Muse Read online Alexa Riley, Fiona Davenport (Hollywood #1)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: , Series: Hollywood Series by Fiona Davenport
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Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
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“Making me stare at your ceiling won’t stop me from giving you shit.”

“More like nagging.” I twist the cap on the bottle and take a deep swallow before picking up the phone and glaring at my brother. “Why do I need a woman in my life? I have you.” I chug back the rest of the water and toss the bottle in my recycle bin.

“I don’t nag,” Austin defends with faked indignation. “Being right all the time and making sure you know it isn’t nagging.” His grin reappears, even bigger than before.

Shaking my head, I walk toward the east wing of the house where the master bedroom is located. “Your head is getting too big for my screen, Hot Shot. I better hang up before you break my phone.”

“Ahh, but the ladies love all the big things about me.”

It’s my turn to snort. I stop short and stare at my brother with a raised eyebrow. “How would you know what ladies love? You date about as much as I do,” I toss back at him. He’s always pushing me about my love life, but he doesn’t have one either.

He doesn’t take the bait and just gives me another smile. But there is something about this one that is different. It’s almost…sly. And the sparkle in his eye starts to worry me. Austin can be impulsive—

“What you need is a muse, big brother.”

“I’ll make sure to request one the next time I have a conference call with Zeus,” I reply dryly.

Austin chuckles, but then that mysterious smile returns. “Don’t worry, we already had a chat. Your muse should be there anytime. Oh, and I’m sending you some food so you don’t forget to eat.” The call abruptly disconnects before I can respond. What the fuck?

I debate calling him back but decide I don’t care and toss the phone on my bed before padding over to my bathroom. Who knows what he’s up to and I know I wouldn’t be able to get it out of him if he is up to something. My muscles are stiff from spending so much time in the studio without a break, so I start the shower and wait for the water to warm up. Once the room is steaming, I strip and step under the hot spray, groaning at the feel of the heat on my aching body.

Austin’s comments about a muse sift through my mind. His joke hits closer to home than he thinks. Over the years, I’ve been inspired by the idea of a muse. At times, I could have sworn I felt her hovering over my fingers, making the music magical, almost like a guardian angel. I’ve even dreamt of her from time to time. But the picture is never clear. I don’t know what she looks like, only that she also has a heavenly voice and a body that was made just for me.

My cock stirs and I grunt with annoyance as I glare down at the stubborn fucker. Thinking of her is the only thing that ever gets his attention. Which means I’m basically lusting after an angel… I’m definitely going to hell.

I adjust the temperature of the water until it’s frigid and some of the blood returns to my brain. After a minute, I shut the faucet off and step out of the shower, grabbing a fluffy black towel and wrapping it around my waist. Before I can take another step, the doorbell rings. Since the security team didn’t announce whoever it is, I assume it’s the food Austin said he was having delivered. He must have given them the security code for the front gate. I debate making them wait while I get dressed, but if the food is hot, I don’t want it to cool.

The bell goes off again and I pick up my pace as I make my way to the front of the house. When I finally reach the door, I swing it open and all the blood in my brain drains south. “Who the hell are you?” I growl.

I guess I was wrong. I made it to heaven after all.

Chapter Two

Shelby

“Let me be your—” I cut off in the middle of the first verse of some corny song about muses as soon as I catch sight of the guy who opens the door. This kind of thing never happens to me. Some of my co-workers are embarrassed by the singing telegram gig and don’t give it their all, but not me. It might not pay a lot, but I’m doing what I love—what I was trained to do—and I’m always professional. Nothing distracts me from belting out whatever song the client picks out. Heck, I’m usually so focused that I barely pay attention to the person I’m being paid to serenade until I’m done and they’re thanking me.



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