A/N: I intend for there to be more chapters to this. Not entirely sure where The Muse will lead me, but I'll post updates as frequently as possible. Thanks for reading! Reviews and feedback are always GREATLY appreciated!
It hadn't taken long.
Gillian had moved fairly rapidly from arousal to frustration to irritation. All that had taken less than a couple minutes, and now she was hurtling double-time toward a low-simmering anger. She yanked her coat from the coat rack with considerably more force than was strictly necessary, causing it to teeter precariously back and forth in her wake as she flung herself into the corridor.
Damn, but he was an infuriating man! Sit and stare at her for minutes on end, then whip her into a lust-fueled frenzy in a matter of seconds, then beat a hasty retreat rather than- Than what? Honestly, what did she expect? It was just part and parcel of Cal's way of handling this- this—whatever this was between them. One semi-aggressive step forward, ten exasperating steps back.
Gillian sighed. It was her own fault, really. Early on in their relationship, Cal had made it abundantly clear (sans words, naturally) that he was interested. Truth be told, she had been, too. Still was. More so now than ever. But their timing was off back then, with two marriages hanging in the balance and a fledgling business venture to launch into the stratosphere of success. And so she had come up with The Line. It kept everything neat and organized and safe. Still, she had filed away their mutual attraction for future reference. Forget vocal analysis and psychology. Compartmentalization: that was her real specialty.
She set aside her attraction (feelings, whatever) and put a professional polish on their relationship. Not that Cal made it easy, what with his incessant flirting. She had resisted that at first, tried to keep it at bay. She tried ignoring it. She tried reminding him of boundaries. But with every line she drew in the sand, he tromped stubbornly over it like a toddler in a sandbox, right up into her personal space. The more distanced and professional and discouraging of his behaviour she attempted to be, the more he seemed to take it as a personal challenge, invading her space more frequently with an almost obscene glee.
She eventually realized that the only way to handle him when he got like that was to remain unflappable and give as good as she got. To this day, she still relished the deer-in-the-headlights look on his face the first time she stepped forward rather than back when he advanced on her and how his eyes widened and his jaw dropped just a little at her ribald riposte to his innuendo. He had masked it quickly; and had he not been training her in his science, she might have missed it altogether. A mask can hide many things but not the eyes. Not those Windows to the Soul. And so she saw how her proximity had darkened his eyes, caused the edges of his pupils to spread like drops of ink. As it was, it gave her a rush, that fleeting feeling of power over the indomitable Cal Lightman. And that, too, she filed away for future reference.
By the time their timing was less "off", The Line had become such a deeply ingrained habit with her that she didn't really know how to back off from it. And poor Cal, she had him trained to Pavlovian levels so that his innuendo and retreat had become second nature.
And so, they carried on in their same old way, just praying they'd not left it too late to say…what they'd meant to say.
When she pushed the button to call up the elevator, she was surprised that it was already at her floor rather than the lobby level as it normally was at this time of the evening. The doors slid immediately apart.
And there he was, leaning with feigned casualness against the back wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his laser-point eyes fastened to her. He hadn't left after all. He'd waited there. Lurking. Waiting for her. He hadn't finished with her yet. The game was still very much on.
Neither one of them had moved since the doors opened. He was still as a statue, piercing her with that intense gaze that said, "I have breached your guard and am plundering your every thought at this very moment and am deciding what to do with what I learn from you." Gillian felt pinned to the wall by that stare; she wanted nothing more than to look away but instead returned it with a dogged determination that made her quite proud of herself. She'd witnessed many a strong person crack and crumble under the weight of that trademark stare, and she'd be damned if she would add herself to that ever-lengthening list.
His irises had reduced themselves to sliver-thin rings around those wide, dark centres; and this time, there was little mystery what was on his mind.
He advanced on her with the graceful suddenness of a jungle cat on the prowl. One moment, he was leaning against the wall, still and tense as a coiled spring, The next, he was so close to her that the tips of their noses nearly touched, and she could taste the air he breathed.
His gaze never wavered; his expression did not shift. Everything just came to a sudden stop as the moment hung there, balanced on knife's-edge tension. Time stopped. Their breathing ceased. Even the rushing sound of her blood, which had been pounding in her ears just a second ago, seemed to stop cold. There was a brief but deafening silence. Then everything jarred back into motion.
Gillian managed to gasp a quick, sharp breath as Cal's mouth crashed over hers. His hands darted up to tangle in her hair as he kissed her with a fierceness she had only dreamed of. Every nerve ending in her body snapped to high-alert, and a thrilling electricity crackled through her limbs as long-repressed desire burst to the surface and coursed through her veins, hot and savage. Her feverish, unrestrained passion was a match for his own as the frenzied kiss escalated to dizzying extremes. Even with her eyes shut tight, Gillian could almost see the edges of her vision go dark and blurry, and her legs turned to jelly.
Sensing her weakness, Cal untangled the fingers of one hand from her hair. His arm snaked around her, crushing her against him and pressing into her with everything he had. He spun them, and Gillian felt the elevator car's railing bite into the small of her back. It should have hurt, but she found it too hard to care with his tongue exploring the contours of hers and his undeniable arousal thrust insistently against her pelvis. At some point – and she couldn't possibly have said when even if you offered her a million dollars – she had gripped the front of his shirt, fisting it tightly in trembling hands. She pulled reflexively and heard several buttons clinking against the elevator floor.
It was the tiny sounds of those buttons bouncing near their feet that brought her abruptly to her senses, and with as much force as she had just pulled, she shoved Cal away from her. Gillian panted and gasped as she fought to recover herself, grabbing the railing behind her for support. Cal stumbled backward, eyes as wide with shock as if she had slapped him. Relentlessly, he advanced on her once more; but Gillian slammed her flattened palm against his chest, killing his momentum.
Undeterred, he pushed her arm aside and stepped once again into her personal space, hands clutching her upper arms. His eyes roamed her face frantically, trying to speed-read the situation and Gillian's emotions and to make sense of what she'd done.
"Let's don't fight this, darlin'. Please. Not anymore. I want you, Gill. With every last fibre of my being, I want you; and I know you want me, too. Please, Gill. I want to give in. We need each other; we need this. We've fought it for so long, and I'm sick and bloody tired of fighting it. We deserve this. We owe it to ourselves. Please. Please. I want you, Gill. I desperately want you." Cal's voice was low and ragged and treacherous with raw emotion as he pleaded with her. Begging. He was begging her to be with him. And she might not have been able to resist the combination of his scent and that voice and the feel of his body pressed against hers and the taste of him still on her swollen lips were it not for his choice of words. Those words hit her like a bucket of ice water and left her cold, the fire he had stoked within her just moments before slowly burning out and being replaced with a hollow chill. In the end, those words crawled under her skin and burrowed their way into her heart. Words he had intended to urge her closer to him only served to drive her back.
She hadn't realized she was crying until she felt the tears drip from her chin to fall scalding onto her chest. Cal looked confused and hurt and upset and a million other things she could see plainly but couldn't name fast enough as she pushed him away again, backing out of the elevator.
"Deserve, Cal? Owe? Need? Want? Is that all we have to offer each other after all this time?" She shook her head fiercely, sending tears splashing in every direction. "It's not enough, Cal. I'm sorry, but it just isn't. I won't be your temporary fix until some better offer with a high hemline and low morals comes along to distract you."
She took one more step back and pressed the button with her thumb. Her voice sounded empty and faint when she spoke again.
"I want you doesn't mean much without I love you, Cal. And both are pretty meaningless without I choose you."
The doors whispered closed, and Cal Lightman descended in stunned silence.
