Stirring Up Trouble(36)
He nodded, making the room tilt. “Yep.”
His friend grinned. “You know what that means don’t you?”
He took a sip of water. “We’re both delusional?”
Ryan placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. “She’s your Muse.”
His Mousa. Isn’t that what he’d called her in the dream and again in the kitchen? “I know.”
“You’re not going to deny it?” Ryan asked, surprised.
“Nope, she does enough of that for the both of us.” He paused and took a breath. “She’s Euterpe.”
“Who?”
“The Muse of Lyrics. At least, that’s who she is in our dreams.”
Ryan looked thoughtful. “Huh, I don’t remember our names from our dreams. It was just us. But if it weren’t for Portia, I wouldn’t be whittling wood.”
Braden burst out into laughter. “Sorry. It’s just that ‘whittling’ sounds like something more . . . personal.”
“At least I got you to laugh.” Ryan turned serious. “You know Lola’s going to take off soon.”
Braden chugged the rest of his water, but his mouth was still dry. “That’s what she says.”
“What do you want from her?”
What did he want? He couldn’t offer her forever even if she wanted it. “I don’t know. I like her. I don’t want to waste the time we do have, but neither one of us does long-term relationships. You said it before, if things go sour between us—when things go sour—it will complicate things.”
“That was before I knew she was your Muse. Look at Portia and me. We took the risk knowing we could get hurt and now we’re getting married. Sometimes, you have to jump off the cliff without a parachute and leave it to faith you’ll land safely. Trust me, it can be a bumpy ride, but it’s also thrilling as hell.” He slapped him on his back. “Come on, why don’t you let Jenny close tonight and I’ll take you home?”
Braden nodded and slid off the stool, his knees buckling under him. As he grabbed aimlessly for something to hold onto, his head smacked against the edge of the bar. As he lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling—was that a water stain?—he heard Ryan shouting his name and spouting some nonsense about staying awake before everything faded to black.
Euterpe lay naked in his arms, her silky hair spread over his chest like the softest of feathers. They breathed in sync, their wildly beating hearts drumming against their chests in an ancient rhythm only they could hear. The blue and violet flowers from her crown scattered around them, their scent a calming balm on his weary soul. Demetrius stroked her backside, her smooth, unmarred skin a balm on his work-callused fingers. Slowly, his beautiful mousa tilted her head and their gazes locked, freezing the moment in time for eternity.
“I must go,” she said softly. “He will return soon and he must not find me gone.” She began to make movements which would take her away from him once again.
He didn’t want her to leave. He never did.
Before she rose, he captured her wrist. “Marry me, Euterpe. I know I cannot offer you anything more than my heart, but you must know, if I owned the world I would give it to you.”
Clouds darkened in the sky and his sheep bleated in the distance, but all he could see and hear was his mousa. Let the heavens open up and cry on them. In her embrace, he would never grow cold.
“Wake up, man,” Ryan commanded, his voice sounding far away.
Braden forced his eyes open. Blinding light sent a sharp, lancing pain through the top of his head and his throbbing temples. “Where’s Euterpe . . . I mean, Lola?”
“Here you go, Ryan,” Jenny said, her face coming into view behind his friend.
Ryan placed a plastic bag filled with ice on Braden’s head. The cold immediately brought him some relief.
“Lola left. Don’t you remember? Do you need to go to the hospital?” Ryan asked, his eyes squinting with concern.
The last few hours flooded his memory. Lola had left with Jon then he’d gotten drunk on tequila. Guess he was out of practice with the whole drinking to excess thing.
Holding the ice pack to his head, Braden got to his feet, his head a bit dizzy, but his intentions clear. He turned to his friend. “I don’t need a hospital. Just a ride home. I’ve got to get some rest. Tomorrow, I’m going to make her mine.”
CHAPTER 13
If ever though shalt love,
in the sweet pangs of it remember me;
For such as I am, all true lovers are,