Sway With Me(67)

If she’d harbored any lingering doubts of his feelings for her, Ryan had completely dissolved them with this. He loved her.



She shot out of her chair. “I need to speak with him. Do you happen to know where I could find him? He’s not answering his cell phone.”

A smile broke across George’s face. “I do believe he was going over to the law school to re-enroll for next semester.”

Nodding, she turned around and headed toward the exit. She couldn’t allow Ryan to give up his art. After all, she was his Muse. And the woman who loved him.

She stopped in the doorframe and faced George. “Does the paperwork for the property need to be signed today?”

“Yes, but if you can come to a mutual agreement, I’m working until six. I’ll hold off filing anything until I hear from you.”

“Thank you, George.”

She gave the attorney a smile before leaving his office. Now that she understood Ryan loved her, she would convince him to sell the house and use the money to follow his passion. She didn’t care why or how he’d lost his money. She loved him. She knew his soul, and Ryan would never have frivolously spent his money.

She checked the time on her phone. Eight hours to find Ryan and return to George’s office to sign the paperwork.

On her way to the elevator, she passed a man wearing a University of Detroit Law School sweatshirt. Thinking of her mother’s advice, she smiled. All she had to do was follow the signs.





Chapter 19

But now I was the lord

Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,

Queen o’er myself. And even now, but now,

This house, these servants, and this same myself

Are yours, my lord’s.

William Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, act 3, scene 2

Hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, Ryan sat on the cold metal bench in front of the admissions’ office. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d arrived, but he couldn’t manage to walk inside the building. It was the right thing to do. Portia deserved the mansion. Deserved a home. He’d start out in the mail room if he had to, but he’d find a job within Stavros Industries to cover the house’s taxes and utilities so that Portia would have the time to grow her clientele at her own dance school without worrying about money. Once he passed the Michigan Bar, he’d join his family’s business as planned.

He couldn’t help wondering if Portia had gone to George’s yet. He patted his coat pocket, confirming his cell wasn’t lost. Why hadn’t she called? He thought once she discovered he’d deeded the home to her, she’d understand how much she meant to him—how much he loved her. Every woman who passed him on their way inside the building reminded him of her. One had her raven-colored hair, but none of its sheen or vibrancy. One had her height but none of her grace. One had her bow-shaped upper lip, but none of the warmth of her smile. And now, he swore he smelled vanilla.



“Ryan?”

Great, now he was hearing things. Good thing law school didn’t require a psychiatric evaluation.

A figure circled from behind the bench to stand in front of him. This one had Portia’s legs. Those amazingly erotic legs which had captured his imagination from the day they’d met.



His gaze ran the length of this doppelganger’s legs to her tiny waist to her coat-covered chest to her beautiful, slightly upturned lips, to her sparkling and hopeful eyes.

Portia.

He tried to stand, but he was either too overwhelmed or his ass had literally frozen to the bench from the winter chill. “What are you doing here?”

“May I sit?” She pointed to the spot next to him on the bench, her sneakers in what he’d come to learn was fifth position.

Still in shock, he took a moment to process her words then scooted a few inches, giving her enough space to sit, but not enough that their legs wouldn’t touch. If she’d come to end things, he needed to have her close one last time. She dropped on the bench and angled her body toward him. He took that as a good sign.

“Thank you,” she murmured, placing her hand on his knee. “I went into the ballroom—the dance studio. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed. And the carving of the dancer . . . I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”



He joined his hand with hers on his knee, interweaving their fingers. “I have.”

Her brows furrowed. “You have?”

“Yes.” He brought her petite hand to his lips and kissed it. “The model for the ballerina—you. In any reincarnation, you are the most beautiful woman in the world. You’re my Muse, Portia. Without you, I’m just a homeless, jobless, directionless shell. I swear to you, I didn’t want Samantha to kiss me last night. There’s only one pair of lips I want on mine and that’s yours.”