Capturing the Muse

by Madison Avery

  What she heard first was a ringing sound. She couldn't place it—not right away—but it was something she recognized. On the tip of her tongue. But next, she was colliding with a stranger, stumbling backward. Her ass hit the concrete hard, and she yelped.

  Rayne was eager to take the hand that was thrust in her face. She squinted her eyes, but the bright afternoon sun veiled the towering stranger before her, lacing the moment with intrigue. She felt the shudder of heat as soon as her hand slid into his, grasping it. It spread over her fingers and up her arm. It was an enticing feel. An effect she may have written about in her books, but never thought, ever, that it could be real. That instant connection with someone that spreads over you, jolting you awake.

  She let the firm grasp help haul her upright. It lingered for a second, before the warmth faded away, as soon as she pulled back, brushing her curled hair out of her eyes.

  Though she hadn't meant it, a gasp pushed through her parted lips when she realized who had helped her up.

  It was the homeless man from the morning, and now she was suddenly facing him.

  "I'm sorry, ma'am. I wasn't... Lucky Penny?"

  The blush that spread over Rayne was fast and burned hot. "Yeah. I'm sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going, either."

  A second later, Rayne heard the ringing sound. A sort of metallic ping as the homeless man flipped the penny she had given him earlier, into the air, catching it. "Seems you should have kept this, after all," he said.

  Rayne replied, "I'm a klutz, and wasn't paying attention. Lack of luck had nothing to do with it."

  It was then she took a step back, taking a moment to let her eyes appraise the man. He was dressed well enough, not exactly what you’d expect from a man hoping for a handout. Blue jeans, a warm–looking, gray wool sweater. They weren't tattered or dirty, and Rayne was sure the delightful smell of woodiness and citrus fruit rolled into one was emanating from him. Her deliberate stare swept up his length and to his eyes, which grabbed her attention further. They were, after all, no matter how cliché, the window to the soul.

  This man's eyes were spellbinding. Composed of scratches of malachite; a luminescent green Rayne had never seen before, but wanted to commit the precious gemstone-like appearance to memory. They swallowed her up with an intense gaze she couldn't seem to break away from.

  Rayne didn't need to look at the rest of him. It was not necessary. His eyes were warm, and sincere, a touch of mystery within the green. They were honest. She could tell. And she was immediately taken with them.

  "Maybe, maybe not." He flipped the coin in the air again, snapping Rayne back. "But this time, you were thinking something. What was it? You'd been biting your lip, gnawing on it like it was a light afternoon snack."

  Finding a laugh to share was easy; he was funny. Though she hadn't realized she'd been biting her lips. Impulsively, she wiped a hand across her mouth, her fingers drawing back a smear of crimson blood.

  What had she been thinking? About the vacation, for sure. Yet, that wasn't all. It was about the rock that had plummeted in her stomach, weighing her down with doubts, already, about whether or not she could turn over a complete manuscript in less than a month. When she’d left Lacy’s office, she had been confident. However, as the minutes began to tick away, so did that confidence, replaced by an overwhelming uncertainty. Rayne had no idea where to start.

  She shrugged in reply, looking away. "I have a deadline. A big one. Important. Actually, almost life or death, but I just—I just don't think I can meet it."

  The man did something that surprised Rayne. He reached towards her and rested his fingers under her chin, urging her to look up at him. "You can do it. I know you can." Her eyes fluttered closed as his warm, minty breath washed over her causing Rayne’s heart to pitch forward.

  For Rayne, the delicate touch, and his earnest words didn't last log enough. She heard the flip of his penny, and when she opened her eyes, he was gone.

  She rushed up the street and down, searching for the man who'd given her the most sincere moment of her life. Though he knew nothing of who she was, she believed with all her heart he had indeed meant what he'd said. That she could do it. No matter how insignificant it was, knowing someone else knew that, started a few ideas to flitter through her brain.

  * * *

  As Rayne sat in the window seat of the airplane, she used the short flight to get to work, and typed on her laptop. She thought back, often, to the moment on the street with the homeless man, her emotions tingling. He had given her the tiniest spark towards getting back that urge to write. It came unexpectedly, but Rayne grasped at the few ideas with open arms. She'd spent the better part of the last two days plotting out Clara and Dexter's final book. But to her dismay, the ember began to fade. The longer she looked at the computer, the more she realized what she had written down was crap. She knew it. It wasn't the epic final installment her readers deserved.

  Although she didn't select the words and delete them, Rayne let out a frustrated grumble and closed the lid on her laptop with more force than needed. Taking the small plastic cup of rye and coke, she slung it back, letting the burn of the alcohol slide down her throat. She'd felt as though she'd wasted the last couple days, the deadline looming.

  Pressing her head against the rest, she closed her eyes, bringing her hands up and over, shielding them further from the glow of the plane.

  Rayne heard the tell-tale sound of a thumb connecting with a metallic coin being propelled through the air. It was faint but clear. She'd now recognize the sound anywhere. Pulling her hands from her face, she looked to her left, across the aisle. Then she wiggled in her chair, got to her knees and peered over her seat, looking front and back, searching out the sound.

  "Ma'am, we're about to make our descent. I need you to sit down and buckle up," a flight attendant said, coming down the aisle.

  "Did you see... I mean, is there a man on the plane, really tall, handsome-looking, flipping a coin in the air?" Rayne was still searching the faces of the passengers she could see. Oddly enough, she hoped she would find him, but when the flight attendant shook her head, she slid back down into her seat. Her hand rested on her heart, feeling the erratic beats within. It was strange. Of course, he wouldn't be on her flight. He was probably back at the train station, begging for change. Rayne had apparently misinterpreted the sound she'd heard.

  * * *

  After checking in and dropping off her luggage in her room, Rayne went into the lobby of the hotel. She was used to eating alone, and found a cozy corner in the lounge to enjoy a meal and a glass of burgundy merlot. She still hadn't felt the inkling to write, and may have drowned a little of her woes in one too many glasses of wine. Rayne didn't care. She was, after all, on vacation. There was no one there to scold her for being tipsy, there were no fans that expected her to be this brilliant and creative author. She was all by herself, which most times, Rayne preferred.

  After finishing her meal, gulping down the dregs of her wine, instead of heading back up to her room, Rayne went into the lobby and headed out the doors. She was staying in a cozy seaside community, and with the impending sunset approaching, Rayne thought a beautiful sight like that might re-spark the ideas that still floated in her mind. She really did need to figure out a way to just... collect all the thoughts in one cohesive weave and get to work.

  For the most part, the only thing holding Rayne back was herself and the fear of failure.

  As she walked along the boardwalk, the lapping waves of the ocean just below her, what seemed to work, sort of, was taking her mind off the novel and to just be... Rayne spent more time looking at the sights, how many people still covered the sandy beach, playing in the water, screaming and laughing. Carefree. The shops and bars across from the ocean were bustling with activity. Sitting on a bench, Rayne people-watched; often times one of her favorite activities. She found that going unnoticed was a great way to see how people truly interacted. Many of her characters in the past had been created by som
ething she had seen.

  An older couple held hands, clinging to each other; such love swirling between their gazes. A mother, holding a small baby, cooing. She looked exhausted, dark circles around her eyes, and yet, as she looked down at the little person, all that didn't seem to matter. The look of adoration in her eyes was compelling. A young couple stopped abruptly, and the guy grabbed his companion’s hand, pulling her into a small alcove between the buildings. Pressing her against the wall, he kissed her passionately, as though they were the only two people in the world.

  And that's how life should be. Always. That love, that transcends all things, making it as though there is nothing else that matters. Just the deep, consuming feeling of giving yourself over completely to another. Rayne wished she had that. That she could reach out and take that kind of love and shove it into her story.

  Dexter and Clara needed it too. She had put them through the ringer, left their love story hanging, wide-open, with gaping holes, and tearing them from each other. Only she knew they would end up back in each other's arms. It was inevitable. She just had to write it.

  After a long while, Rayne began to retrace her steps, heading back towards the hotel. She felt lighter, more relaxed but still not sure she could put pen to paper, yet. The other problem she'd been having about Dexter and Clara was the simple fact they needed a love story ending that would give justice for what they’d gone through. Rayne wasn't sure how to do that, when she had never experienced that all-consuming love herself. She had never given her heart to someone freely. She guarded it. Always. Only, at times, giving small pieces of herself away. How was she to write about something she'd never experienced before?

  The ringing sound was abrupt, slicing through the air, reaching her ears. Rayne looked to her left, right, forward and backward. She knew, this time without a doubt, it was the sound of the man flipping her penny in the air. Picking up her pace, Rayne ran. A silly sensation in her heart propelled her forward.

  Then, there, sitting just outside the doors of the hotel, she saw him. At least, she thought she did. She blinked her eyes a few times in amazement and then concern. She hated that she knew seeing him again, hours away from the city, should have brought on a more instant reaction—she should have been scared. Yet, she wasn't. She was oddly comforted by the sight, no matter how peculiar it was.

  "Are you stalking me?" Rayne came up to him. "Should I be calling the cops?" It was an honest question that deserved an answer. She placed her hands on her hips, toe-tapping against the ground.

  "Lucky Penny, fancy meeting you here."

  She shook her head. "No. Not fancy. You-you shouldn't be here." But she found herself stepping to the side of him, turning and sliding her back against the wall, sitting next to him. She brought her legs up and hugged them. "Who are you?" she whispered.

  "Would you believe me if I said I was here because you needed me?"

  Rayne scoffed. He flipped the coin in the air again, but before he could catch it, she snatched it out the air. "No. I wouldn't. I would start to think you're crazy. Or I'm crazy. That this moment isn't real. It's not actually happening. Because it doesn't make sense. At all."

  The man put his hand over top of Rayne's as she still held the coin in her palm. "Why does it have to make sense? Why can't you just let the moment happen? Is it because deep down you know it's what you need?" But Rayne wasn't sure she'd heard him, not entirely. She had been concentrating on the sensation in her hand. His skin was soft, warm, and that tingle of electricity was back.

  Pushing away the awe, she stumbled over her words but replied, "How do you know what I need?"

  "Because I felt it. More than once. You've been asking yourself questions, and I'm here, Rayne, to give you a taste of the answers."

  Hearing her name roll off his tongue shot a tidal wave of emotion through her. It shouldn't have. Her heart was betraying her in the sense that she knew the entire exchange between the two was wrong. "How-how do you know my name?"

  "The same way that I know if you dig deep and relax, you'll know mine, too."

  No matter how absurd that was, Rayne did as he'd said. She closed her eyes, tuned out everything she could, and listened. Listened to what her heart or her mind, or the crazy voices that often took residence in her brain, were trying to tell her.

  At first, the only the sound she heard was of her own deep breaths. The thump of her heart. The blood rushing through her veins. The more she surrendered, desperate to hear something, the more she swore she heard. A delicate whisper, a nudge to keep searching. She pushed aside the millions of ideas clouding her mind, ideas begging to be written that she’d never had the will to write, and then, it came. Sort of a funny taste on her tongue. A vibration through her veins. Until the information she wanted could be plucked from her mind. She wrapped imaginary fingers around it, gripping it tightly, clinging to the sensation it gave her.

  "Cole," she whispered so quietly she hadn't been sure he heard her.

  She pulled his hand to hers, lacing their fingers together, the penny trapped between them. Rayne stood and tugged at him, silently pleading with her eyes. Cole exhaled a breath and stood, nearly pressing his chest against hers. The feel of his body so close ignited within her a moment of pleasure that tickled her stomach.

  "Come with me. Please," she said, already pulling him towards the hotel.

  Cole trailed behind, but his long strides matched to her shorter ones as they walked side by side through the lobby.

  Knowing what she needed made the whole idea for Rayne easier to accept. He'd been right. She'd been asking questions, for months. It was always her biggest struggle. She needed someone to come and take away the block in her mind, allow her the chance to write again. It wasn't quite simply writer's block she suffered from, it was more. It was the question she'd asked herself as she walked back to the hotel, the same thing she'd been thinking when she'd lied to Cole the first time they met.

  Rayne always believed that part of her couldn't finish Dexter and Clara's story because she didn't know how to give them what they needed. Connect them completely in a way she'd never experienced. And maybe her chance was here. Sort of.

  Once in the elevator, Rayne boldly stepped towards Cole. She closed the final inches of distance between them. "I need you. I need you take it away. To give me—" But she didn't finish. Instead, she leaned up on her tiptoes and placed her lips against his. Soft and careful, but when Cole's arms wrapped around her waist, forcing her closer, the kiss became more urgent.

  Suddenly, her hands were everywhere, exploring him. She touched his face, the tips of her fingers scratching the stubble on his jaw. Rayne dragged her hands over his spine, and back up his chest. Cole did the same, smoothing his palms over her. In one swift motion, he'd grabbed her by the hips, lifting her from the ground. He turned, pressing Rayne against the wall of the elevator.

  With Cole's hands on either side of her head, he took her bottom lip into his mouth. He sucked and nibbled before moving to kiss her cheek, the tip of her nose, the lobe of her ear. One of his hands left its place, sliding down her torso, and gripped the underside of her thigh, pulling her leg up, desperate to close any remaining gaps between them.

  "Cole," Rayne murmured as she felt his erection pressing through his jeans, teasing her in just the right spot. He rubbed against her, causing a savory quiver between her legs, her core tingling at the sensation.

  They broke apart when the elevator stopped and the doors opened on Rayne's floor. Cole captured her hand with his and the two walked, with wide smiles, out and down the hallway.

  Rayne had never felt so exhilarated in her life. She was the shy girl, always, and never would have imagined she would be so eager to get someone into her bed. Yet, here she was, casting fervent looks in Cole's direction. Her mind hadn't completely wrapped around the situation, and she didn't dare put too much thought into it. It didn't really matter if Cole was simply a manifestation of her brain, or if he was real, and he'd known just what she needed. If he c
ould somehow pull the wedge in her mind free, she was all the better off. She would deal with the aftermath later—maybe never—because right here, right now, Rayne was desperate with the idea of having Cole. Nothing else mattered.

  "Where's your key?"

  "In-in my pocket," Rayne said. She went to get it, but Cole's hand was on her bum, hand in the pocket of her jeans. He squeezed, which caused her to giggle as he pulled the card free.

  In a hoarse voice, he said, "And the room number?"

  Using a shaky gesture, she pointed down to the end of the hall. "It's the last one."

  The two picked up their pace until Cole was shoving the card into the slot. He jiggled it around, with a groan, until the light turned green and he was able to push the door open. They practically fell into each other's arms, through the threshold, the door being kicked shut by Cole's boot.

  "I-I don't normally do this," Rayne said. "Never, actually. Ever." But Cole pushed his finger over her lips, shushing her.

  "That doesn't matter, as long as you're sure this is what you want."

  Rayne didn't have to think about it. Not at all. She craved the release she anticipated, both mentally and physically. "It is. I'm sure."

  "Then anything that happens is because we want it to."

  Biting her lip, Rayne nodded, reaching for his sweater, curling her fingers into the fabric as she pulled it up and over Cole's head. Letting go, it fell in a heap on the floor, but her hands found the swath of rich black hair on his head. She pulled her fingers through it, leaning closer to him, kissing across his chest. It was sprinkled with hair, and it tickled her nose until she swirled a circle around his hardened nipple with her tongue. At the motion, Cole grabbed her hips again, a low groan coming from deep within his throat.

  The sound enticed her with another amplified shiver, and she pulled back.

  "I want you," Cole said as he reached for the belt on her coat, yanking it open. He moved fast as he pulled the buttons loose, and then slid the fabric over her arms. But he didn't stop there. He wrenched the fabric of her shirt up, pulling it over her head. Next, he took the elastic that had tied her curls in place and snapped it free. Her hair spilled over her bare shoulders, resting in length just above the cups of her green satin bra. "Exquisite," he whispered, his gaze on her breasts that swelled with each breath of air she took in. He fingered the fabric, dipping below the cup, teasing her nipple.