He failed. Drunk-called her.
She answered on the third ring. “No.”
Just that one word and the call ended.
Drunk him laughed, pictured her far-from-impressed frown, imagined kissing it away, and took Reaper for a walk.
At two a.m. the next morning, he woke and started writing again.
Got lost in the words, the world, the horror…
It wasn’t until he cracked his back and rolled his neck—stomach growling, butt numb, and eyes burning—that he realized his word count.
Doing the math, a grin spread over his face. 22,627 words written since Monday night.
“Text time, Reap.”
Reaper, on his normal spot on the sofa, raised his head, and wagged his tail.
Thomas’s spine cracked once more as he straightened from his chair, kicked it away, and strode from the room. He took the stairs down to the living room two at a time, swung himself around the bottom-step balustrade like a goddamn little boy, and hurried to where his phone sat in its dock.
More than 20k words written. Meet me for lunch.
He grinned at the screen, waiting for her reply.
Five minutes later, he gritted his teeth and headed to the shower.
Waiting. He didn’t like waiting. Nor did he like not getting a response.
A long cold shower later, he checked his phone.
Can’t do lunch. I’m at work.
There was a message from Shelby and one from Sebastian Hart, but he ignored those.
She was turning him down? No. No, that wasn’t the way things went.
Where do you work? I’ll bring you lunch and we can eat together on your break.
Reaper barked his hey-human-I’m-hungry bark.
Shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, Thomas made his way to the kitchen, Reaper in hot, happy pursuit.
Halfway through filling a bowl with kibble, his phone chirped.
Once again, his heart hammered its way into his throat. He put Reaper’s bowl on the floor and then read the incoming message.
I will be doing playground duty on my break.
Playground duty? A smile stretched his lips. Playground duty? Mila was a—
Yes, I am a teacher.
His smile turned to a grin. Warm delight rushed through him. A teacher.
An image of her filled his head, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, her hair in a ponytail, a cane in one hand as she slowly bit into a red apple.
He let out a ragged sigh, every molecule in his body reacting to the clichéd but enticing and highly R-rated mental picture.
His phone chirped in his hand with another message.
Now you know what I do in my spare time when I’m not being your muse. Happy?
Happy? He was freaking delirious.
A new message popped up on his screen.
Now go back to work. I will see you tonight.
Tonight? He closed his eyes and pumped the air with his fist.
Reaper barked.
He grinned at him. “Want to go for a walk?”
A thirty-minute walk, two thousand more words, and another shower later, Thomas checked his phone once more. He probably should see what Shelby wanted. And Hart, for that matter.
He rolled his eyes at Shelby’s message.
Another shot of you and your mystery woman has made it onto the interwebs. I take it you were on some kind of date Monday night. I’m getting requests for interviews and an official statement. Want to give me one?
No. Leave me alone, you ghoul, he texted back.
Sebastian Hart’s message made him chuckle.
I hear you’re still being inspired by your muse. How’s the word count going?
Hear how? he typed out.
A few seconds later, Sebastian replied.
Was asked if I know anything about her by your agent. The sharks are circling, mate.
Thomas grit his teeth. “Goddamn it, Shelby.”
He opened up his previous conversation with Shelby.Heads up, Shelby. Keep your nose out of my personal relationships, he stabbed out.
Reaper burst into excited barking and scrambled out of the kitchen a second before the doorbell rang.
Hitting send, he followed Reaper down to the door.
Mila stood on the other side, a simple floral-print sleeveless dress covering her curves, sensible flat shoes on her feet, her typical no-nonsense smile in place. “St. Clair.”
“Good afternoon, Miss…” He paused, raising his eyebrows with pointed expectation.
She removed her sunglasses. “Miss will do just fine.”
Without waiting for her to cross the threshold, he tangled his hand in the hair at the back of her head and destroyed the minute space between them. “Fine is an understatement, babe.”
He captured her breath, her soft laugh, her lips, with a hungry kiss.
…
What was the point of fighting? Mila had spent every damn minute since she’d left him Monday night thinking about him, wondering if he was working, trying not to wonder if he was thinking of her. At one point in time during class yesterday, while dictating the week’s spelling list, she’d actually said Thomas instead of excited.
I am very Thomas to go to the fair.
Her students had giggled, asking her who Thomas was. There was the requisite Miss Elderkin and Thomas sitting in a tree chanting for the next few minutes, and a few kissy noises.
She scowled as she’d prowled the room, but as always with her class, they knew when she was honestly angry and when she wasn’t.
For the rest of the day, every student attempted to say something using Thomas instead of excited. By the time the bell went for the end of class, she’d given up pretending to be disgruntled.
It had been hard not to tell him where she taught when he’d texted her. Thank God, she really did have lunch duty. Although how amazing would it have been to wander the school with the Thomas St. Clair beside her.
And now here she was, at his place. Again.
In his arms. Again.
Being kissed by him. Again.
How had she become so addicted to him so quickly?
More to the point, what did she do about it?
Kiss him. Harder. Deeper.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her body to his tall, lean frame. Oh Lord, kissing him…being held by him…
If it was just lust, so be it, but it was too damn good to deny anymore.
She rose up onto her tiptoes and rolled her hips, craving the line of his rigid length.
A low groan vibrated deep in Thomas’s chest. He dragged his hands down her back, gripping her hips as he moved his lips to her temple, her ear.
“Bed?” he growled. “Or dinner?” He nipped her earlobe and nuzzled the side of her neck. “Or dinner in bed?”
She closed her eyes, the warmth of his breath on her flesh, his scent in her breath, the husky timbre of his voice, making her head swim. “What’s on the…the menu?”
“Grilled cheese?” He slid a hand up her back again, combing his fingers through her hair. “I’m afraid it’s the only thing I can make.”
She laughed, delighted by his wry confession. “Grilled cheese in bed? Not worried about crumbs?”
He pulled away from her, his fist tightening in her hair. “Fuck crumbs.”
“Don’t you mean fuck me?”
His eyes widened for a split second and then he burst out laughing, scooped her up into his arms, and carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind him.
“You should put me down,” she said as he hurried toward the stairs. “I’m too—”
“If you say anything insulting about yourself,” he growled, adjusting her position in his arms with a gentle jiggle, “I will spank you.”
Damn it. Could he get any hotter? Any…better?
They arrived at his bedroom and he dropped her onto his bed.
It was firm and wide and covered in a silk duvet of russet gold that fel
t like cool water against her legs and arms.
“The most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.” His nostrils flared as he ran a slow gaze over her. “You. On my bed.”
She held her glasses out to him. “Here.”
He took them, studying her.
“I’m going to make love to you now.”
“Are you sure?” Her heart skipped a beat. She smiled up at him, the juncture of her thighs growing tight. “Because all you seem to be doing so far is standing at the end of the bed talk—”
He threw himself on top of her, capturing her surprised laugh with a wicked kiss.
A few seconds later, they were both naked. She had no idea where her glasses ended up. Or her bra. Or panties. No, change that. Her panties…
“My panties are hanging from your ceiling fan.”
He lifted his head from where he’d been nuzzling a path down the side of her neck to her collarbone and looked up. “Huh. Who knew I had such a great throwing arm.”
She laughed, wrapping her bare legs around his equally bare hips. His erection nudged her folds, parting them slightly.
His eyes fluttered closed and he drew in a slow breath. “Don’t do that, babe. Otherwise I’ll embed myself into your sweet heat without a condom.”
The thought of him penetrating her without a layer of latex sent a wave of carnal lust through her. “Oh look,” she murmured, turning her head to the right as she slid the soles of her feet down the length of his thighs. “Reaper is humping my shoe.”
He twisted on top of her, scanning the floor. “He is? The little—”
She pushed him off her and onto his back, sitting astride his hips and pinning his wrists to the mattress. “Gotcha.”
He laughed, straining against her grip with mock effort. “Fuck, Mila, please say you’ll marry me.”
“Finish your book and we’ll talk,” she whispered, bending closer to him until her nipples brushed his chest.
“Stay the night,” he murmured, lifting his hips, his hard length pressing to her folds harder. “Sleep here, and I’ll write the night away.”
Yes. Say yes.
She swallowed. “Make love to me, St. Clair. Now.”
He made love to her.
Twice.
She woke, naked, and—for a fleeting second—totally disorientated, who knew how long later.
Where the hell was—
The faint tap, tap, tap of computer keys being struck in a rhythmic pace wafted on the air.
Holy crap, she’d fallen asleep. They’d fallen asleep. She remembered lying in his arms, the small spoon to his big one, thinking she really needed to get out of bed and go home, even as she smiled at his soft snores tickling the back of her ear.
What time was it? Pushing herself up onto an elbow, she squinted around his room, searching for a bedside clock.
Green digital numbers glowed at her in the dark from the other side of the bed.
4:56 a.m.
“Time to go.” Her whisper sounded like a shout in the quiet. She climbed out of the bed—so much bigger and more comfortable than hers—found her glasses on the table and then her clothes. Her panties she would leave on the fan. Give him something to think about.
Tiptoeing to the bathroom, she rinsed her face and mouth, ran her fingers through her hair, dressed, and then tiptoed back out to his bedroom.
The sound of him writing continued from his office.
Note. She needed to leave him a note.
Faint dawn light helped her find what she knew would be on the bedside table—a notepad and pen. Thomas surrounded himself with them. It didn’t surprise her at all he had one of each beside the bed.
Taking the pad and pen into the bathroom, she closed the door, turned on the light, and sat on the edge of a massive, deep bathtub she all too easily imagined making love to him in.
Opening the pad at the back—so as to not read or interfere with anything he’d previously written—she let out a sigh.
I hope the writing goes well. Thank you for last night. It was incredible. Just so we are both on the same page, any time we are sexually together, I’m off the clock as your muse. Bed, sex, kissing? That’s two consenting adults enjoying themselves, not author-muse stuff, okay? The rest of the time when we’re together, that’s muse time.
Text me when you write another 20,000 words. Not before.
Although you never know, I might just turn up one day after school and surprise you.
M.
She stopped before her hand could write the XOX under her name her brain—or was it her stupid heart—wanted to form. The empty space on the page seemed to tease her. But writing XOX? A girlfriend did that. A friend. She was neither of those things. She was the woman who was deceiving him. She was the woman pretending to be someone else.
Hot guilt sliced at her, and she swallowed. It had been too easy to forget how Thomas had first come into her life. Too easy to deny their history.
Mindless sex with him was one thing. XOX on the bottom of a note? That was another. That removed the mindless from their sex and turned it into something else. Something more significant and important. That was…was…
“Kamikaze insanity,” she muttered, straightening from the tub’s edge.
She hurried from the bathroom, placed the notepad—opened to her message—on Thomas’s pillow and then, with a quick smile at her panties dangling from the ceiling fan, left.
As much as she wanted to go to Thomas in his office, she didn’t want to interrupt him while he was writing. It was her job, after all, to help him finish his book. Not stop him.
And as soon as he finished the book, she was out of his life.
Forever this time.
It was the only way it could be.
Chapter Fifteen
Four days after she’d left in the wee hours of the morning, he was still unsure how he was meant to respond to the note.
Once again, his gut suggested he should be angry that she’d left with nothing more than a few words on a piece of paper when he’d been but a room away.
His heart though…
Fuck, it had been a long time since he had listened to his heart. The last time, he’d been barely a teenager. A teenager looking at his mother as she told him she and his father were going to make it work, going to try again, for him.
“We don’t like to see you getting hurt, Tommy,” she’d said, sitting on the edge of his bed, a folder in her hands he’d suspected contained divorce papers. “We’ll make it work. I promise.”
He’d believed her, because what kid didn’t when their mother told them everything was going to be okay?
He’d learned his lesson, though. The months and years of his parents destroying each other that followed had taught him his heart was stupid. His heart was stupid. Love—the romantic kind poets incessantly waffled on about—didn’t exist. There were no happy endings, just endings. No sequels, no follow-up narratives, no rewrites.
He’d learned another lesson along the way, thanks to M.E. Elderkin. One adjacent to the never-listen-to-your-heart rule. Staying emotionally detached from everyone made things easier.
So why was his heart telling him now, as he sat at his dining table, a mug of strong black coffee in his hand, that being emotionally attached to Mila was okay?
What the fuck was he doing?
He wasn’t angry she’d left without saying good-bye. She’d left without saying good-bye so she didn’t interrupt his writing. Not many people got the life, the mindset of a writer, but she did. And she respected it.
Taking a sip of coffee, he slid her note across the dining table and read it again.
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips on her last line.
Although you never know, I might just turn up one day after school and surprise you.
She hadn’t yet, but she would. His gut and his heart told him so. And not just because he’d sent her a text earlier today informing her he’d written another twenty-thousand words.
She’d turn
up because, despite what she desperately wanted him to believe, she enjoyed being with him. Not just for sex, but for company.
As he did her.
So was his heart deluded? And if it wasn’t, what did he do about it?
He sipped his coffee and read the note again.
Reaper clicked-clicked into the room, the distinct sound of plastic being squished between teeth accompanying him.
“Want to play, Reap?”
Reaper looked up at him, saliva-sodden severed Barbie head clamped in his jaws, and wagged his tail.
Thomas straightened from the table. “Okay, let’s go to the park.”
Two steps onto the sidewalk, Reaper pulling on the leash like a marlin fighting to be free, Thomas stopped.
Mila walked toward him, sunglasses on, ponytail in place.
His freaking heart skipped a goddamn beat.
She slowed to a halt directly in front of him. “Shouldn’t you be writing, St—”
He kissed her.
Unreservedly and without shame.
Horns beeping and someone wolf-whistling brought him up for air. He drew her closer, however, starved of the exquisite sensation of her body pressed to his. “I’ve fucking missed you, babe.”
The endearment slipped out before he could stop it. Damn it.
Black sunglasses regarded him for a heartbeat and then she slipped her palms up his chest. “I can’t believe I’m admitting to this but…I have missed you as well.”
He chuckled. No scolding him for using babe. Confessing to wanting to spend time with him… So his heart and gut hadn’t been deluded after all.
Threading his fingers through hers, he smiled down at her. “Want to come play with me and Reap in the park?”
“I like the sound of that.”
They walked hand-in-hand along the sidewalk, heading for the closest entryway into Central Park. He kept flicking her glances, trying not to grin.
“Are you checking I’m really here?” She arched an eyebrow. “Or do I have something on my face?”
“How was school today?”
A beautiful smile stretched her lips. “Busy. Challenging. But fun. We’ve been studying endangered animals, and today was class presentation time. Did you know the brown-throated three-toed sloth’s fur is rife with algae, fungi, and moths?”
“I did not.”
The Mistaken Billionaire (the Muse series) Page 14