#1 Muse

by T Gephart

  So smooth and delicious, my eyes feasted over every curve of his chest like it had been the first time they had seen a man. And I wasn’t overly religious but covering all of that perfectly rippled and curled muscle had to be a sin. And those sweat pants? That drawstring must have been Wonder Woman’s lasso because anything less would have surely succumbed to the power of all that awesome.

  He had inadvertently given me enough material to feed my creativity for a month. Maybe even longer.

  Oblivious to me, my impending nervous breakdown, and my staring, he raked a hand through his hair, squinting in the daylight that streamed through the kitchen window.

  My throat constricted, making the shallow breaths being expelled by my lungs almost painful as my heartbeat accelerated. God, I hoped I wasn’t having a heart attack, the thought of dying only mildly more mortifying than being discovered. Well, technically death wasn’t going to save me either considering then he’d have to deal with a body.

  Shit.

  This was so bad.

  My life flashed in front of my eyes as I internally argued whether this was the most amazing or most terrifying experience of my life. Probably both, which was why I wanted to simultaneously vomit and cheer at the same time.

  Did I hope he didn’t notice me or send up a flare and announce my presence?

  Why hadn’t I thought this through?

  And did it still count as a first offense if I’d been there all night?

  God, I hope he didn’t call the cops.

  “Hey.” It slipped out of my mouth while I was trying to still work out what was to follow.

  His eyes swung around, lazily landing on me while I attempted to think up my next move. I should have thrown myself behind the couch and waited it out.

  “What are you doing inside my house?” he asked with zero recognition.

  No “get the fuck out, I’m calling the police,” which was exactly what I was expecting. He was calm, unconcerned, like random women he didn’t know loitered on his furniture all the time.

  He eyed me up and down like a second look might jog his memory. Somehow, I didn’t think it was going to help.

  “Well?” he asked again, reminding me I had yet to answer him.

  I froze, so mesmerized by him and that body that I completely forgot what I was doing and why I was there. Selling insurance? Looking for a lost pet? I could’ve been petitioning for a seat in the Senate for all I knew.

  Say something.

  My mouth opened, my lips moving, but no sound came out. He’d rendered me mute, unable to find words—any of them—as I sat, looking at him like a pervert.

  “I’m sorry, what?” he asked, moving closer which unfortunately wasn’t helping my situation. “I’ve got a killer headache, and I didn’t hear you the first time.”

  He mistakenly thought my gold-fishing lips had said something audible when in fact they hadn’t. I wasn’t going to point that out though, glad he was still hung over enough not to notice how much of a weirdo I was being.

  “Hi, I’m Claire.” I jumped to my feet, throwing out my hand and trying to remember if I’d actually introduced myself last night.

  His brow rose hinting that he might not be as hung over as I first thought. Or maybe my weird was too much that even an elevated blood alcohol level didn’t help. It could have gone either way to be honest.

  “I helped you inside last night.” I tipped my head to the front door, hoping it might prompt the recollection.

  I didn’t like my chances.

  “Claire?” His hand reached to stroke his chin, flexing the muscles in his chest and arm in the most glorious way.

  If saying something intelligent was my objective, then I was going to have to stop looking at him. All that naked hot male skin on display, just being able to remember my name was a challenge.

  “Yes,” my one-word answer not giving him much to work with. “From last night. I got you inside your house,” I repeated because obviously saying the same thing a few extra times would help clear up the confusion.

  Dumbass.

  “Oh, from last night.” His lips twitched into a grin, a spark of recognition flashing through his eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry. My head’s a little fuzzy. Where are my manners, want some coffee?” He raked his hand through his hair again, no less sexier than the first time.

  “Umm?” Did I want coffee? Did I want COFFEE? What the hell was happening? “Don’t you want to ask why I’m still here?” Because clearly he needed a reminder to toss me out on my ass.

  I swear I’m not an idiot.

  “So . . .” his sexy smile widened, “last night.”

  Great.

  If the grin was anything to go by, we had wildly differing recollections of what actually transpired. I’m sure it was novel for him, have a woman put him to bed and not get in it. Something I probably would have done if he’d been conscious and coherent.

  I mean, no I wouldn’t. I absolutely didn’t sleep with men I didn’t know.

  Except . . . I sort of did know him.

  And he was super hot.

  Plus, I was positive we all got at least one free pass on reckless sex.

  Gah, that was so not helping.

  And if that little conundrum wasn’t enough, I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered he believed we went there or offended he didn’t remember we hadn’t.

  “No, not like that. We didn’t have sex.” I waved my hands in front of me. If I was going for smooth, I’d missed my mark.

  Part of me would have been happy to play it out and see where his assumptions took us. Did he think I stuck around for a repeat performance? Was that what he was looking for? The coffee necessary to recharge before the next round. Ding, ding.

  But the rational part of me—I swear, it did exist—didn’t want to complicate things any more than they already were.

  We were not going to sleep together.

  Crying freaking shame too.

  “Huh?” He looked confused, his brow furrowing and his smile dropping. “I know we didn’t have sex. Did you think I was implying—”

  “No, no, no.” I was quick to answer, mortified I had misread him completely. “I just wanted to set the record straight. Make sure you knew I didn’t take advantage of you.”

  Somewhere in the Pacific was the Marianas Trench, a part of the ocean so far down that the pressure would literally crush you. But that bad boy wasn’t even close to how deep of a hole I’d dug for myself.

  His smile was back, hooking at the side because clearly he hadn’t been charming enough for today. “I wasn’t worried about you taking advantage of me.” He rubbed his chin as if deep in thought. Or he was a cartoon villain and looking to calculate the next move. “But I will say I’m usually a better host. My agent put you up to this or my brother? Both have been a pain in my ass.”

  Nice ass it was too.

  “Sorry, what?” Because the morning hadn’t been confusing enough as it was, we had to add conversation I couldn’t follow.

  He tilted his head to the side, speaking slowly in case that was the reason I hadn’t caught on. “Dave or Jeremy? I assumed the threat of a chaperone was an idle one, but I guess not. By the way, I would have been fine last night.”

  “Firstly, I’m not your chaperone, I haven’t spoken to either your agent or your brother. And secondly, you weren’t in the same neighborhood as fine,” I shot back. As long as I maintained eye contact I was good.

  New rule: don’t let my eyes drop below his chin.

  His eyes squinted in confusion. “But you look familiar, don’t we know each other? And if they didn’t hire you, then who are you?”

  If I hadn’t essentially been trespassing, I might have been excited that he had a vague recollection of me. Clearly, our brief encounter five years ago hadn’t been permanently etched into his memory like it had been mine, but I would take what I could get. Okay, so maybe I was excited.

  “Well . . . we sort of met a while ago.” Lord help me did I sound lame. We sort o
f met a while ago? Who was I and why did my voice sound like I came from the valley?

  “We worked together briefly, a long time ago.” My effort to recover nowhere near as smooth as I’d hoped. “Anyway, that’s not what’s important. I was visiting a friend and noticed you having a hard time getting into your house and thought I could help.”

  My explanation was sketchy at best, but what choice did I have? The truth? Sure, might as well go flush my career down the toilet at the same time because the truth was so freaking ridiculous, I wouldn’t even hire me.

  His eyes narrowed, looking at me closer like he could sense the inaccuracies in my story. “So, you helped me inside and then . . . decided to stick around?”

  If his mouth hadn’t curved into a smile, I might have assumed he was angry or even annoyed, but if anything, he looked . . . intrigued? Could I have been reading that right?

  “You were really drunk, I didn’t want you to drown to death in your own vomit or break a leg or something.” And possibly end up the suspect of your murder when the place was dusted for prints. I’ll admit, I didn’t say the last part, some things were better left unsaid.

  His smile got wider. “I’m not sure what’s funnier? That you had me destined for an untimely demise, or that you were trying to be my hero. I think either way, I should definitely buy you breakfast as a thank you. Then you can tell me all about our brief time working together. I’m looking forward to you refreshing my memory.”

  What the . . .

  Was he asking me out on a date?

  No, surely he wasn’t crazy enough to ask a woman he didn’t know, who essentially muscled her way into his house under false pretenses—granted he didn’t know that, but my motives had to be questionable at least—and ask me to breakfast.

  My mouth refused to accept the invitation the rest of my body was begging to RSVP to. It surely was a test.

  When I didn’t respond, his eyes scanned my body with increased interest. I didn’t know if he was looking at me in a sexual way or if he wanted to measure me up so he knew where he could stash my body. I mean, I didn’t really know him, for all I know he might have had plans to make a skin suit, and a girl like me seemed to fit the bill.

  No.

  I wouldn’t accept he was a psycho—questionable sanity perhaps—but not Silence of the Lambs level crazy.

  He moved closer, bringing that body of his, which was still very much on display, inches away from mine as he leaned into me. “You have other plans? Other men that require your civic duty?”

  Jesus.

  Freaking.

  Christ.

  There was no chance I could say no to that.

  I mean, who cared if he was certifiable, everyone had to eat and if I could do it with an amazing view, what was the harm.

  Think of the material it would inspire.

  And, it would possibly give me the opportunity to find out what had happened to the manuscript Scully had given him. I’d bring it up casually while I stared into his beautiful eyes and try not to choke on toast.

  “Sure, I’d love breakfast.” I tried not to sound too eager, which wasn’t hard considering part of me was terrified. “Mind if I use your bathroom to freshen up?”

  Not sure how much “fresher” I could get considering I didn’t have a toothbrush, clean clothes or deodorant, but worrying about technicalities clearly wasn’t my MO. Current situation—the evidence.

  He folded his arms across his chest prompting my eyes to drop. Bad move. Not that he seemed to notice that my eyes were about to bug out of my skull or that I was holding my breath as he leaned in closer. “You spent the whole night at my house. I think we’re a little past asking to use the bathroom, don’t you think?”

  Well played, Mr. Larsson.

  Well.

  Played.

  “Right,” I coughed nervously, trying to regain some composure while I formulated a plan. “I’ll be right back.” I grabbed my phone off the couch and the small handbag I’d come in with last night. The two paperclips I had tucked away in there when I’d planned to pick his lock weren’t going to be any help. But hopefully I had a rogue breath mint or something else that would be useful. Next time I planned a break-in, I was bringing an overnight bag.

  I felt his gaze on me as I shuffled past him and headed to the bathroom. The problem, I wasn’t exactly sure where that was. My feet froze in place, my eyes scanning the door directly in front of me, which was where Luke and I put Nick last night. I probably should have snooped when I had the chance. Again, hindsight was 20/20.

  “Down the hall, the door on the right,” he called out with a chuckle.

  Against my better judgment—there was an oxymoron—I turned around, treating myself to his delicious smile.

  He looked good when he was amused.

  Straightening my spine, I gave him a smile of my own. I might have zero idea what I was going to do in the next few minutes, but I refused to dissolve into a puddle on his floor. “Thanks.” I turned back around and strode to the bathroom like I had always known where it was.

  It was only once I was safely inside that I was able to take a huge deep breath. The exhale spilled from my lips as did the sigh of relief.

  The situation was far from ideal, but it wasn’t terrible either.

  No cops had been called, no suspicion raised—and as far as he knew, I was just some do-gooder who helped him. At least, that was what I hoped he thought. He could have very well been on the phone while I was staring at my reflection in his bathroom mirror and organizing a free ride for me. And chances were it was going to be the 9–1-1 variety and not Uber.

  Quickly—because I didn’t trust him or myself to spend too much time alone—I cleaned myself up as best I could. Hijacking his toothpaste—he was a Crest man, while I preferred Colgate—I used my finger to brush. Then I finger combed my hair, patted my underarms with a damp tissue and wiped off any smeared makeup from my face. I also found a perfume sample card in my handbag that still had some scent to it and wiped that on my skin praying it would transfer. It was the best I could do and when I surveyed the result I was pretty impressed. It wasn’t my best work, but I didn’t look like I’d camped on the couch of a man I barely knew. There was a positive if ever there was one.

  With my appearance refreshed, I needed to take care of a few other issues. My two roommates who could at any minute knock at the door and blow this whole ruse were my first priority. The repeated text messages telling them both I was fine the first few hours of last night had been enough to quell any rescue operations, but I wouldn’t be able keep of either of them away if I suddenly went radio silent.

  As quietly as I could I dialed Scully’s number. I figured out of the two of them she would be the mostly likely to be awake considering the three million trips to the bathroom she seemed to take.

  “Hey,” her voice a little groggy from sleep, “what time is it? Where are you? Do you need me to get Luke?”

  “I’m fine, I’m still here.” The here not needing to be explained as I purposely kept my voice low. “I wanted to let you both know I was fine and there was no need to worry, I’ll catch a cab home later.”

  “What do you mean you’re still there?” she almost screeched into the phone. “You were supposed to make sure he didn’t die from alcohol poisoning and get out. Stick with the plan and get out before he wakes up.”

  I winced, knowing she was not going to like what I said next. “He’s already awake, I’m in his bathroom as we speak. Just trust me, okay. I promise I’ll be back soon.”

  There was a pause, followed by an exasperated sigh. “Okay, okay but promise me you’ll call if you need back-up.”

  “I promise. Now, I better go before he gets suspicious,” I whispered into the phone, wondering if I’d already taken too long. And with a quick goodbye, I ended the call and shoved my phone back into the bag.

  Pushing my shoulders back and trying to harness as much confidence as I could possess, I stepped out of his bathroom and stru
tted to the living room. Sadly, my little show seemed to be for nothing when I found myself alone. The hung over, partially clothed movie star was MIA, the room as empty as it had been the night before.

  What I should have done was sit on the couch and waited because common sense dictated that he wouldn’t be far.

  But doing what I should was never my forte.

  Instead I inched to his partial opened bedroom door and peered inside like the pervert I apparently was.

  OH.

  MY.

  GOD.

  Those insane sweatpants—the ones that seemed to have a hard time with gravity—were gone, and there was nothing in their place.

  Nothing.

  Instead, I was staring at Nick Larsson’s incredibly taut ass as he toweled off his hair, tiny beads of water clinging to his back like it was their life’s mission. I understood the compulsion, though if it was me I’d have definitely aimed lower.

  Two thoughts passed through my head.

  One, I was a deviant and should be disgusted with myself.

  And two, he had the most spectacular ass I’d ever seen.

  Oh, and clearly he had a second bathroom because he’d not showered with me.

  Not that all of that mattered if he turned around and caught me gawking at him. Which was why I peeled my eyes and the rest of my body away from the door and almost ran back to the living room. There I sat my butt down, folded my hands in my lap, wondering if my prayers for forgiveness would be answered even if I wasn’t truly repentant. A decent person would be sorry for violating him like that. But I, ladies and gents, was having trouble with the sentiment.

  “Get through breakfast, hope to God that between the party and his drunken slump on his doorstep he lost my story, and get out of this situation without a criminal charge,” I muttered under my breath. That was as close to prayer as I could manage without choking on my words.

  Somehow, I didn’t think it qualified.

  “SO, WE WORKED TOGETHER?” HE took a sip from his juice, waiting for me to fill in the gaps.

  While I had managed to stay out of his room, and avoid any further infringements of his privacy, avoiding the conversation wasn’t going to be so easy.