Muse, her mind whispered. He calls himself Muse. "Ridiculous name."
Scoffing, she rose from the chaise lounge and stomped, barefoot, across the wooden deck and into the cabin. Sliding into the chair at the eating table, it wasn't big enough to really be called a dining room or kitchen table, she opened her laptop computer and started typing, not even pausing to wonder why the machine was already powered up. By the time her fingers slowed to a stop on the keyboard and she finished reading the several pages she'd written, the stream of sensuality onto the virtual page depicted on the screen scorched her senses. "Guess I just needed inspiration," she mused aloud, flicking her gaze to the plain black watch on her wrist. 3 pm. "Damn!"
Always the last minute, Morgan, she chided herself. Even for a hot date! Damn it! Michael will be here any minute. She raced up to the loft and dived into the shower, barely waiting for the water to warm up. Washed, hair hanging in damp tangles past her shoulders, Morgan stepped out of the shower, rubbed a towel over her body to erase the water, and then stared at the barely presentable contents of her suitcase. "Jeans and t-shirts," she muttered. "Some impression you'll make."
The way he kissed you, you could go to that carnival stark naked! "Yeah, right. He'd love that." Images flashed in her mind, a motorcycle and a red hot lover in a shaded spot somewhere... "Jesus, get a grip and get dressed!"
Scant minutes later, in faded black jeans and an equally faded light blue t-shirt, feet nestled in black leather sandals, she leaned on the deck railing, eyes trained on the dirt drive leading to the road. "How can he possibly get here? He never bothered to find out where I am!" He's not coming so you might as well relax. "Relax? Yeah, right!"
A cloud of dust and the roar of a well-tuned engine caught her attention. She stared, eyes narrowed as the sound and dust materialized into a dark figure on a motorcycle. The noise grew louder, more enticing, as he neared and finally stopped at the steps to the deck. The man dismounted the bike and removed the helmet. Michael Logan looked at her, glittering blue gaze sliding over every inch from head to toe. Skin tingling as though he'd run his leather clad hands over her bare flesh, she stared at him. Blood rushed to her pussy and her stomach flipped.
Slow and easy, she climbed over the rail and sat on the top of it, feet dangling over the grass. Michael moved closer, resting his hands on the rail at her hips as he peered up at her. Heat slid through her, like a slow burning fuse before ignition and explosion. The breath caught in her throat and words deserted her once more in this man's presence.
"I could eat you in great big bites," he drawled on a low husky note.
That voice... I could listen to him talk all day... She blinked, bringing him into sharper focus. "How did you know where I'm staying?
He shrugged. "Small town. Everyone knows everything. I just had to ask."
Morgan frowned. Don't need everyone knowing my business! "Well, you found the place easy enough."
Head tilted, he studied her for so long she managed not to squirm. "Yeah, I did. Something wrong?"
Without waiting for an answer, he grasped her waist and hauled her off the railing. Stunned, she landed in his arms, breasts plastered against his chest as his arms wrapped tight around her. His mouth found hers and devoured.
Blood rushed from her head, spots danced in front of her closed eyes, and his presence overwhelmed her. She opened her mouth to his probing tongue and nipped the soft moist flesh so he grunted, changed angles and feasted on her. Digging her fingers into broad shoulders, she squirmed against him, sliding her pelvis over his bulging fly until sparks shot to her crotch. Fuck the carnival and the holiday. She clutched at him, plunging her tongue into his mouth until oxygen deprivation forced her to pull back, gasping for breath.
Licking a path to his ear, she whispered," Come inside..."
"Not yet, maybe later." He stepped back, hands on her arms as she staggered from the lack of support. "There's something in town you should see."
Tugging on his arm, she tried to step back toward the deck. "I've seen fireworks before."
He resisted, pulling her toward the bike, where he picked her up and placed her on the seat. Seeing she had no choice, Morgan sighed and swung one leg over so she straddled the seat. He handed her a helmet which had hung from the handlebar and waited, arms crossed over a muscular chest. The fabric of his shirt stretched over well-developed biceps, clinging to the man as though it might rip at any second. Her mouth watered and she longed to rip the material from him herself. Pussy throbbing, she slipped the helmet onto her head and fastened the strap without a word. You'll get your reward later, she promised her raging libido as Michael climbed onto the bike, donning his own helmet.
Hands resting on his waist, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of faded jeans, Morgan let out a slow breath. The engine roared to life and she tensed, anticipation a raging river twisting deep inside her. Her lips curved in a slow appreciation as the bike eased back and then forward, before racing down the drive to the road. Been a while since I rode a bike, but the thrill...! Tightening her grip on his waist, legs tense against him, she absorbed the vibration of a powerful engine, the rush of wind against her face, and sheer masculinity of the man in front of her.
He oozed sex appeal, calling to everything feminine deep inside her, a femininity that had nothing to do with nurture and everything to do with satisfaction and pleasure. A longing sigh escaped her and she slid her arms around his waist, resting her cheek on his muscular back. Heat penetrated every cell in her body, urging her to stop, to make him stop, anywhere, even the side of the road, and have her wicked way with him.
The bike rumbled beneath her, the vibration setting up a sharp tingle in her pussy. Her insides vibrated in time to the motorcycle's rhythm and the breath caught in her throat. Inner muscles tightened, seeking hot male flesh. Liquid heat drenched her pussy, the swollen folds rubbing hard against the seam of her jeans as the bike motored onward, toward town. She tightened her legs, clamping his waist hard between her knees. Oh my god, just this is enough... She groaned, biting back the command to stop right there, in the middle of the deserted road.
Images crowded her mind, searing into her brain, the kind of pictures designed to shock a girl's mother even as her weeping pussy demanded its desires be fulfilled. She squirmed on the black leather seat, each motion shooting cell-deep need into every cell in her body. Jesus. She sucked in a deep breath and held still, muscles tense with the extreme effort not to move again. Focused on the burning sensations gathering in her crotch, she ignored the changing country side until Michael stopped the motorcycle at curbside in front of the park, next to a large beige canvas tent, open to public view.
In spite of the raging disappointment radiating from her pussy, she let out a slow breath and, legs trembling, climbed off the motorcycle. The folds of her pussy lips tingled, yearning. As soon as he got off the bike and removed his helmet, she grasped his shoulders, stood on tiptoe and fastened her mouth to his.
Liquid dynamite poured through as he pulled her tight to his chest, changed angles, and took charge, plunging her into a maelstrom of sensation. Overwhelmed, she slumped against him, grateful for the support, and tangled her tongue with his, uncaring of the public spectacle she'd instigated.
?
Chapter Three
Catcalls and whistles pulled her out of the passionate haze fogging her brain and she released him, stepping back as her face flushed hot. Peripheral vision took in grinning men and boys staring at them and she turned. Michael's hand on her arm halted her flight, increasing discomfort.
"Don't worry about them," he advised, amusement in his tone. "They wish they had a gorgeous woman kissing them in the street. Come on, I want to show you something."
Head cocked, she looked up at him. "What?"
He shook his head. "You have to see it."
Taking her hand, he led her into the large tent, full of fantastical paintings. Interest caught, she dropped his hand and wandered around, peering at canvases with dragons,
swirls of red, orange and gold clouds, scantily clad warriors of both sexes. Mythological fantasy brought to life, by an expert, she mused as she stared at painting after painting until she made her way to the largest, hung in the center of the tent to dominate the space.
The images exploded onto her conscious mind, a huge dark green dragon flying straight toward her, wings spread to maximum distance. Morgan stared, unable to look away as the painting swamped her senses. The green leather clad female warrior astride the dragon's neck wielded a large sword over her head, long dark hair flying behind her. Something familiar caught her eye and she frowned. I've seen that face. Who is it? Where have I seen her?
In the mirror, dummy. It's your own face! "What?" She blinked and stared harder. It can't be! It is me! How...? She whirled around and collided with Michael right behind her. "Oh!" Startled, she stepped back just as his hands curled around her arms to steady her.
"You like it?" Uncertainty flickered in his eyes in spite of his passive expression.
She nodded still stunned by her own face peering at her from the depths of that glorious painting. "It's terrific." Mythological fantasy paintings and artwork always caught her interest and her own face on one painting staggered her. "You could create terrific book covers." She cocked her head, sliding her rapt gaze over the large painting once more before peering up at him.
Disappointment flashed in his eyes for a moment and vanished. "I do design book covers sometimes, but this one..."
Her heart fluttered at the flash of hurt in his eyes. "I didn't mean this one," she hurried to assure him. "This is awesome, museum quality! No book could do it justice." Inside she cringed at the gushing quality of her own words and her face heated, but she plowed on. "Why me? Why did you put my face in your painting?"
His ruddy complexion reddened and he shifted his gaze to the painting. He said nothing, but his hand found hers and gave it a squeeze.
"Why?" she persisted, frowning. "We only met yesterday. No way could you have painted this over night unless you already had someone else in mind, another image, and just replaced it."
A soft sigh escaped him and he looked at her once more. "You've been in my head for weeks, in this painting. It was you or there would be no art."
"But you didn't even know I existed!"
He shrugged, fixing his steady stare on her. "You existed in my mind. That was all I needed. I'm sorry if that bothers you, but I had to paint it the way it came to me, or not paint it at all."
Morgan frowned and shook her head. "I don't know that it really bothers me. It's just a bit disconcerting to see my own face on such a fabulous work of art."
"So, you do like it?"
"I had no idea you were an artist. The bike and the leather kind of threw me off, but yes, I like it."
"It's yours."
Shock rooted her feet to the spot and stuck her tongue to the roof of her mouth, rendering her speechless. She gaped at him and shook her head, words forming in her head. Mine? Are you nuts? You can't... Finally, her tongue loosened and she blurted, "No. You can't do that. It's worth---."
"Whatever I say it's worth-and it's worth the look on your face to give it to you. And I won't take no for an answer so you're stuck with the painting."
I'd rather be stuck with you but... Without conscious decision, she rose on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around him and planted her lips on his.
Desire exploded from deep inside, sweeping all thought from her mind. Her heart pounded fast and hard, pulse scrambling, as her pussy wept in relief. His lips parted and his tongue slid deep, tangling with hers in an erotic dance that scorched her senses as his arms came around her. Reality faded, taking the sights, sounds, and scents of the carnival with it until only the two of them existed in a passionate embrace.
"Aw, man, get a room!" a teasing familiar voice yanked Morgan out of passion's haze.
She jerked back, staring in disbelief at Muse standing behind Michael, in broad daylight, among others prowling the tent. He grinned in amusement, eyes sparkling with humor at her expense. No way! He can't be that real! Mind spinning, she only stared at him over Michael's shoulder, again struck speechless.
"Morgan? Are you all right?" Michael stepped back though his arms still surrounded her.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, scowling at the man so identical to her date.
He clapped a hand on Michael's shoulder. "Good show, Mike. Terrific work." He nodded toward the painting. "The best yet!"
Staring at Muse, she flushed hot. Images flickered in her mind, of the two of them at the waterfall, in front of the campfire. A shudder rippled over her. What if he...?
Lets it slip what you two were doing last night?
I didn't think he was real!
It sure felt real!
"What the hell are you doing here?" she reiterated as she stepped away from Michael, who now looked from her to Muse though he held her hand tight.
"You two know each other?" He looked puzzled, speculation in his eyes.
"Um." Morgan slipped her hand from his and without a word fled the tent.
Ignoring the sights, sounds, and scents of the noisy carnival, Morgan shuffled between the booths and amusements, games, and meandering patrons, brain buzzing with the implications of her erotic play with two different men! You should be ashamed! Two men, for god's sake!
"Shut up," she muttered. "He wasn't real, he was..."
Real enough right now!
"Morgan!" Michael caught up with her, wrapped a strong hand around her upper arm, halting her, and turned her to face him. "You know him?" He looked incredulous at the same time displeasure flickered in his eyes.
"I... I didn't think he was real! Damn, it, he was only..."
Michael shook his head. "He shouldn't be real. I didn't..." He stopped, shook his head. "What is he to you?"
"Nothing," she muttered. "Just... inspiration." Erotic memories flashed through her mind and her face flushed hot as she looked away from him, not bothering to ask how the two men knew each other. Muse has been inspiring more than just my writing.
No shit, Sherlock, her conscious snorted. Now what are you going to do? You got a hot guy right here, one you want and could possibly be the man you need and a ... a… whatever the other one is, who probably isn't even real enough....
"Stop it," she hissed under her breath.
"Morgan?" Concern in his voice, Michael stepped in front of her, forcing her to look up at him. "Look, I don't know what's going on here," he continued. "I didn't know he was real either, or could be. He's my Muse. I thought..."
"Yeah, he certainly gets around, doesn't he?"
Michael cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "I get the impression you and him... Anyway, I'll leave you alone if that's what you want."
"No!" she protested, clutching at his hand on her arm. "Don't..."
"Morgan?" He lifted a dark eyebrow, peering down at her. His other hand covered hers as he stepped closer, that penetrating blue stare boring into her. "I want more of you, to get to know you more." He paused a moment, as though trying to order his thoughts. "But I don't like playing games. If you don't want the same, say so."
Heat flushed her face but she couldn't look away, staring into his eyes until the words began to flow. "Look, I don't play games, I never have, but my last relationship ended badly when he tried to kill me." She paused as he looked startled and then furious on her behalf. She held up a hand. "Don't get all macho. He taught me caution, which I'd never really exercised before. So, as attracted as I am to you, and..." Do not admit you're attracted to Muse, you idiot! "Well, no games. Just honesty."
He nodded. "Agreed. One step at a time, come what may." He glanced at the darkening sky as evening fell, as it did quickly in the northeast mountains, and looked back at her. "The fireworks will start soon. We should go find a good spot."
Smiling, unable to help herself, she nodded. "Sure, maybe a little away from the crowd? I'm not a fan of hanging out in a group of complete strangers.
"
"I know a perfect spot, good view, and fairly secluded." He took her hand and led her down the street among the meandering people enjoying the carnival.
As the final carnival art browser finally strolled out, Michael lowered the final tent side and turned toward the entrance. He'd spread a blanket in front of it and now lay on the side of it, propped on an elbow to look up at her.
Morgan grinned, took the hand he offered, and settled down beside him. "This is your perfect spot, eh?"
"Yeah, you can see the perfect patch of sky for the fireworks right from here, and with the tent closed up, no one else to bother us."
Shifting closer, thigh rubbing along his, she nodded. "It is perfect." Eyes glued to the patch of dark sky outside the tent entrance, she waited until the first sparks of color exploded across the sky. A small thrill shot through her, much like those invoked by fireworks when she was a child, so many years ago. Red, blue, and white, all keeping with the holiday theme, lit up the night sky in various patterns, concluding with the waving American Flag. During the light show, she'd moved closer, Michael's arm draped across her shoulder as they sat up, leaning forward to catch the last flickering sparks. Heart racing, grinning like the kid she'd once been, she smiled and clapped her hands before leaning back on her elbows.
"I haven't seen fireworks since I was twelve." Her gaze swung to him and she caught him watching her, frank male interest gleaming in his eyes.
Gaze fixed on hers, he stroked a finger over her cheek. "You were beautiful in my head, while I painted. I couldn't stop. I had to get it on canvas. But here, right here with me, you're staggering. You take my breath away, Morgan, more so than any artwork."
Stunned by simplicity, and sincerity, she stared at him. No one's ever said anything like that to me. Desire curled in her belly and she slid her tongue over her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. His lips curved in a slow smile, apparently seeing something in her expression that delighted him. Yeah, lust is written all over your face, Morgan!
Morgans Muse Page 3