Becoming His Muse, Part Two Read online

  “Look, it didn’t catch.” She closes the door fully and locks the latch. Double damn.

  “Now we can go,” she says taking my hand and pulling me toward the hall. She flicks the light off and closes the office door.

  I feel terrible. Logan’s locked out on the balcony and Ruby won’t let me go. She gets my coat from the pile now abandoned by the Teacher’s Assistant, Gwen, who’s drinking from two glasses of wine at the same time. I’m surrounded by Ruby’s writer friends, including the buxom Sherriann, and we’re all flowing down the hall and into the elevator. I look longingly toward the Dean’s closed door. Damn, damn, damn. I try to lag behind but Ruby is fussing around me.

  I tell myself I’ll just let her lead me back to my dorm. As soon as she drops me off and leaves, I’ll head back to the Dean’s office and rescue Logan. He must be getting cold out there by now.

  At my door, Ruby helps slide off my coat and then lays a hand on my forehead. “I don’t think you have a fever anymore but get yourself a good night’s sleep, okay?”

  I nod, say thanks and goodnight, and shut the door. I count to sixty and slide my coat back on. Making sure she and her friends are long gone, I run back to the building and end up thoroughly flushed again but for a different reason.

  Getting out on the third floor, I literally run into Ronnie and Owen.

  “Whoa, girl,” says Ronnie, catching me. “Party’s over, darlin’.”

  “At least this one is,” says Owen, grinning.

  “Oh. That’s okay. I just… I left something in the Dean’s office.”

  “Not the hot writer in residence by any chance?” says Owen with a snicker and a wink.

  I feel my cheeks heat up even more. If they were pink before they must be strawberry red now. “Um. What?”

  Ronnie chuckles. “Dr. T had to rescue poor Mr. O’Shane. Seems he locked himself out on the Dean’s balcony while escaping for a smoke.”

  “The dangers of smoking are manifold,” says Owen with mock seriousness.

  Ronnie chuckles again. I laugh along with him.

  Dr. T rescued Logan? My hot blood starts to cool. I’m grateful I suppose. Though I still feel like a heel. I’ll have to find some way to apologize.

  “We’re going to Mick’s for a beer,” says Ronnie. “Care to come?”

  “Sure.” Shrugging, I turn to reenter the elevator out of which I have just tumbled.

  Before the door closes, Owen says, “What about that thing you forgot? Don’t you want to get it?”

  For a second I’m confused.

  “In the Dean’s office?” prompts Ronnie. “We’ll wait if you like.”

  “Oh. That. Um.” I step off the elevator, realizing I’d better see this story through. “You go on ahead. I’ll catch up in a few minutes.”

  They wave as the elevator doors close. I sigh deeply after they’re gone. After a few moments pass, I push the elevator call button.

  What a strange and anti-climactic evening. My heart and my hormones have been on a roller coaster ride. I actually kissed Logan O’Shane. I touch a finger to my bottom lip. It was like no kiss I’ve ever experienced. I want to experience it again. And again.

  But after the fiasco tonight, no doubt he’ll call the whole thing off. I feel so silly and young, so unprepared for a complicated, experienced man like Logan.

  The elevator seems to be taking a very long time. Just when I’m about to resort to the stairs, I hear the sound of clinking bottles.

  Dr. T emerges from the faculty lounge carrying a box of unopened wine bottles.

  “Hey, Ava,” he calls out when he sees me. “Thought you left with Ruby and the rest of that gang.”

  “Oh, yeah, I did but… Need help carrying stuff?” I head toward him, ready to help alleviate his burdens.

  “Nah,” he says as the lights magically click off behind him. “I have some extra arms here. Just hold the elevator, will you?”

  The doors slide open and I wedge my foot against the frame.

  When I look up, Dr. T is just a few steps away. Behind him, carrying bags of leftover crackers, is the man I left standing on the balcony.

  “Did you hear the scuttlebutt?” says Dr. T with a laugh. “Our new teacher here got himself locked out on the Dean’s balcony.”

  “Oh?” I clear my throat, force myself to meet Logan’s eyes, which narrow to a glare when he sees me.

  Dr. T readjusts the box in his arm. He’s still chuckling as we get in the elevator.

  “Lucky thing I popped in for a few extra glasses or he might have frozen out there.”

  “The valiant Sir Richard rescued me,” says Logan, his glare sharpening into blame.

  “Hope that cigarette was worth it,” says Dr. T, looking up at the elevator lights.

  I glance at Logan, try to say sorry with my eyes, to plead for forgiveness. His glare turns devilish, as if he’s enjoying my silent squirming. He and I are at the back of the elevator, with Dr. T in front. I hold onto the back railing. Logan leans against it. Feeling as if I’ve royally messed things up between us, I sigh and stare up at the numbers counting down. Then I feel Logan’s fingers next to mine. It’s like an electric shock. I meet his sidelong glance and see his eyes glittering with a hidden smile. Maybe I didn’t completely mess things up…?

  The elevator doors open. Logan retracts his fingers before Dr. T turns around.

  “My car’s this way,” he says.

  Even though I’m not helping to carry anything, I follow along, hoping for a chance to talk to Logan.

  Dr. T unlocks a little white sports car.

  "Sweet wheels," says Logan. "Aston Martin? Circa '64?"

  "'66," says Dr. T, patting the hard top. "My pride and joy"

  Once everything is in Dr. T’s car, Logan says, “Thanks again, Rich. You are a true Knight in Shining Armor. I honestly have no idea how that latch got locked. Guess it was when I closed the door to keep the smoke from wafting into the Dean’s office.”

  Dr. T laughs again. “Gotta keep an eye out for the new guy. But be careful. You’re going to get caught one day, Mr. O’Shane. Try not to. It’s nice having you around.”

  So my favorite teacher and my infatuated teacher have become friends it seems.

  Logan looks up and around. “Speaking of being new… I still get turned around on this campus.”

  “I’d give you a ride back to the faculty apartments but the pedestrian routes are faster than driving around the periphery.” Dr. T’s frown lifts to a smile. “Hey, Ava knows this campus like the back of her hand. Can you show Mr. O’Shane the way?”

  “Um. Sure.” I shove my hands in the pockets of my coat feeling grateful for the set up.

  “But wait,” says Dr. T. “Ava you shouldn’t be out walking alone at night.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got my pepper spray.” I pat my empty pocket. Usually I do have it with me, but it’s in my backpack right now.

  “If Ava can point me in the right direction I will ensure she gets back to her dorm safely,” says Logan.

  “Good. She’s precious this one. Keep her safe, Mr. O’Shane.”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Dr. T nods to us both and then folds himself into his stylish Aston Martin. As the engine roars to life, we start walking away, keeping a ‘professional’ distance between us.

  “Look, I’m really, really sorry about earlier,” I start to say.

  “I had to look like a fool to cover that up,” says Logan. “Locking myself out on a balcony.” He’s shaking his head in disbelief.

  “It’s all I could think of to get rid of Ruby. I’m sorry. Are you really mad?”

  “Yes.”

  In the dark I can’t tell if he’s serious or not.

  “Again, I’m super sorry.”

  “I just want to know how you’re going to make it up to me.”

  “Do you want to lock me out on a balcony?”

  “Hmmm…” He seems to be considering this. “Maybe naked?”
r />   In this weather? “I didn’t think you were the vengeful type.”

  “Not really, but I won’t pass up a good opportunity that comes my way. Your sincere repentance seems like a good one.”

  “Repentance?”

  “A little time on your knees might do the trick.”

  I gulp. I also feel an unexpected tingle in my groin.

  “Knees?”

  Logan slowly closes the gap between us as we walk. No one else is around, thankfully. I lead us along the wisteria walkway, a long curving trellis that flanks the wide pedestrian path between the Arts and Sciences sections of the college campus.

  “After you left,” says Logan, “and after I completed my thorough examination of that door, I did, in fact, have a cigarette. At the same time, I tapped rhythmically on the glass on the off chance I’d be heard.”

  “I would have come back for you. I did come back for you.”

  Ignoring me, he continues. “Unfortunately, I left my cell phone in my jacket in the lounge, or I could have called the cavalry. But I didn’t. So while I inhaled and exhaled—literally and figuratively fumed on that balcony— I thought of a variety of things I’d like to do to you in retribution.”

  My breath catches. “You want to punish me?”

  We’re walking quite close together now, under the wiry, bare branches of wisteria, its long dark pods hanging pendulously above us. I steal a glance at Logan. He’s eyeing me with a half smile. “I think you might enjoy it.”

  He stops then. I turn to see him reaching into his pocket to fish out his smokes.

  “Don’t,” I say, quietly. He pauses, watches me, considers, and then leaves his cigarettes in his jacket. I step up close to him. My hands are still in my pockets.

  “I want you to do something else with your mouth right now.”

  He arches an eyebrow, exhaling slowly. His breath is a warm wave against my forehead.

  “And what might that be?”

  “I want you to kiss me again.”

  He smirks. “You consider that punishment?”

  I shake my head.

  “Leaving you on that balcony was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Walking away, lying to my friend, worrying about you being cold, running back to find you— all of that felt terrible. Imagining your anger, your disappointment, thinking that you had given up on me. That felt like punishment. So now you can do what you want with me.”

  He smiles, his eyes glittering just a bit. “I like the sound of that.”

  “When you talked, before, about the inevitability of dying, I realized that there are worse things than death.”

  “Such as?”

  “A half-lived life, a life of unanswered questions, or a life of prewritten answers.” The life my parents want for me.

  One of his hands reaches for my neck. His long fingers slide around to the back, under my hair. Without thinking I lean into his firm grip. He steps closer to me. His other arm slides around my ribs and he pulls me to him. I feel his warmth, his firmness. He tilts my head to one side, making my neck arch to one side. He bends his head, his mouth alighting on my exposed skin. I sigh deeply, giving over to his vampire kiss. From the hollow of my neck he whispers.

  “You’ll be my muse?”

  I close my eyes and nod, feeling the weight of my head in his hand.

  I will be whatever he wants me to be.

  Chapter Four

  We kiss under the dying wisteria until I lose all sense of time. When it’s clear to both of us that kissing is no longer enough, Logan starts to pull me along the trellis path toward the Faculty Apartments.

  “So you do know where you’re going,” I murmur. My coat is open and my sweater is pushed up from my waist. I tug things back into place as we walk.

  “Of course, I do. I wanted Rich to set us up like that, make it seem perfectly normal that we would walk off in the darkness together.”

  “He can’t find out!” I blurt.

  Logan turns to me. “I don’t plan on telling him.”

  “He’s a stickler for the rules,” I say, worry dampening the earlier furor of my desire. “Just tonight he was giving Jenny a hard time about flirting.”

  “That girl needs a different kind of hard time to keep her busy.”

  “Believe me, she gets it.”

  “Oh?” says Logan, amused.

  We’ve almost reached the apartments. I hang back under the trellis.

  “Have you changed your mind?” says Logan, turning.

  This part of the campus is deserted. I don’t know what I’m afraid of. I bite my bottom lip.

  “No one can find out,” I say. “Especially not Doctor Tennenbaum.” It’s not just that he sticks to the rules. He certainly wouldn’t want me to risk expulsion in my senior year, but it’s more than that. I have a feeling I’d be a great disappointment to him if he discovered the truth. But he won’t. Not if we’re careful and smart.

  “There’s a parking garage entrance around the left side,” says Logan. “Would you feel better if I went in alone and met you at that door? The stairs there would lead right up to my floor.”

  “Yes,” I nod fervently. “Let’s do that.”

  He chuckles and reaches into his jacket pocket. “This will give me a chance to have a few puffs.”

  I wrinkle up my nose as he lights his cigarette. He saunters across the pedestrian thoroughfare, which, during weekdays allows a river of science students to flow back and forth between the buildings housing engineering, chemistry, physics and biology. Realizing that we are quite a ways away from the arts buildings, where most of my friends take classes, relaxes me somewhat. Even in daylight, it’s doubtful I’d run into anyone I know on this side of campus.

  After Logan’s gone inside, I count to sixty and then walk down the ramp along the side of the building. The fear and excitement I’m feeling amplify all my senses. I hear a single leaf scrape along the pavement, the buzz of an electrical transformer, and in the distance, a train rumbling. The sound of someone laughing makes me freeze. It seems to be coming from one of the apartment windows, none of which look down on this ramp, thankfully. Now, I worry I’m being paranoid. I take a deep breath and remind myself that I might be breaking a rule but it’s not the same as breaking a law.

  The side door to the parking garage swings open.

  “Muses appear in the strangest of places,” Logan says with a grin. He pulls me inside and, once the door shuts behind us, he pushes me up against the cold wall and kisses me. His kiss sends a river of heat down my spine that ignites the soft flesh between my legs. He presses his hips into this flared space and I nearly melt when I feel his hard length through the layers of his pants and my skirt. He pulls away suddenly.

  “Come on. Two flights up.” He takes the stairs two at a time. It’s necessary for me to take them singly given the sudden wobbly jelly-ness of my legs.

  The door to his apartment is at the end of the hall nearest to the stairs we’ve just ascended, which is convenient. His door is unlocked and we slip in.

  Unlike his office, Logan’s apartment is spare and generic, except for a tall stack of books at the bedside and table serving as a desk. My eyes don’t linger on these things for long, instead they focus on the bed, which is Queen sized, neatly made with light grey sheets and a charcoal grey duvet. As Logan heads to the kitchen to get us a drink, I notice that the pillows are fluffier than I’d expect of faculty accommodation, and the pillowcases don’t match the sheets. I wonder if he’s brought those pillows from home, or bought new ones. I touch one. Good quality.

  “You like nice pillows,” I say when he returns with two beers from his fridge.

  “Who doesn’t?” He hands me a cold bottle and then sits on the end of his bed. Still standing, I take a sip of my beer. He watches me with a half smile and a twinkle in his eye.

  I thought we would be all arms and legs flailing as we ripped each other’s clothes off, crashing into walls as we made our way to the bed, breathless and flushed, but
this is… just so civilized, so unexpectedly calm. I suppose now that we’ve arrived “safely” we can take all the time we want.

  “Do you like living here?” I say.

  “I don’t care where I live when I’m writing.” He slips his shoes off while he drinks and stares at me standing in front of him.

  “But you said you weren’t getting any writing done in Soho. To me, it sounds like where you live does matter.”

  He frowns. Then looks away for a moment, past me, at the wall across the room. His face hardens, as if I’ve brought up something unpleasant.

  “The problem with “where” is that it’s permeable to who, what, when and why. If I only had where to contend with, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

  I’m not sure what he means, and I wonder what issues he’s thinking of, but I can see a coldness wrapping itself around him, and I’m personally longing for the heat we’d felt outside. I think he is, too, because he seems to shrug off his thoughts with a smile. He pats the bed beside him.

  “Relax, Ava. Make yourself comfortable.” He winks at me, and his smile curves seductively at the edges. I feel a flicker of heat coil up my spine and my skin starts to tingle, very subtly at first. That’s what his look does to me. Soon that flicker will be a flame, and then, in time, a conflagration of lust; I felt it burning at the edges when we kissed. It was more than mere kissing. It was tasting, biting, a gnawing at our souls. Kisses quench, slake a thirst, but the hunger I felt kissing Logan was like cracking into a fissure of gas, the hiss of its release a promise of fueling flames, not dousing them.

  I sit down on the bed next to him, but not too close. I leave some elbowroom so that I can pull my boots off. I set my beer on the floor and wrap my hands around my left foot. I have an urge to move quickly but I restrain myself, go slowly, telling myself there will only be one first time with him and I want to savor it, not rush. I don’t want to run into the fire too soon and burn up without feeling the exquisite pleasure of intense heat first.

  I haven’t slipped the first boot off my heel before he’s on the floor, on his knees, in front of me.

  “Let me,” he whispers.