Muse

Chapter 16

sixteen

. . .

Jordana

When I awoke from a doze, I was wrapped in Gavin’s arms. Rain pattered outside in the night, and the photography lights had been turned off. A single small, shaded bulb lit the bedroom.

The moment was so perfect I was afraid it would crumble: his bed, his scent, his warmth surrounding me.

“Do you know how different this is for me?” I whispered, uncertain if he was awake.

“Mmm.” Gavin pulled me closer, one hard thigh parting mine.

“Why does jealousy turn you on?” I asked softly.

He stroked my damp curls. “I don’t know.”

“I doubt that. Tell me.” Rolling over to face him, I drew a line down the groove that divided his abs. “I want to know all about you.”

Gavin’s amber eyes refused to meet mine.

“What?” I asked. “Too much? Is it a — sensitive subject?” I gazed at his camera on the nightstand behind him and wondered if this had to do with his ex-wife.

I’d known better than to bring her up during the jealousy session, but this was someone who’d once had all of Gavin. Much more than Corey had ever had of me. If I was being honest, I was a little jealous of her. Whoever she was.

“No. At least, I don’t think it is.” He ran his fingers over my bare arm, tracing the cursive letters of my tattoo, and gave me a half-smile. “There was this girl, in high school. An actress.”

“Oh, really?”

“I was a sophomore. She was a senior.”

“Oooh, an older woman.”

He snorted.

“I wish I’d known you then,” I added.

“Jordana, when I was fifteen, you were six.”

I coughed. “Awkward. Never mind.”

He grinned. “Even if we’d been the same age, you wouldn’t have talked to me in high school.

I wouldn’t have talked to you either — too shy.

I kept my head down, hung out in the photography lab.

But I saw this girl in the fall play, and it was like she had her own personal spotlight.

Big personality, big energy. I fell hard.

One day, I saw her walking into the auditorium after school. I followed her in.”

“Please tell me this is the part where you unleashed your secret sex god skills and won her over.”

“Did you miss the part where I was fifteen?” Gavin chuckled. I loved seeing him so relaxed. “I didn’t have a clue about women. I’d never even kissed a girl.”

“When was your first kiss?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re grilling me.”

“You wanted to know my numbers earlier. I’m not asking you that.”

“Senior year. With a girl who worked on costumes. It was more of a friends thing. We were both tired of being virgins and decided to…”

“Help each other out?” I supplied.

“Exactly. It ended up being a creative outlet. Let’s leave it at that.”

“…Oh.” Visions swirled through my mind. Was that when Gavin began exploring bondage? Kinks?

“College was easier,” he added. “But back to your original question — no more pulling me off track.” He gave me a stern look, and I zipped up my lips.

“So I followed my crush into the auditorium. This man intercepts me and says, ‘You’re here for the stage crew meeting? Great, we’re short-handed.

’ Turned out he was the director. I learned how to run the lights.

Nothing ever came of the crush, but in the end, I fell harder for theater. ”

I looked him over. “I love that story. But where’d the jealousy come in? Were all the boys lining up for her?”

“Yep. And she had a reputation for being very free with her favors. I’d fantasize about walking in on her and one of her guys. I’d throw him out, take over. Make her feel so good, she’d forget she’d ever been with anyone else.”

“See? You’re an angel,” I teased. “A savior. Accept your destiny, Gavin. It’s who you are.”

“Destiny, huh?” He gave me a crooked smile. “More like my ego. I’m competitive.”

“Am I her, for you?” I asked cautiously. “Your high school actress crush?”

Gavin shook his head. “You’re you.”

“That’s sweet. But I have my doubts.”

He laughed. “She was never more to me than a fantasy. You? You’re real.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

I stole a glance at him, his dark hair tousled around his face, propped on the pillow, his half-lidded eyes on me. It was safer to study the tattoos on his arm. My fingers drifted over his smooth, hot skin to trace the feathered hawk’s wings.

“The notebook that fell out of my bag tonight? Um…”

Gavin waited, his silence cradling me.

“I…I like to write in it.”

“Mmm.” When I dared to look at him, his eyes were bright with interest. “Tell me more.”

“I write a lot. I write…scripts. For plays. And a musical. The words just come; it’s like opening a vein.”

When my voice caught, Gavin stroked my hair.

“Good,” he said softly, the praise making me flush as if he were bestowing it during sex.

“I have tons of story ideas,” I blurted, my hands dropping to twist the comforter.

“I think of dialogue all the time. It’s like a constant friend.

And—” I took a breath, but the tide of words kept pouring out.

“Um, there’s a TV show. I’m working on a web TV show for me and Eden.

No one knows. Not Eden, not anybody. But now… now I guess you do.”

Gavin ran his fingers through my curls, sliding down to massage the base of my neck. “I’m glad you told me.”

“Really?” I turned to look up at him, feeling exposed.

“More than that. I’m thrilled.”

“Yeah?” It embarrassed me, being so obviously needy in this moment, longing for reassurance.

“Absolutely.” He tugged my hair. “Both that you’re doing this and that you wanted to share.”

A blush seeped down my cheeks. The way Gavin was looking at me only made me flush hotter — his eyes soft, like Eden had said. He seemed to catch himself and went back to rubbing my neck.

“Tell me about the TV show, kitten.” He squeezed my nape. Every touch was unraveling me. “If you want to.”

“It’s called Typecast. Eden and I basically play ourselves. We keep getting in trouble because we’re so busy acting like the nice girl next door and the brazen slut about town.”

Gavin laughed. “That sounds great.”

“I dream of producing and directing it.”

“A quadruple threat,” he teased. “Jordana Green: actress, writer, producer, director…”

“It’s all a pipe dream right now!”

“Is it?”

Butterfly wings beat inside me. “I’m — Well, I’m applying for this summer internship in Chicago.”

“I know. Rachel mentioned it after lunch.”

“Wait.” I propped myself up on one elbow. “Did you say something to her? Because she said she’d write me a recommendation on short notice, and I didn’t know if she would.”

Gavin shrugged. “I might have flattered her. Mentioned her stellar reputation of coming through for students.”

“Oh, my God. Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me—”

“It was nothing,” he interrupted. “Tell me more about this internship.”

“It has a writing track. I want it really badly, but I should probably just apply for acting.”

“Why?” Gavin propped himself up as well, his hair falling over his eyes.

“Because…” I searched for a reason. “That’s what Rachel expects. She’s already doing a rush job for me. I’d have to show her my writing, and she’s busy.”

“You’re worth it. Rachel thrives on having too much to do.” Gavin gave a short laugh. “Keeps her out of people’s business.”

“God, I don’t know. It’s due next Monday. I don’t have time, do I?”

Gavin touched my cheek. “We’re not playing the No Game right now, Jordana.”

My face flamed. I climbed out of bed and paced the small bedroom, naked and aware of his eyes.

“Fine, I want to. But why bother? It’s the busiest week of the semester. I’ll work my ass off polishing these writing samples, for nothing.”

“You don’t know that.”

My throat tightened. “I know how to audition and play roles. I could be terrible at writing. I could be the only person in the world who thinks my stuff is funny or deep. It might be a pile of garbage.”

Gavin sat up, the sheets falling away from his lean chest.

“It’s not.” His voice was sure, his eyebrows level, his lips set and stern. “Don’t let anyone make you question it.”

I halted by the photography equipment.

“I’m scared,” I confessed.

“You’re an actress. You said it yourself: you need to run toward the things that scare you. What’s past is prologue, right? Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. And…Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie.”

“Stop it!” I crossed my arms over my chest, chuckling. “Stop quoting my quotes at me.”

“Just go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“Why are you being so pushy? And bossy?” I climbed onto the bed and shoved him back on the pillow. “You’re telling me what to do. Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

His eyes widened as I straddled him. “Ever?”

“Right now. Definitely not right now.”

His nostrils flared. A slow, pleased grin creased his face. “You’re saying no. Ferociously. I like it.”

My lips twitched. “This isn’t a game.”

“I know.”

“...Oh.” I let that settle, felt its weight.

“And you’re right. This is your business. But it’s a good sign that you’re scared, because it means you want this.”

Our eyes met. His were burnt gold, his pupils large and black.

“So let me rephrase,” he said in a considering voice. “I’ll be awake for a while, editing some photos of a misbehaving girl. You definitely shouldn’t stay up with me and work on your writing samples while we burn the midnight oil together. Absolutely not.”

I pushed his wrists against the pillow. “Still bossy.”

He winked. For someone who took charge so capably, he looked pretty damn delighted to be pinned.

“I’ll try again. Jordana, would you like to work at my place tonight?”

Why did that simple offer make me go soft? My annoyance melted, my hips going slack to sit astride him.

“Maybe.”

His thick lashes lowered. “I like you on top. So luscious and vicious all at once. You should get in my face and growl more often.”

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely.” In a flash, he freed his wrists from my hands. “But work before play.”

“You really are bossy.”

“Mm-hm. I’m also opinionated and argumentative.” He winked at me. “I’m just a collection of terrible qualities.”

“Yeah, yeah. You pretend you’re not an angel.”

Gavin rolled his eyes, but when I ran my fingers through his dark hair, his lids fluttered closed.

“Feels good,” he muttered.

The hunger on his face when he looked at me — it was more than lust. He was hungry for touch, for connection. For kindness. It hit me, with the force of a tidal wave, how lonely Gavin must have been for a very long time.

My lips grazed his neck, and he let out a sigh.

“As we were saying,” he rumbled. “Work before play, burning the midnight oil. You in?”

I climbed off him. “If you let me use your shower first.”

He led me across the hall to a small, clean, white-tiled bathroom. The square mirror showed my furrowed forehead.

Gavin ruffled my hair. “You okay? You look like you’re going to your own funeral.”

“If I were going to my own funeral, I’d be at peace.”

He grinned. “I’ll get you a clean towel. Feel free to use what’s in here. Shampoo, soap, and…that’s about it.”

“Oh, I’m not getting my hair wet or using your shampoo.” I fluffed up my curls. “Nothing touches this but my own products and routine.”

“Diva.” His grin broadened.

“You know it.” Pulling back the shower curtain, I halted. “It will never be good enough.”

Understanding dawned in Gavin’s eyes. He took my shoulders in his hands. “Your writing?”

I nodded.

“That’s the life of an artist. I feel the same way about photography. What we put on a page will never be perfect, but it’s still worth trying. You’ve got something to say. People should hear it.”

When I emerged from the shower, smelling like Gavin’s pine soap and wearing an old black T-shirt he’d loaned me, I got set up at the dining room table. A steaming mug of coffee waited at my seat. I laid out my notebook and pen for creating, my laptop for transcribing and editing.

For a few minutes, I paced the room to get the ideas flowing. Gavin gave me an encouraging smile from his workstation. On his monitor, I saw my face, flushed with excitement. My naked body on all fours, ass lifted, head raised defiantly as Gavin’s camera and words burned my fears to ash.

Marching to the dining room table, I plunked in one of the mismatched chairs and got to work.

When I glanced up, I saw Gavin. His brow furrowed in concentration, his fingers tapping the keyboard. Sometimes, he smiled. Other times, his eyes narrowed, and his hands tensed like he was gripping my body.

I gazed at him for a long time, then tumbled headfirst into the world I was creating. And for a few hours, I forgot about him and myself.

When I finally surfaced, the room was dark and his chair was empty. A note lay on the table:

Didn’t want to disturb you. Looked like you were on a roll. Come join me when you’re ready.

G

P.S. You were perfect tonight, kitten. Wait ’til you see the pictures. I’m very pleased with you.

That P.S. made my stomach flutter. It was a quarter to five when I crawled into his bed.

The past two nights, I’d drifted asleep thinking of him. That night, I fantasized about Typecast, and the pilot episode I’d managed to polish and send to Rachel.

Would I have met that goal if Gavin hadn’t been in the room with me? If Gavin hadn’t entered my life, how long would it have taken to finally believe I could do something other than act?