but had really given it to Dave.”

  “The chick from the X files?” His brow lifted, confused.

  I chuckled nervously; I was really sucking at setting the record straight. “No, my pregnant friend.”

  “Ahhhh.” The grin was back, a smug look of satisfaction joining it. “The mysterious pregnant friend that I was supposed to have met. Okay, so you were coming to ask for it back. And instead you ended helping me to bed.”

  I nodded, answering quickly. “Yes.”

  I figured that was enough honesty for one day, right? The main parts were there, there was no need to get caught up on pesky details like my intentions of breaking and entering. Especially since that had never happened. It was a hypothetical so technically did not need to be mentioned.

  Yep, no need to tell him anything else about that.

  He chuckled, “I’m not mad, Claire. If anything, I should be thanking Mulder.”

  “Scully, and really please don’t, you’ll only encourage her. Also,” my eyes cut to the couch, “we sort of touched.”

  “Again, going to need a little more information.”

  Seriously.

  Why was I doing this to myself?

  I hoped that my pain and suffering paid off in the future somehow. Because if I was making myself look like an ass for no good reason, I was going to be pissed.

  I blew out a breath. “At first you used me to steady yourself and then I wasn’t sure, and then you lost your balance and I fell on you. I didn’t mean to be on you, but I was because I thought that was where you wanted me. And you were . . . hard. And we sort of touched. But I got off as soon as I realized.”

  Lord, for someone who wrote for a living, I’d jacked up that sentence in more ways than I could count. And not in an endearing way. I was like a seven-year-old with a recorder, playing music for the first time—cute in theory but mostly a nightmare.

  His shoulders straightened, his chest rising then falling slowly as he stood completely still. “Come closer, Claire.”

  The lighthearted mood from before had evaporated, and if he was mad, he probably had every right to be.
I mean, even though it was a complete accident, if the situation was reversed, I might be mad too.

  I took a step forward. “I want you to know that consent is important, and I would never do anything—”

  “Touch me.” His eyes dropped to the front of his jeans. “You have my consent.”

  My hand reached out, sliding down his chest, moving to the waistband of his jeans and only hesitating a second before pressing against the bulge in his pants. If I thought he was hard the other night, it was nothing compared to how he felt right now.

  My fingers moved against his fly, palming his length as lust heated in his eyes. I wanted to say something, to show my appreciation in case he couldn’t see how much I was enjoying it. “This is really . . .” My body tingled all over. “Nice.”

  He reached down covering my hand with his, making it impossible for me to keep going. “Don’t call my cock nice, Claire,” he warned. “Or I’ll stop you from touching it.”

  I smiled, bringing my mouth to his ear. “Your cock is not nice.”

  “You saying that is the hottest fucking thing ever.” He took my mouth and claimed it, kissing me as he used his body for leverage.

  One minute I was leaning against him, palming him while he watched, and the next thing I was pinned against the wall, with him rubbing against me. A hell of a maneuver and one executed like a boss.

  It felt like a dream, probably because I’d had a similar one a million times, but it was no dream.

  My body heated, undulating under his, as it craved more friction. I was on fire but I didn’t want to be extinguished, preferring to burn and take him along with me.

  “Yes.” The moan escaped my lips as my fingers threaded through his hair, his mouth doing things to my skin I had never felt before.

  It wasn’t just his mouth that was making me feel things, his hand sliding up against my legs, pushing the hem of my dress up so he could settle between my thighs. My leg hooked up on his hip, palming his ass as the ridge of his cock hit me right where it needed to be. The slow and steady rock of his hips threatened to send me spiraling out of control.

  It was too good, my synapses misfiring as my body became overwhelmed. We hadn’t even taken our clothes off and I was about to come.