A Little Night Muse (3 page)

Chapter 4

Josh groomed Bunco, but the usually calming routine had
no such effect today. With his hired hands spending the weekend in town thanks
to the sudden freeze, the chores were all his. He took a slow breath, trying to
find serenity in the scent of hay and the snuffle of contented horse.

But his every nerve was fine tuned to the cabin. While brushing
Bunco’s tail, he wanted to run his fingers through Adelyn’s dark locks. Would
her hair be as silky as it looked? His fingers caught in a knot, and the tail
twitched out of his grasp.

“Sorry, sorry. I wasn’t watching.” Wasn’t thinking right,
either, if he really imagined his gorgeous guest wanted his rough hands on
her.

Finally he made his way to the house, only somewhat dragging
his boot heels. When he had left this morning, the cabin had seemed right fine.
The rambling homestead edged with ferns bravely curling out of the snow wasn’t
as grand as the Hunters’ house, but the view it faced was every bit as pretty,
especially with the prime Angus making bold black dots against the white
field.

But compared to the woman inside, now the silvered cedar logs
and slightly warped roofline seemed homely instead of just homey.

His jaw tightened. This wasn’t Hollywood-style,
computer-generated fakery. This was a real working ranch. And he was a real
working rancher. And neither were without their scars.

He touched his cheekbone though he couldn’t feel the old cut
through his calluses. Danielle had once said his partly blinded eye made him
look broken-bottle mean. In reality, he’d been working with sheet metal—no, not
working, playing—and the edge had slashed him.

Now he had a living, breathing piece of art in his bathroom. He
rather suspected she had more sharp edges than she’d shown him yet.

Danielle had always wanted a second bath. That seemed silly to
him—who was going to use it?—but now he wished Adelyn wasn’t standing in arms
reach of his personal towel, wrapping her fingers around his soap, which was
only boring man soap since Danielle left.

And the only reason he was thinking of his ex was because he
was ticking off on his fingers how many months had passed since he’d fallen into
bed with someone other than himself.

At the front door, he braced his hand on the coat hanger made
out of an old horseshoe and kicked off his boots—he’d need his bare toes to
complete his calculations—as if he could kick the wistful wishes out of his
head.

Not likely.

He stood in the entry next to Wolly, both of them staring down
the hallway toward the bedrooms. Josh had left Adelyn a clean T-shirt and a pair
of sweat pants. His own, of course; he had nothing else to give her.

“I’m back,” he called. Not too loud. Didn’t want to seem like
he thought she would care, but he didn’t want to scare her either.

“Josh?”

Wolly pricked his ears, and Josh almost thought his did the
same. It was the first time she had said his name aloud, and the single
syllable—even partly muffled by the doorway between them—reverberated in his
body like a hammer strike on an anvil.

Her voice continued, getting a little louder. “I was
wondering...”

She stepped out from the master bedroom. Light from his bedroom
poured through the doorway and turned the air around her damp skin into a misty
halo.

And apparently sucked all the moisture from his mouth. He
swallowed hard against his tight throat.

She hadn’t used the towel he left out for her. She had wrapped
herself in
his
towel, which had seemingly shrunk
since his last use. It strained across her breasts and barely skimmed her lush
thighs. Against the pale fluff of cotton, her dusky skin looked like some rich,
sweet, decadent, caramel coffee drink that no cowboy should drink.

But he was so damn thirsty.

She held her hand out toward him. “I need you for a moment,
Josh.”

Considering the way his cock was pounding a countdown on his
zipper, a moment was about all she’d get from him. But he could not resist, not
with the scent of her water-warmed body drifting toward him. He padded down the
hall, his steps silent on the smooth old wood.

Her green gaze teased him beneath her dark lashes, but she did
not lower her hand. “Here.” She backed into the bedroom. He followed as if a
rein stretched between them.

She turned to the bed, drenched in snow-bounced sun from the
window and big skylight. His entire body shook with disbelief. Was he
dreaming?

She lifted something and faced him again. “Can you do this for
me?”

He would do anything. With difficulty, he fastened his gaze on
the satchel and the small pot she withdrew from the interior. “What...” He
cleared his throat. “What is it?”

“For my wrists.”

He walked his gaze up her skin. Of course. The blood-streaked
bandages. He should have done something about them before. Focus, damn it. He
drew a steadying breath, but the fragrance of her made his head spin.

“Let me wash my hands.” His voice was still a little rough.

He walked past her, ignoring her surprised look, and headed for
the bathroom. He shut the door behind him.

After turning on the water—cold—he leaned with his hands braced
on the sink. He couldn’t see anything in the moisture-clouded mirror except a
vague outline of his face. Almost like he hadn’t been able to see, hear or think
clearly since he’d found her. Was he that hard up?

He reached down to adjust himself through his jeans. Hell yeah,
he was that hard.

He could probably scramble out through the bathroom window, but
she needed his help and he’d never been the sort to run away. By the time he
finished washing his hands and splashing cold water down the back of his neck,
the mirror had cleared. He looked like a man with a mission.

When he returned to the bedroom, Adelyn was sitting in the
middle of the bed. The only bed in the house. His bed. Against the red tartan
flannel of the thick comforter, her skin glowed. With her legs curled under her,
the towel hitched even higher on her thighs. A dark triangle of space between
the bridged edge of the towel and her skin centered directly over what would be
her other dark triangle.

So much for the cold water.

“Let’s see those wrists.” If he did this quickly, he might get
out with dignity intact.

She held out both wrists at once, and the knot of the towel
between her breasts slackened. Not enough to fall open, but enough.

He refused to watch the slow loosening. He grabbed the pot from
the satchel and popped the cork top out. Instead of the oily reek of bag balm,
the scent of flowers—not too sweet, but wild, like meadow flowers—filtered
through the room.

He frowned. “You need something strong for these
abrasions.”

She waited with her hands outthrust. “Trust me, this is
strong.”

If he told her to scoot closer to him, the movement might undo
her towel, so he crooked one knee onto the bed beside her.

But he kept one foot on the floor behind him.

He scooped the satiny-smooth salve onto two fingers. Gingerly,
he took her hand in his and rubbed the salve around one wrist. God, her skin was
so softer. Not a single rough spot of hard work on her hands, and her wrists
were as delicate as a newborn foal’s fetlock, slender tendons sliding under his
thumb.

“Who hurt you?” He tried to keep his voice as gentle as his
touch though a fury tightened his throat.

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me.” He raised his gaze to hers. “No man should treat
you like this.”

“What makes you think it was a man?” When he paused in his
gentle massage, she gave him a half-quirk of a smile. “So tell me, Josh, how
would you treat me?”

She rotated her hands under his to wrap her fingers around his
wrists in loose manacles. Though she left no marks like the scorched lines
around her wrists, her touch heated his skin, and despite her delicate build, he
did not think he could break her hold. Not that he wanted to be freed.

With the barest tug, she pulled him forward so both his knees
were on the bed. As his foot left the floor, he felt like he was falling, not
onto the sunny bed but somewhere deeper, darker.

His fingers tingled from the salve, and he wondered what was in
it. That tingle was spreading all through his body.

When he opened his mouth to answer—though he wasn’t sure what
answer he would have given—she reached up to settle her forefinger over his
bottom lip. The scent of wildflowers made his head spin. His mouth heated at the
touch of her skin and the sweet salve.

“Don’t tell me,” she murmured. “Show me.”

“Adelyn...”

“No more names.” She shifted to her knees to face him, shoving
aside the satchel. The motion dislodged the knot of the towel—just as he had
known it would—and the fabric unspooled around her.

He inhaled sharply at the unveiling, but he had only a glimpse
of her curved hips and dark-peaked breasts before she leaned in and kissed
him.

Her mouth slanted across his, and the tingle of the salve
jolted all the way through him. Unbalanced on the bulk of the comforter below
them, she rocked into him. He gripped her shoulders to steady her, and the
warmth of her skin under his palms made his fingers clench reflexively. To hold
her like he’d never let go.

He forced himself to gentle his grip, and he slid one hand
upward, into her hair. With a groan, he found the black strands even more silky
than he had imagined. Anchored in her hair, he tipped her head and deepened the
kiss.

For a second, she stiffened, as if surprised, but then she
widened her mouth to accommodate him. Her tongue teased his with matching
fervor.

Whatever was in that salve—the heat and the shiver—seemed to
spread with the invisible curls of the perfume until his senses were awash. He
tasted the sunlight in her, and the darkness, and it threatened to sweep away
that last of his sense. He could only cling to her and the long, slowly sinking
kisses.

She laughed against his mouth. “Bend me like your soft metals.
Shape me to your dreams.”

A dream. That explained it all. A fever dream, he was so hot
with wanting her. His whole body tightened as if from a sunburn, as if he stood
too close to his forge.

But it wasn’t a dream, he knew that. She was real, a real woman
in his arms. He tried to pull back, to push some fresh air between them, and
they both gasped as their lips separated.

The space only gave her room to slide her hands up inside his
shirt. The pearl snaps popped one after the other, from navel to neck. Air
rushed across his bare chest—like oxygen into a fire—and set his blood
raging.

She surged up against him again. If he hadn’t braced himself,
they would have both tumbled to the bed. Her stiffened nipples thrust against
his chest. Unbidden, his fingers curved to match the outer arc of her breasts. A
perfect handful for his wide palm. He groaned and took her mouth in a hard
kiss.

When he lifted his head, he thought he was tearing himself
apart. “Adelyn,” he whispered.

“Josh,” she answered. For a heartbeat, he thought he heard a
note of mockery. Or was that desperation? He had always done better reading the
animals with their basic needs, the land with its regular cycles. Women were a
mystery.

He let his hands slide down to her hips, to hold her back since
he couldn’t grab her wounded wrists. He couldn’t help but notice, despite his
good intentions, that unlike the dark wealth of her hair, down lower she was
smooth, without even a shadow to hide the dusky plump flesh. “Whatever happened
to you, this isn’t the way to forget or to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“You said this was a place to get away,” she reminded him.

She trailed her fingertips down his chest and raked lightly
over his nipples. His sharp breath sucked in his belly, leaving a gap behind his
belt buckle.

With one flick, she released the copper buckle. The etched
metal swung open like a welcoming gate, and she unzipped his jeans.

Any last ounce of willpower he had was lost with the whisper of
her fingers against his straining flesh. Long hours in the saddle were more
comfortable without underwear seams that might chafe in sensitive places, but
that common sense wardrobe choice left him no extra layers of defense now.

“Adelyn...” This time her name was not a protest but an
enticement.

“Do you have a muse, Josh?”

“A what?” His voice was thick, like his cock swelling toward
her.

“A muse. An inspiration. Something that...” She slipped her
hand into the front of his jeans. “Something that arouses you.”

“A muse...” His grasp tightened on her hips, and he shuddered
as she wrapped her fingers loosely around him. “You.”

“Yes.” She tipped toward him with a sigh and set her lips to
his. Her tongue traced the inner curve of his mouth, and his hips jerked in
eager response.

When she lifted her mouth, they were both panting, and his cock
was a branding iron in her hand, hot and hard.

She let her fingers slip away. “Take off your clothes.”

He rocked off the bed and shucked his jeans, letting the shirt
slide off his shoulders. But when she reached for him, he eluded her. He swept
the comforter back, pushing up the flannel into a thick nest. “First things
first. Lie back.”

She stared at him, her green eyes half lidded.

He hooked one arm behind the small of her back, looming over
her, and gave her a slow smile. “I’m feeling inspired.”

Chapter 5

Adelyn hesitated. A
musetta
teased and stimulated, and then, often enough, a
musetta
vanished without a trace. But had any
musetta
ever just laid back and indulged?

The thought was tempting. More tempting yet was the shine of
desire and determination in Josh’s many-colored eyes. He wanted her, but he
wanted something more. Too bad he didn’t know a
musetta
couldn’t give it all. Inspiration alone didn’t have the
power to deliver.

A part of her rebelled. Maybe she had never been able to create
anything of her own, but he was offering to inspire her. What would that look
like? Well, it looked like a very intent cowboy. But what would it
feel
like?

She relaxed into the curve of his arm. With the same strength
that had lifted her onto the horse, he eased her back onto the hillocks of the
bed coverings. The contrast between the cool fabric and his hot skin made her
shiver with delight.

He leaned down to kiss her and she buried her fingers in his
golden hair. A fairy princess of the kind the humans preferred might dream of
possessing such thick, waving locks. But he reached up to untangle her and
stretched her arms over her head, making her arch.

His lips traveled down her jaw, traced the flying pulse along
the column of her neck, skimmed the hollow of her throat. She arched higher, but
he needed no such encouragement.

His mouth circled a hot, damp path around her nipple, making
her moan with eagerness as the circle tightened, teased, and backed away.

She’d had her share of court affairs, but finding pleasure
through the obscuring lies of glamour was a trick. Josh’s big hand wandered
places of her body secret from her
phae
lovers, a
surprise even to her: the curve of her lower rib, the back of her knee as he
drew her leg up, the fine bones of her ankle.

When he ran his hand along the inside of her thigh, she
realized he had dipped his fingers into the salve. The fragrance ringed her, and
he slipped one finger inside her at the same time as he finally closed his lips
over her nipple.

She bucked against him, a wordless demand, and he obliged with
a second torturously slow finger. The flat of his tongue laved her breast in a
long, winding caress that echoed the lingering screw of his hand.

His thumb—slick with salve, just a little work roughened—found
the exposed center of her yearning flesh. He circled once, twice, ah, the
magical three times, and she came apart in a shower of flower petals.

At least it felt like that, like some rogue wind kept blowing
her in every direction, higher and higher. She came again and cried out his
name, careless of the consequences that came with naming.

When she caught her breath, she had to glance at herself to
make sure she was intact and that her glamour hadn’t slipped. But the satiny,
drifting feeling lingered as she stared into the arrogance of his grin.

“God, you are so hot,” he murmured. “So damn ready.”

She held her arms open to him. “Let me show you how ready.”

He surged up over her, his hair mussed from her hands, his lips
reddened. Flushed and flawed. The scar gleaming across his eye reminded her that
all her courtier lovers had been perfect. At least their glamour had always been
perfect. She had never revealed her weaknesses either.

But Josh had no such reservations. With his arms braced on
either side of her, he was poised exposed, his chest wide open and vulnerable.
Like the thrust of his engorged flesh, he had no fear, and she wanted that bold
conviction. She centered herself under him, canting her hips to meet his.

She gasped at the slow impalement, and he paused, “Adelyn?” But
she rocked up against him and he was sheathed in her flesh, and she forgot where
one of them stopped and the other started as they moved together in one
motion.

As a
musetta
, she had teased him.
Now he took that power from her, pushing harder and faster than she had
imagined, until her back arched and her head tilted into the blankets, offering
him her aching breasts and the wild rush of her pulse.

He licked her nipple and rolled the other between his long
fingers as he ground his hips into hers. The pressure against her core was her
undoing and she came apart again, just as he jackknifed against her with a
shout, a wordless cry that nevertheless had a power in it she couldn’t decipher.
He thrust again, and one more time, and then he shuddered. He dropped his head
to the crook of her neck, his breath heaving, hot over her skin.

The spasms in her own flesh quieted slowly with his breathing.
After a long moment, he withdrew and lowered himself to rest at her side, their
limbs still entwined.

“I don’t usually do this.” His voice was muffled against her
shoulder.

She tripped her fingertips down his chest toward his
still-rampant erection. “You are naturally gifted then.”

He pulled slightly away and caught her hand. “I don’t mean...I
don’t know what came over me.”

She laughed, low in her throat. “You came over me.”

He gave her a repressive look. “I am trying to say, I don’t
usually take a woman to bed on the first date. Not that this was a date
even.”

She raised her hand to cup his cheek. The mingled scent of
their sex and the flowers followed the gesture. Her heart seemed to skip once.
“That makes me feel very special.”

He stared. “Really?”

“Don’t you think it means something that you would share
yourself with me, like this?”

“You are some kind of woman.”

“Not any kind you know.”

“Maybe not.” He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the
center of her palm, though his gaze never left hers. “I want you to know I take
full responsibility for anything that might come of what we just did. I
never...That is, I’m clean, and I always do the right thing.”

Of that she had strangely little doubt. “What might come of
this besides our pleasure?”

His brow furrowed. “I guess you’re on birth control?”

Did he sound panicked, or disappointed? She touched the line on
his forehead. “My kind rarely have children of our own.” Even with their numbers
decimated by iron, the
phae
were slow to
rebound.

“Your kind?” He curled one finger through her hair. “You mean
supermodels?”

She hadn’t meant to get into a discussion of her background, so
she kissed him again to distract him. He seemed willing if the renewed prodding
against her hip was any indication.

Despite her reassurances, he insisted on protection the second
time. As if human semen held any worries for her compared to the Hunter and the
Ruiner and the Queen.

But when Josh rolled her into his arms, those worries, much
like the
phaedrealii
, seemed far away. For the first
time in her
phae
existence, she did not think about
her place or who she had to impress. Judging from his fevered breaths, Josh
wanted her exactly where she was, so she gave herself up to his inspired
touch.

They showered together afterward and he swathed her wrists
again in salve and loose bandages then gave her a gentle nudge toward the
clothes she had ignored before. “Get dressed while I make us some dinner.”

He kissed her once, then left, barefoot and barechested. She
watched him go with her lips still tingling from the kiss.

She dressed quickly in garments too large for her and smelling
of him while the dog Wolly watched her from the doorway. She met the flat brown
stare.

“I am not here to claim your human,” she said in the
phae
’s lyrical tongue. “We have no quarrel, you and
I.”

The dog seemed disinclined to believe her and did not move back
when she approached. But from the other side of the house drifted the smell of
something meaty, and after one more searching stare, Wolly trotted away.

Adelyn followed the dog toward the sound of rattling pans in
the kitchen. There was a woman’s touch on the house, obvious in the
ruffle-topped gingham curtains framing the windows and the throw pillows that
matched the couch in the parlor, but no recent sign of a female presence. Hence
the dust, the towering pile of books on only one side of the couch, and the
tools scattered on the dining table. Not to mention the pall of loneliness.

She paused at the dining table to look over belt buckles in
various stages of creation. The one centered in front of the lone chair had been
etched and stamped. Empty settings showed where insets of some sort would
go.

A dish of stones sat nearby, and she stirred her finger through
the selection. Nothing precious, just an opal, some chunks of coral and
turquoise, a handful of tumbled jaspers, but the stones were lovingly polished
and a pleasure to touch.

Josh stuck his head through the kitchen doorway. “Ready to
eat?”

“I was looking at your art.”

He ducked his head a little. “Ain’t art.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “What do you call it?”

“Messing around.”

She shook her head. “You put your touch on these. Simple—” He
snorted and she gave him a hard look. “But strong. Straightforward and true.
Quite lovely.”

He straightened. “Definitely not me. Come on in here. We’ll eat
at the counter where there’s an actual view.”

She wondered why he was so dismissive of the joy he obviously
found in and gave to the work. As a
musetta
, she was
irked that he would deny himself. She followed him to the small kitchen that
looked out over a stand of birch trees, banded black and white against the blue
sky.

“Every window shows something different,” she noted. The
phaedrealii
had no windows, just frames where the
illusions shifted at the Queen’s whim.

Josh pulled out a stool tucked under the kitchen counter and
gestured for her to sit. “A good reminder that every day is something
different.”

She stared at him curiously as she sat and let him ease her
closer to the counter. “You are a philosopher too?”

He took a seat beside her. “Hardly. Most people would say
nothing here changes, but that’s only because they’re so busy looking for
something else, they don’t see what’s right in front of them.” His jaw tightened
a moment as he stared out the window, then he slanted her a wry grin. “So there
I go, philosophizing. It’s taken me about as far as a rocking horse on an oil
slick.”

Their thighs bumped in the close quarters. From a skillet
between them, he served up a fluffy mixture of egg, potato, sausage, and bright
bell pepper bits. She recognized all the ingredients, but when the first forkful
slid into her mouth, her eyes widened.

Apparently the tongue was not as easily fooled by illusion. She
was halfway through her plate before she realized Josh was smiling at her.

“Your kind don’t eat enough, do they?”

She took another defiant bite before she answered. “Where I
come from, a lot is different from here.” In the
phaedrealii
, every day was very much the same: food that
sparkled—and tasted—like sand, views of nothing real, and the fear. Of course
the fear.

He must have caught something in her expression because he put
down his fork to brush her hair back from her face. “You’re here now, and you’re
safe. Unless I recruit you to feed the chickens. The rooster is a cocky
bastard.”

Adelyn leaned into his caress. “I think I can deal with
one...rooster.” She gave him a slow smile.

He paused with his hand at her nape, then straightened her
stool. “Finish your dinner like a good girl. I got dessert if you want it.”

She added a wicked slant to her lips. “I bet I know what it is.
But it isn’t for good girls.”

To her delight, hot color stained his cheeks. Had any of her
kind ever blushed? She couldn’t imagine a pursuit wicked enough to fluster a
phae
. No, she would only find such a gorgeous,
riotous fever in her flushed cowboy.

He pulled a mock scowl and nudged her plate. “There are seconds
if you want them.”

“I do want,” she confessed with another suggestive glance from
beneath her lashes. “Maybe thirds.”

When they finished, he made her sit while he cleaned up. She
had never seen dishes washed before. The plates from a
phaedrealii
feast—spun with illusion from bracken leaves or shards
of ice or nothing at all—were torn or smashed or disappeared when backs were
turned.

She rather thought she preferred the
phae
method.

She brought herself up short. Of course she preferred the
phae
way. She
was
phae
. And the only way to get back to her way of
life was to end the Hunter’s. The impossible compulsion pressed her harder than
Wolly’s insistent stare at the back of her head.

Josh dunked the dishes in lemon-scented bubbles. “I’ll fire up
the cell signal booster. I meant to do that as soon as we got home, but I was
distracted.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. The intensity of his gaze
sparked something in her; not quite a blush, but...”Maybe we can reach the
Hunters and find out when they’ll be back.”

Curse the Hunter. Adelyn gripped the edge of the stool as the
blood rushed out of her head. “Tell me about them.”

His brows lifted. “You’ve never met them?”

“No. We have...acquaintances in common.”

“They’re good people. They’ll help you.”

They’d kill her if they discovered her intent. And they weren’t
people at all. Not that Josh could know that.

Again, her expression must have worried him because he left the
soapy water to stand in front of her, his knees bumping hers while his hands
dripped. “Whatever happened to you, it happened far away from here. You’re with
me now, and I won’t let anything bad touch you again.”