The Muse (21 page)

“I’ve lost track of how many times you’ve helped bring me to orgasm this week.” Olive sashayed past her to the bathroom, then stopped at the door to pin her with a sultry smile. “The last one was only a few hours ago, before I showered to come over here. I didn’t even need a book. I just lay on my bed, on my hand, and imagined you were there behind me. Took me just five minutes to call out your name.” She paused, eyes sparkling. “Luckily? That won’t make next time any less sweet.”

The mental image of Olive lying on her stomach while masturbating to fantasies in which she played a starring role would likely sustain Kate sexually for the rest of her life. She didn’t even try to hide how Olive’s speech affected her. “I want you. Desperately, and as soon as possible.”

“Then go put the food down.” Olive stepped partway into the bathroom. “And I’ll wash my hands.”

Erato burst out of the kitchen with an exasperated sigh. The tray in her hands overflowed with just as many delectable goodies as the one Kate still carried, along with three glasses of wine. Lifting one shoulder in a defeated half shrug, Erato said, “Given how difficult you’re both finding the task of stepping away from each other, it seems that I’ve grossly overestimated everyone’s appetite for food and conversation. For that, I sincerely apologize.” She waited a beat, then stuck out her lower lip in an exaggerated, undeniably sexy pout. “But will you two at least
try
my spanakopita first?”

*

As it turned out, they ended up trying more than just the spanakopita. Out of respect for the time and effort Erato had devoted toward creating a romantic atmosphere for their second date, Kate once again ignored her libido to focus on the task ahead. Happily, eating Erato’s delicious food while getting to know Olive better didn’t present a real hardship. And actually, she decided as she finished her first glass of wine, taking the time to play out a real, respectable evening would only make the sex they had later even better. That was because everything Olive said only endeared her to Kate more.

“You’d earned an MBA from Stanford by the time you were twenty-two years old?” Kate repeated, stunned by the new layer her dream girl had just revealed. Nothing Olive had shared before now had hinted at a prodigious childhood, nor a background in business. It was startling to realize how little she actually knew about the woman who’d so easily captured her imagination. “Did you always plan to start your own bakery, or did you have another dream first?”

Olive took a slow sip of wine, perhaps mentally rehearsing her answer. Though only one sofa cushion separated them, Olive might as well have been in the next town over, for as far away as she seemed. Kate itched to touch her but stayed on her side of the couch, determined to sit back and enjoy the slow burn of their rising sexual tension. Erato had curled up on the love seat across from them, nibbling on a bite of pita with tzatziki while listening. While she’d contributed to the conversation a few times since they sat down, she seemed content to watch them talk.

Lowering her glass of wine, Olive revealed eyes that seemed almost haunted. “Actually, I used to be a high-level executive at a Fortune 500 company on the East Coast. They hired me right out of grad school and I spent the next six years climbing the ladder there.” She snorted and shook her head. “In fact, that was my life—climbing the ladder. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I lived to work. So did my girlfriend at the time. We shared the same priorities, which at least meant neither of us pretended that our relationship was one of them. Nothing was, not even our families.”

When Olive stopped talking to take another, nervous sip of wine, Kate realized her frown could be interpreted as disapproval. Softening her features, she said, “I’m sorry. It’s just difficult to reconcile the Olive I know with the woman you’re describing. You’ve clearly changed.”

Olive set her glass of wine down on the coffee table and took a deep breath. “I had a pretty major wake-up call.” Her hand fluttered to her chest, where she traced the expertly concealed scar with a trembling finger. “It’s funny, but a near-death experience really does rearrange your priorities just like
that
.”

Kate found it difficult not to react to the idea that Olive had almost left this world before they’d had a chance to meet. Her eyes burned with unshed tears that blurred her vision and made her feel pretty damn silly. Who cried over someone else’s tragic backstory on a second date, for God’s sake?
Not me,
she chanted to herself, a silent mantra.
Not me, not me, not me.
“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Olive nodded without meeting her gaze. She reached across the middle cushion and rested her hand on Kate’s sock-clad foot, a point of connection that seemed to comfort them both. “A few years back, I realized I hadn’t flown home to California to visit my parents in over three years. It took some begging and pleading, but I finally convinced Jasmine to take a weekend off with me so I could introduce her to them. We flew in late Friday night and planned to leave Sunday morning. After three years away, that was all of my precious time I was willing to spare. But I told myself they were proud of me and that they understood—”

Recognizing that Olive was falling victim to a nasty bout of self-criticism—clearly not for the first time—Kate wiggled her foot from side to side to jar her from that destructive line of thought. “Hey. You’re a different person now,” she said. “Obviously.”

Olive shook her head, then covered her face with her free hand to muffle humorless laughter. “You guys, I’m going to bring our whole evening down with this tragic-ass shit.”

“No, you won’t.” Erato spoke up forcefully in between sips from a cup of lentil soup. Despite continuing to feast, she came across as sober and deeply serious. “You’re telling your story. Go ahead and get through the sad part. I promise our evening will recover.” She offered Olive an encouraging smile. “Now go on and finish.”

Olive stared across the coffee table at Erato—or more to the point,
away
from Kate—as she resumed her story. “We decided to spend Saturday driving around and visiting wineries. Jasmine insisted that we stay busy even though I would have been just as happy to sit at my parents’ home and visit.” She paused, then shook her head as though getting herself back on track. “Anyway, my mom and dad were in the backseat of our rental car and Jasmine was driving. I was sitting in the passenger seat, looking over my shoulder chatting to my parents between stops. At some point Jasmine got distracted by an incoming text on her cell phone, I guess, and she let the car drift over the center line…” A violent shudder overtook Olive, an ugly jolt of memory. “It was a head-on collision at roughly forty miles per hour. It’s a miracle I’m alive. My father, too. Jasmine and my mother were both killed on impact.”

Kate’s hand flew to her mouth before she could stop herself. Worried that Olive would mistake her abject horror at the close call for judgment over the events of that day, she quickly put down her own glass of wine and scooted to the other side of the sofa. With a sense of reverence that arose from somewhere primal and deep inside her, she picked up Olive’s cool, limp hand and brought it to her lips, pressing kiss after kiss into the palm. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and said again, “I’m
so
glad you’re okay.”

Olive brought her free hand to Kate’s face, using her knuckles to stroke along her cheekbone. “Me, too.” She managed to look into Kate’s eyes for the first time since relating the story of her accident, and her face slackened in naked relief at whatever she saw there. “My father was in a wheelchair and had to do physical therapy for fourteen months before he was strong enough to get around on his cane. I had a spinal injury and over thirty broken bones. On top of that, I sustained a blunt-force injury to my heart. The scar is from the repair. I was in traction and then in a wheelchair of my own for almost a year.”

Erato asked the question that Kate was too stunned to put into words. “How long ago
was
this?”

Olive smiled shyly, still staring into Kate’s eyes. “Four years ago tomorrow.”

“A miraculous recovery, indeed.” Erato had assumed a decadent pose on the love seat, legs tucked beneath her, dress ridden up to reveal her tanned upper thighs. Kate barely noticed, unwilling to take in more than a peripheral glance lest she break the intimacy of the moment she and Olive seemed to be sharing. “It’s little wonder you took the entire ordeal as a warning to reboot your life.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, surprised and even a little delighted by Erato’s astute and very modern word choice. She swept her eyes over Olive’s body with a renewed appreciation for what she was seeing. “I would never have guessed that you’d gone through something like that.”

Olive rewarded her with a genuinely sunny grin. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that.” With a tired exhalation, she rushed through the end of the story, clearly ready to conclude her tale. “I quit my job as soon as I was coherent enough to be sure that it was me and not a head injury that wanted to resign. I couldn’t imagine I would want to leave my father even after I was physically capable of doing so, and with Jasmine gone, there was nothing else for me in New York. So I stayed here. The benefit to toiling away in your twenties as an overpaid workaholic is having greater freedom in how you spend time in your thirties.”

She clapped her hands together as though announcing the upcoming conclusion. “My father opened a bakery—his lifelong dream—when I was a child, but he struggled to keep the business afloat and it ultimately failed when I was away at college. We started baking together when we were both in rehabilitation, to combat the boredom. That’s when we decided that I would help him reopen the business once we were healthy enough to make it successful. That became our motivation to heal.” She paused, then sat back against the arm of the couch with a bittersweet smile. “It worked beautifully.”

“To say the least.” Kate squeezed Olive’s hand. “And you’re happier now?”

“Much.” Olive’s voice caught, but she waved a hand in the air and laughed off her rising emotion. “I mean, I’m single and motherless, but at least my life seems to have attained some deeper meaning.”

“And you have a bucket list that’s shrinking every day.”

Olive chuckled. “Since I met you two, at least.” She shot Erato a friendly smile before returning her attention to Kate. “Anyway, that’s enough about me. Tell me something about you that I haven’t already learned from your back-cover blurb.”

Kate shrugged, never pleased to be the center of attention. “There’s not much to tell. I’m the oldest of three, and my younger siblings are twins. My brother is a programmer at some start-up in Palo Alto, and my sister moved to London with her husband the banker last year. It sounds like she’s carving out a career as a professional socialite, which is good, since her only real skill seems to be marrying up.”

“And your parents?”

“They’re retired and spend most of their time traveling. We get along well and visit each other when we can.” She shrugged again. “Like I said, not much to tell.”

“How do they feel about their little girl writing dirty lesbian-sex stories?”

Kate blushed. “I haven’t really delved into that subject with them. Too awkward.”

Olive laughed. “I’m sure they’re proud of you.”

“Well, I hope so.”

“Have they read any of your books?”

Cringing, Kate tried not to think too hard about the potential answer to that question. “I asked them not to tell me if they ever did.”

Olive snorted in amusement, which made Kate smile despite the fact that she was the punch line. “Fair enough.” Turning her attention toward Erato, Olive asked, “How about you? I’ll bet you had an interesting upbringing.”

Kate barely had time to panic about the possibility of Erato being overly candid before she answered. “I’ll say. But you don’t want to hear about my family—even if they have been the source of enough drama and tragedy and comedy to inspire multiple tales.” Erato shot Kate a conspiratorial little smile. If she was trying to be subtle about the fact that she thought she was being clever, she was failing. “Epic ones.”

Olive smiled along with Erato. If she was at all perplexed about the response, she didn’t show it. “Well, whoever taught you to cook did something right. The food is wonderful.”

“Hestia, yes. She was a tremendous mentor in the kitchen.” Erato’s gaze went far away for a moment before she snapped back into the present. “Anyway, thank you. I’m so glad you’re enjoying the food.” Her expression turned wicked. “Even if it
is
keeping you from dessert.”

Even a subtle allusion to sex was enough to bring Kate’s clit to immediate attention. A quiet groan escaped her as she shifted on the cushion, positioning herself so the seam of her jeans pulled tight against her arousal. Instead of sating her overactive sexual appetite, Olive’s little hand-job had achieved the opposite effect. Even after all the talk of grave injuries and catastrophic losses and guilt, she burned to reciprocate the sweet pleasure Olive had given her. And if the way Olive gazed at her now—all hooded eyelids and flushed cheeks—was any indication, the desire was very much mutual.

“Kate, since tonight is your reward for a job well done…” Erato waited until Kate dragged her attention away from Olive to finish her thought. She gave Kate an indulgent wink. “Go ahead and have your dessert.”

Kate knew immediately what Erato was suggesting, and where she once might have felt shy, tonight she didn’t even hesitate. Turning to face Olive, she carefully placed her hands at the hemline of her dress, over her knees. “May I?”

Olive blinked rapidly, her gaze fluttering back and forth between Erato and Kate for a second longer than Kate expected. Briefly alarmed that she was having second thoughts about another threesome, Kate squeezed Olive’s knee and craned to look into her face. She didn’t want to pressure Olive into something she didn’t want. That would ruin everything.

It took obvious effort for Olive to meet her eyes, but her consent was clear even before she spoke. “You may. I
am
your reward, after all.” She bit her lower lip, shy and sexy and, as Kate well remembered, even more delectable than Erato’s best dish.