Muse

Chapter 19

nineteen

. . .

Gavin

We lay together, intertwined. Bound.

Jordana wriggled beneath me with a muffled noise. Dazed, I unlocked her handcuffs and unwound her chains, coiling them on the floor. The lights shone on their tripods; I turned them off, leaving the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

“Hold me?” She stretched out a tentative arm.

I wrapped her in my embrace. She was soft and warm, all sweet curves, muscles flexing beneath.

If I wasn’t careful, I’d get used to this. She’d spent the past two nights in my bed; there was an unspoken understanding that she’d sleep over again tonight.

“Mmm, Master.” She nuzzled my neck.

Heat stirred my skin. “That was just for the shoot.”

She pouted, her green eyes half-lidded. “Aren’t I your little pet?”

My softened cock answered for me, stiffening against her thigh.

“Uh-huh,” she gloated. “That’s what I thought.”

“You’re impossible. A totally impossible little pet.”

Her face turned serious. “Have you done this before? Capture, chains, sexy pet stuff? You seem very…experienced.”

I weighed my words before answering. “It’s not new to me. But it’s new with you. That’s what matters.”

“Did you do it with your ex-wife?”

A shrug was all I could manage.

Jordana rolled onto her back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay.” I touched her waist. Keeping my hands off her was unimaginable. “What are you thinking?”

“That you don’t want to talk about the past.” She gave me a wry smile. “Which is fine. I try to avoid mine.”

Yet I’d practically pushed her past in her face and fucked her with it during last night’s jealousy shoot. Was it right to withhold mine while she dove into her own dark places?

The clock on my nightstand pointed to midnight. Rain spattered the window.

Impulsively, I sat up and pulled on my boxers. Any time my past chased me down, I needed to move.

“How about a walk?”

“In this weather?” Jordana pointed to the rain. “So late? You actually want to be seen together in public?”

She was smiling, but her eyes were resigned. It killed me.

“We’ve hung out in public,” I said calmly. “We went to Uncle Charlie’s.”

“Yes, but that was before the shoot. Even though I crawled for you. I get it — it’s not a good look for you if we’re out late at night together. You want to teach at Hawthorne, and I’m…Jorie Green.”

I lifted her chin. “You’re Jordana. The brilliant, the talented, the incredible. The artist. The woman. The legend.”

She laughed. I didn’t. I just held her gaze.

An incredulous expression spread over her face like dawn breaking. “Gavin…if you keep saying these things, I might start believing them.”

“Good.”

“You’ve called me other things too. Like a slut.”

“And I did it with the utmost respect. Which I expect from you when you talk about yourself.”

“If you insist,” she said softly.

I stood, pulling on my sweatpants. “Now let’s go.”

She twisted a curl around one finger, the lamplight playing over her breasts. “Are you sure? I love a walk in the rain, but my Master cut up my clothes tonight. We don’t have to.”

“Believe it or not, I have more than one pair of pants. I’ve even got extra underwear. And a shirt.”

I tossed boxers, sweatpants, and a long-sleeved black tee at her. She caught them, laughing.

“Try them on,” I urged. “You can borrow my winter coat, too. We don’t want your cheetah coat getting wet.”

“No, I guess we don’t.” Her eyes were soft. Hopeful.

Quickly, she pulled my clothes on. We both snickered as she cuffed the sweatpants and adjusted the shirt over her full tits.

I grinned from ear to ear. “You look great. I’ve never filled those clothes out so well.”

“Yeah, yeah. If I bust out of these, I take no responsibility for the consequences.”

Outside, the street was quiet, except for the steady drizzle of rain. Hawthorne shut down late at night, even in student housing. Jordana flipped up her hood, and I did as well. It was unlikely anyone would see us on a romantic walk together.

If it was romantic.

The strangeness of the situation pricked me. Crossing so many boundaries with a model. Getting involved with a student at the college where I wanted to teach. Fucking Rachel’s protégée — she might complain about Jordana, but I knew Rachel, and Jordana was one of her favorites.

I wanted to take her hand. But publicly bridging the space between us felt more impossible than luring her into my car and holding her captive for tonight’s shoot.

She glanced at me, my coat rustling around her. “So you avoided being home in high school? I did, too.”

“You also said you try to avoid the past, kitten.” The nickname slipped out effortlessly. “But you keep bringing it up.”

“Never mind…”

“No, it’s fine. We can talk.”

She gazed at the sky, rain falling on her face. “I was acting in school plays and finding trouble around the city. You were taking pictures and hanging out at the used bookstore.” She gave me a quick, careful glance. “You mentioned your dad’s temper. Did he ever…hurt you?”

“With words. Not his hands.”

“I’m sorry. We don’t have to—”

I looked out at the glistening, puddled street. “He made me feel about two inches tall. Told me I was everything he didn’t want in a son. I was sensitive, artistic, soft. Pathetic. I’d never be a real man.”

“Gavin, my God. You are.”

Our hands connected, gripping. Now that I was touching her, it was unthinkable that I hadn’t.

“I haven’t talked about it much. I never saw the point of reliving it. Once he left, I could finally breathe.”

“Was it all bad?”

I shrugged. “I grew up in a tough neighborhood. He thought I should be tough. That wasn’t always bad.

He taught me how to fight the kids who wanted to beat me up.

But he’d also wonder if I was really his.

We look alike — the height, the eyes. There’s no question.

Didn’t stop him from saying I had to be some other man’s son. ”

“I’m so sorry.” She moved closer. Rain splashed on the sidewalk, our hoods.

“It’s okay, Jordana.” I pulled her cold fingers into my jacket pocket to warm them.

“I know now that he talked that way because he despised himself. He made me feel small because he felt small. But I had my camera. I had theater and books, and a few good people. I had my mom and sisters. He had nothing.”

“I wish home had been better for you.”

I guided her around a puddle. “What feels like home to you?”

“A theater,” she said promptly. “Any theater. I walk in and feel alive.”

“Anyplace else?”

Her eyes caught on mine. With you, her silence said.

I couldn’t speak, because I understood. Hawthorne was just a small town I’d moved to, trying to escape my mistakes, until I met Jordana. My apartment was starting to feel like home because she was in it.

She gave me a saucy smile. “If I think of it, I’ll tell you.”

“Please do.”

“You said you wanted to do the photography book for a long time,” she said softly. “And Nina was your last hope. Did you try to do it with someone else before that?”

The steady drip of rain surrounded us. Streetlights haloed the droplets above her head.

“Yes. My ex-wife.”

“Oh.” Jordana nodded, taking this in.

“It’s not the only reason we split up, but it was a reason.”

“Over a book? Photographs? What happened?”

“We’d just gotten back from our honeymoon.” I’d never told this story, but Jordana was asking. Maybe it was time. “We were in the kitchen doing dishes — you know those tiny New York kitchens where you bump into each other if you turn around. Or maybe you don’t.”

Jordana elbowed me. “I’m aware of them.”

“She knew about my photography, of course. She’d always seemed supportive. But in the kitchen, she said now that we were married, she didn’t want me taking pictures of other women ever again.”

I pushed my hood back and shoved my fingers through my hair. I remembered the shock of it, like cold water splashed in my face, bringing shame where it hadn’t been before.

“You mean, she changed her mind? Or she’d felt that way all along and never told you?” Jordana’s brow wrinkled.

“She didn’t say. I still don’t know, because it was so hard to talk about. She was upset, crying. I was totally blindsided. I’d just gotten the book deal; I was about to start shooting with models. She knew that.”

“That must have been so hard,” Jordana murmured. “For both of you.”

I glanced at her, the rain dripping down her hood, her bright, concerned face, and pulled her closer. She circled my arm with both of hers.

“I remember standing in that tiny kitchen, washing the dishes we’d gotten as wedding presents, wondering if we knew each other at all. But I’d taken a vow for her. I wasn’t going to be my dad, quitting my marriage, quitting everything.”

My voice grated. These thoughts had kept me up at night for the past six months. I was him. I’d failed. I’d left.

“You’re not your dad.” Jordana squeezed my arm. “You’re you.”

“Thanks.” It was all I could say.

“So…” she went on delicately. “You tried to do the book with her, because you had no other options.”

“Right. We tried. But she wasn’t comfortable posing.” I stopped on the sidewalk, facing her. “How do you feel when you haven’t acted in awhile? Haven’t seen or read any plays?”

“Like I’m going through withdrawal.”

“Exactly.” I exhaled, and we began walking again. “I’m not myself without a camera. I couldn’t give up these kinds of pictures forever.”

As rain drizzled on us, I reached out, and our fingers intertwined.

“Why’d you get together to begin with?”

“I’ll spare you the details.”

“Sex? I bet that got things going and held you together for a while.”

“Guess I don’t need to spare you. But once we got married, she kept trying to clean me up. Get me to keep normal hours, ditch the photography and lighting gigs in favor of a ‘real’ job with a salary.”

Jordana studied me through the lightening curtain of rain. “How’d you even meet?”

“Rachel. They’re best friends.”

“What?” She stopped dead on the sidewalk. “Rachel Salazar is best friends with your ex? The woman who wanted a steady, conventional guy? Rachel’s not like that. She’s intense as hell and obsessed with theater.”

“My ex is also in the theater world. She does administration. We all knew each other from college, but Rachel convinced us to get together a few years ago.” I sighed. “I know she’s helping me out of guilt over Shelby.”

Jordana fell into step beside me and slipped her arm through mine. As if she sensed this was the first time I’d spoken Shelby’s name in six months.

“How long were you married?”

“Two years, give or take.”

“And when you said, ‘It’s been so long’ on Sunday night…? Never mind,” she added quickly, filling the silence.

“About a year,” I replied in a low voice. “You’re right, sex held things together, but only for so long.”

The rain had stopped. Scudding clouds showed a glimmer of stars.

“Sex can’t do everything,” Jordana said wistfully.

We reached a creek that ran through a park. Swollen with rainfall, it rushed below us as we stood on the wooden bridge.

I took her wet shoulders in my hands. “You know what’s crazy? That people keep trying. No matter how many mistakes we make, no matter how many times we fall on our face, we get up and try again. You do that. I’ve seen it.”

“That’s me. Crazy.”

I brushed aside a curl stuck to her cheek. “Not crazy. Perfect. You should know that, Jordana. You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Oh my God, Gavin. I’m a chaotic mess.”

“You’re just right.”

“Perfect literally means finished. Complete.” Her lips were inches from mine. “I’m not anywhere near finished. Neither are you.”

“I thought I was.” I cupped her face. “I thought I was done for.”

Our lips brushed. I backed her against the bridge’s railing. We kissed hungrily, like what we’d had tonight was just an appetizer, the start of a course I could only guess.