Becoming His Muse, Part Two Read online

  Ruby, shaking her head at me, catches Jenny’s eye and says, “For once, someone has bigger boobs than Ava and she takes offence.”

  “That’s not it,” I say, embarrassed. “She’s just fawning all over Logan. I mean, Mr. O’Shane. The new professor,” I add, so that it doesn’t seem like we’re on such familiar terms.

  Ruby arches an eyebrow at me and then casts a hooded glance in Logan’s direction. “If you really want to know, that’s Sherriann. She just transferred from USO. I think she’d much rather be written about than do any actual writing. But don’t worry. She’s as disappointed as the rest of us. The big news tonight is that Mr. O’Shane has a fiancée back in New York.”

  Chapter Two

  My feet go cold, my fingers numb. I feel dizzy, and wobbly on my feet. I’m about to reach for Ruby’s arm to steady myself but Jenny hands me back my glass of wine in that moment. I take it, try to get it against my lips, but my hand is shaking. I push the glass to my lips to steady my hand, the glass, and myself. I down the rest of the liquid, which steadies me somewhat.

  Jenny is awwwwing with disappointment about Ruby’s announcement, but then she shrugs it off. “Plenty of fish in the sea,” she says.

  I feel as if the ocean’s just dried up into a desert.

  “Air. I need air,” I say and begin to take jelly-legged steps toward the hall. Ruby follows me, chattering away, but Jenny folds herself back into the crowd.

  “It’s a tad disappointing but a good thing, really,” she says. “I mean, I know you weren’t going to break any rules anyway, but knowing he’s not even a rule-breaking option kind of simplifies things, don’t you think? He’s really off limits now. Honestly, I’m kind of relieved. Not that it will stop anyone from flirting, but…”

  Ruby’s banter is not helping. In the hall, I say, “I’m fine, Ruby. I think it was just too hot in there. Go back and enjoy yourself.”

  I stand in front of the elevator.

  “Are you sure? Are you coming back or going to your dorm room?”

  “I’ll come back. Promise.” My coat's still there.

  “Good. You know, I think the Dean’s office has a small balcony.” She points. “It’s the room at the end of the hall.”

  The elevator seems to be stuck on the 18th floor. I look down the hall.

  “I’ll check it out.”

  “Want me to come with you?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll be back in about ten minutes.”

  “If you’re not back in fifteen I’ll send out a search party.”

  Ruby heads back to the lounge as I take short, careful steps down the hall feeling unstable in my heeled boots.

  Apparently Logan O’Shane can make my knees go weak with desire and shock. Why did I even believe anything he said? He’s a writer. He lies for a living. How could I have been so stupid?

  I push open the door to Dean Ascott’s office. There’s a wide wooden desk in front of floor to ceiling windows dressed with full dark drapes. I aim for the windows and pull the drapes aside on one end. I see the narrow balcony beyond and search for the sliding door latch.

  My breath is coming in short, sharp gasps. I feel a cry coming on. I push my hands to my cheeks and scrunch up my eyes. I won’t cry. I won’t give him that kind of power over me. I focus on slowing down my breathing. Drawing deep inhales to my belly, I release my breath through my mouth slowly and evenly.

  As I open the sliding door, cool air rushes in and envelopes me with its fresh sensual reality. My muscles tense. My bones straighten. I step out, take the two steps to the railing and lean my arms on the cold steel. The fresh air infiltrates my lungs and oxygenates my brain. I am no longer dizzy, no longer on the edge of hyperventilating, but I am aching with a sadness that doesn’t match the situation, and I feel unnecessarily humiliated. Why?

  We had no promises, no real agreements, just an invitation. One I had planned to turn down.

  I shake my head, aware that I’m fooling myself. This is not a decision the head makes. Somewhere between Logan’s first and second gaze, my body knew. Somewhere between his visit to the art studio and my visit to his office, my heart knew…

  I bang the heel of my right hand against the cold steel of the railing. Regretting that, I pull my hand toward my stomach and hold it close with my left hand. Then I draw both arms around myself in a hug, to ward off the cool evening and my own misgivings about Logan O’Shane.

  I’m not entirely naïve. I know his muse invitation had been for sex not love. For mutual inspiration and nothing more. For breaking and becoming newly whole. And the fact that it’s over before it’s even started shouldn’t surprise me. He is a complicated man and clearly I’m not ready for his complications.

  I hear a noise in the room behind me and turn. Through the parted drapes beyond the glass I look across the office to the door. Someone is entering. I feel a surge of panic that I might get in trouble if I’m caught here uninvited. Just as I’m stepping to the side, to conceal myself, I see Logan lean into the room. My movement catches his eye and he strides toward the glass door. I remember him ‘striding’ across the quad toward me the other day. I laugh at my own innocence. It’s not a real laugh, though. It’s bitter and self-admonishing as an angry heat floods upwards from my toes.

  Through the glass door, Logan says, “Ava, are you all right?”

  I clench my teeth. Of course I’m not all right. I reach for the door and pull it shut in his face. We stare at each other through the glass. He smirks and slides the door open.

  “Ava?”

  I slam it shut again, cross my arms, and turn away. The latch is on his side so he just opens the door again.

  “What is this about?”

  I drop my arms and turn to face him squarely. “You are a liar. A liar and a cheater!”

  “Am I?”

  “A fiancée?” My voice drips with disgust. “Does she know about your penchant for young muses?”

  His eyes roll back with understanding. “Ah, word travels very fast around here. I was actually counting on that.”

  I shake my head and reach for the door again intending to hold it shut this time. I will stay outside on this balcony all evening if it means staying away from him. The door jams. He’s stuck his foot in the gap.

  “Aren’t you interested in my side of the story?

  “That is your side. You have a fiancée. A direct quote from Ruby. You want to tell me how you proposed or something? Not interested.”

  I wrestle with the door. He starts laughing. Then, with his greater strength he forces the door open and steps onto the balcony, too close for comfort. I hold my fists up prepared to push him away if I have to, but he grabs them, holds them tight.

  “You’re right about one thing. I am a liar.”

  I’m flushed with anger and trembly with hurt. It feels sick to be right about something you wish weren’t true. I’d pummel his chest right now if he weren’t holding my hands so tight. We’re so close, and I’m breathing shallowly again, gasping almost.

  “I lied about being engaged,” he says.

  My breath stops entirely for a second.

  He says, “I made up that story to deflect the unwanted attention I’ve been receiving lately.”

  I look up into his green eyes trying to read truth from fiction.

  “I want everyone to believe that story, Ava. Everyone except you.”

  I sigh deeply, letting oxygen flow back into my blood.

  “It’s not true?”

  “I’m not engaged. That’s the truth.”

  “Why lie about that?”

  “Despite the clarity of the college board rules I’ve had several flirtatious invitations.”

  Jenny comes to mind. And that girl on the couch. Her intentions were pretty obvious.

  He adds, “It seems they count on the professors to uphold the rules around here.”

  “Now you’re interested in following the rules?”

  “They are there for a reason.”

  Do
es this mean his invitation to me is being retracted?

  Arriving here tonight I was determined to tell him 'no', but as soon as I saw him across the crowded room, I knew I wouldn’t be able to turn him down. Then I was so excited, and wondering when, or how, we might get to be alone, to tell him, 'yes'. But then the shock of his public admission about a fiancée sent me over the edge to the point that I’d have been willing to throw him over the edge of this balcony. But now… now that I’m sorting the truth from the lies, I’m back to wanting him, to wondering when we’ll be alone. And we are right now, and he’s telling me he’s decided to start following the rules? I feel as if I’m on a roller coaster that won’t end.

  Logan’s grip on me lessens. He gently drops my hands to my sides. We continue to stand close together. I don’t want to move away. I can feel his body heat. I want to lean into it but I don’t move yet.

  “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?”

  “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 what he wanted me to be. 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 of 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, and my tongue softly flexes behind my teeth as 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.

  Chapter Three

  I lose myself in Logan’s kiss. Coming up for air, I’m like a diver who’s discovered treasure at the bottom of the sea. I want to dive back down as soon as my lungs are full so that I can claim the mysterious jewels hidden in this dark ocean of sensation. 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.