The Billionaire's Muse

  He shifted, one leg moving over the other as the coat he wore seemed to flutter about him. A hat covered his head, broad-brimmed and rolled up on one side. What looked like a cane protruded from under his coat, and I could see the tops of a pair of strange-looking boots.

  He looked like he had been on his way to a costume party.

  I rolled over so that I sat up in front of him, my eyes squinting as I tried to get a good look at him. He cocked his head and pointed at me.

  “Quite an unusual choice of attire,” he said. “Where are you from?”

  The accent was some kind of British and would have been exotically appealing if I hadn't started to feel the adrenaline ebb and the pain return.

  “Are you the one on guard duty?” I asked, my voice so raspy I barely recognized myself. I wondered if he had volunteered to stay with me until the medics arrived. Maybe they hadn't wanted to move me just yet. Maybe I'd rolled down an embankment. My brain was still trying to make sense of it all.

  “No,” he said, sounding amused. “I am simply waiting until morning.”

  I frowned and coughed, my throat burning as I tried to speak. “Out here?”

  “The safest place for now.”

  Great, I thought. They left me with a complete lunatic.

  I tried to get up again and groaned in pain, my ankle letting me know that moving about was not a good idea. I winced as I dragged myself to a nearby tree and leaned my head against the bark. I looked about, trying to discern which way the highway was but couldn’t see anything in the dark. Where were the lights?

  “You seem lost.”

  I fought the urge to say something snarky in response.

  “Do you need anything to drink?” he asked.

  I hadn’t thought about it until he mentioned it, and I suddenly noticed that I was parched. I nodded, not trusting my voice again.

  He stood slowly, then walked out into the dim light of the stars, allowing me to get a better look at him. Damn, he was good-looking. Pale curls brushed his shoulders as he handed me his flask, and I found myself staring into a pair of intelligent eyes whose color was undetectable in the darkness. He frowned at me, a look that was less than friendly, and I wondered how long he had been sitting there, waiting for me to wake up.

  The man was definitely dressed for some sort of event, his overcoat falling well below the knees, two rows of buttons down the front, the lapels lying loose and barely hiding the breast coat labels below. He wore a pair of breeches over stockings that went up to his knees, the side buckles the loudest sound in the darkness.

  I took a drink from the flask, instantly spitting it out when the strong taste hit my tongue. I'd never tasted anything like it.

  “I don’t have a lot of that,” he said, sitting down again. “I would prefer to save a bit for the remainder of the night.”

  I took another drink, winced as I swallowed, and then closed the flask again. I looked down as I felt something rough against the pads of my fingers. The initials carved into it were easy to read, even in the dim light.

  “GL?” I rasped out.

  “Gracen Lightwood,” he explained.

  I wondered if the accent was real. I knew there were nuances to British accents that specified where people were from, but I'd never been able to tell the difference.

  “And you?” he asked.

  “Daviot,” I replied and began to cough again. My throat hurt like a bitch.

  “That sounds French,” Gracen said.

  I shrugged. “American, born and raised.”

  “Born and raised?” He repeated the phrase back to me like he'd never heard it before.

  Okay, maybe he wasn't as smart as I first thought.

  “I was a military brat for the first few years of my life, so I was all over before my father decided to move us out to the suburbs after he retired,” I managed to say. “What about you?”

  He was quiet for a minute, then leaned forward, his elbows resting near his breeches buckles as he tipped his hat up a bit.

  “Is this how all natural born colonists speak?”

  Wow, he was really going all out for this role.

  I looked around me again, my eyes adjusting to the dark, the terrain unfamiliar to me. In the distance, I heard more gunfire, a few shots that echoed across the night sky, but there was something strange about them I couldn't quite place. I squinted and tried to make out where the highway was, but couldn’t see anything.

  “Where are we?” I asked, starting to get nervous.

  “We are outside Boston,” he said. “I found you lying a bit off that way,” he pointed East, “in a most peculiar fashion, I might add. You took me quite by surprise.”

  I frowned. So he wasn’t babysitting me after all. Apparently, no one even knew I was here. A flash of fear went through me. I could handle myself, and I wasn't a small woman, but I estimated him to be at least six-four. And I was injured.

  “Where’s the highway?” I asked, perking my ears, hoping to hear the sounds of distant vehicles, something to give me an idea of where I was and how I could get away from the man sitting across from me.

  “The highway?”

  “Yes, the highway,” I said, my tone sharpening before another coughing fit silenced me for a moment. “I was in an accident, and I was probably thrown out of my car. I need to get back there.”

  He was staring at me now like I was the one with a few screws loose.

  “Oh, come on, drop the gimmick already, would you,” I rasped. “I’m beat up pretty bad, and I probably need medical attention.”

  “I did not see any blood, nor did any limbs appear broken,” he said. “Aside from your ankle, I am sure you are in fine health.”

  “Really?” I didn't bother to hide my skepticism.

  “Before I pulled you here, I ensured nothing was broken.”

  “You pulled me here?”

  “I could not leave you out in the field like that, could I?”

  “What field?”

  “For God’s sake, man, calm down,” he snapped. “Keep your voice down.”

  That was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. No matter how friendly he appeared to be, something was off here. The hairs on the back of my neck, on my arms, were standing up. Electricity zinged across my nerves, crackled in the air.

  “I appreciate your help, but if you'll just point me to the EMTs, they'll take care of me from here.”

  “I can barely make sense of anything you are saying.” His voice was tinged with annoyance. “And quite honestly, your level of gratefulness borders on rudeness.”

  I was being rude?

  “Like I said, thanks for what you did, but I need to get home. My father’s probably worried sick, and I don’t even have my phone on me to call him. So, if you don’t mind, just point me in the right direction, and I’ll find a way to wobble over.”

  Gracen chuckled softly, and I wondered if I'd run into some sort of serial killer.

  “You are a quite amusing, young man,” he said. “I am quite unfamiliar to the linguistics of what you are saying, but I assure you, if your father is worried about you, being outside Boston right now is probably best.”

  I hesitated, briefly wondering if I should be insulted that he was mistaking me for a man. My hair was down to my chin, but Gracen's hair was about the same length. While his was some light shade of blond, mine was the color of ebony. I'd been told I had unique eyes, an almost silvery gray color, and I'd always thought of myself as relatively attractive. Him mistaking me for a man put a bit of a hole in that belief, though, I supposed, my features were more androgynous than feminine, especially with all the dirt and sweat on my face. And my hoarse voice. I decided I'd take it. If this guy was some sort of serial killer, I didn't want to give him any new ideas.

  A soft breeze picked up and blew into my clothes, causing me to shiver. I pulled up my legs and pressed my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as I tried to stop the cold from doing more. He s
tood up and walked over, taking off his overcoat and handing it to me.

  “It’s quite a surprise you hadn’t frozen to death out there,” he said, “what with the clothes you’re wearing. The fashion is new to me.”

  “How about you help me up, and we find somewhere warmer?” I asked.

  “I told you, we’re safer here,” he said.

  The hair on my neck prickled again. “From what?”

  “I could light a fire, but that would draw attention to us, and we don’t want that kind of attention.” He ignored my question. Sort of. “Not now. Not here.”

  “What does that even mean?” I asked, incredibly annoyed.

  “When was the last time you were in Boston?” he asked, frowning at me like I was from another planet.

  “Six months ago,” I whispered.

  He nodded, as if what I said cleared a few things up for him. “I think I understand better now. You must not have heard. The city has been under siege since April.”

  Chapter Five

  When I finally found my voice, sort of, I asked what probably seemed like the most inane question ever. “What siege?”

  Whatever game he was playing, I didn’t feel like playing along anymore. For someone who'd served in the military, joking about things like sieges wasn't funny.

  But still...there were those gunshots I heard.

  Something was going on, and I needed to find out what it was. I was proud to serve my country, but my family was still my first priority. If they were in danger, I needed to understand the enemy.

  At this point, though, I wasn't sure if the enemy was out there somewhere, or here, sitting across from me.

  “The English,” Gracen said. “They arrived in early April. The city’s been under siege since then.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked. “The British are our allies. Why would they attack us?”

  He stood up and stretched, obviously impatient with my questions. “While the siege of Boston may perhaps be news, I can't imagine that there's a corner of the colonies that isn't aware of the rebellion.” He gave me a hard look. “Things will only get worse if you ask me. They named George Washington Commander in Chief. After Lexington and Concord, things will probably just get bloodier.”

  The words threw me back in time...or was it forward?

  I was suddenly at home again, a high school teenager too bored to do anything useful with her time. Bruce had gone to Virginia Beach on spring break with a couple of his cousins. He'd blown off my concerns, but that didn't stop me from worrying about what he'd do when I wasn't around to remind him that he had a girlfriend. I hadn't made too big of a deal about it though. I didn't want him to think that I didn't trust him.

  Still, I needed to get my mind off of things, and the only way to do that was fill my time with something useful.

  The only problem was, I had no idea what.

  I walked into my brother’s room. Ennis was resting his head on the palms of his hands, textbooks open around him as he studied for his upcoming finals. I strode in like I owned the place and plopped down on the bed, sighing loud enough to get his attention.

  “Not now, Honor,” Ennis said, flipping a page as he compared one text to the other.

  “I’m bored,” I whined, grabbing one of the many texts that were strewn all over his bed. “Give me something to do.”

  “Honor, seriously, I have work to do.” His irritation was clear in his voice, but I didn't pay any attention to it.

  It was an older brother's job to be annoyed by his little sister.

  “What is this stuff, anyway?”

  “It's called history, Honor. Maybe you should think about checking it out sometime. You know what they say about people who don't learn from it.”

  I scowled at him as I stood up and walked over to his desk. I peered over his shoulder. He had notes scribbled everywhere, the textbooks in front of him taking up half his working space. I squinted as I tried to read the small print, then quickly gave up. He wasn't wrong about my dislike of history. What the hell kind of major was that anyway? What did someone do with a history degree besides teach?

  I knew for a fact that Dad felt the same way. The only reason he'd agreed to pay for a year of college before Ennis enlisted was because he hoped my brother would figure out the futility of what he was doing.

  So far, it hadn't worked.

  “If you want to make yourself useful, you can summarize this,” Ennis said, pushing one of the textbooks aside and pointing at a passage he'd highlighted. “You do know how to do that, right?”

  I glared at him. I wanted to be a pediatrician, and I had the grades to support my ambition. Math and science may have been my strong point, but I wasn't a complete idiot when it came to English.

  Except, as I tried to wade through the dense prose I was supposed to be summarizing, I wondered if maybe I was an idiot. I barely got to the end of one sentence before I forgot the beginning of it.

  “Too much?”

  “Who the hell writes these things, anyway?” I snapped as I set the book back down in front of him.

  He chuckled and sat back, rubbing his eyes. “So, all you’ll ever know about American history is what you see on TV, huh?”

  I shrugged. “Why bother? It’s over and done with. The past is the past.”

  Ennis shook his head, wearing that condescending smile that drove me nuts. “That’s not why we learn history, Honor.”

  “Enlighten me then, oh wise one.”

  “If we know what we did wrong before, we can prevent it from happening again.”

  I raised an eyebrow, a little skeptical. “And how have we been doing so far?”

  “Terribly,” he admitted and gave me a sideways glance. “Probably because not many of us care to read about the past.”

  I punched his shoulder before looking back down at the textbooks and frowning. “So, you think we’ll stop making mistakes if we study all this stuff?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.” He didn’t sound too convinced. “Maybe we’ll just understand the present and know how to better handle the future.”

  “Sorry, but I’m not buying it.”

  “Take this, for example,” Ennis said, turning a few pages back to find what he was looking for. “The Battle of Bunker Hill. The English charged up Breed’s Hill on June 17th, 1775 and defeated the colonial army there. In the process, they suffered so much loss that their initial plan of breaking out of Boston was lost. The battle resulted in a stalemate, but the fact that the colonial army had stood up to the British was enough to motivate Washington and keep the Revolution going.”

  I frowned and shook my head. “We lost,” I said. “How was that a motivator?”

  Ennis sighed and shook his head. “One day you’ll realize that numbers don’t matter, and sometimes even a win or loss of a battle doesn't matter. A small loss can be seen as a major victory if you look at the grand scheme of things. I guess maybe that's what I mean by learning from history. It's the ability to see the big picture.”

  I looked at Ennis, still skeptical, but I didn't want to ask for clarification. I didn't think he'd talk down to me, but I was pretty sure he'd bore me to death. He saw the look on my face and pushed at me, laughing as he did it. Closing the text book he'd read from, he tossed it at me.

  “Read, Honor,” he said. “It might just save your life one day.”

  “You don’t need this?” I asked, wondering just how much time it would kill.

  “Not now,” he said. “Give it to me after you've had a chance to learn something that isn't about numbers and theorems.”

  I read several chapters, I remembered, and had been pleasantly surprised by how interesting it had been when I looked at it the way Ennis had. If he did end up going into education, his students would be lucky to have him.

  I sat silently, staring at Gracen as he walked around in small circles. This had to be some sort of mistake. A Revolutionary War re-enactment actor who hit his head during the accident.

&nbs
p; Except it didn't explain the lack of city lights. The absence of my car and the highway. Before I could second guess myself, I forced the question I didn't want to consider.

  “What’s today’s date?”

  He thought a moment before he answered. “June sixteenth.”

  That, at least, was right, but the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach made me ask for clarification. “What year?”

  He crouched down in front of me, his gaze fixing on me in a way that made me want to squirm. “That is an odd question to ask.”

  “What year is it?” I asked again, unwilling to get into any unneeded arguments.

  “I had heard that education in some parts of the colonies was lacking, but I hadn't realized how much so.”

  I glared at him and ignored the insult. “The year,” I demanded.

  He hesitated, eyeing me closely, as if he wasn't sure if he should be worried about me. “Seventeen seventy-five,” he finally said.

  All the air left my lungs, and I leaned back.

  Fuck me.

  What the hell happened?

  Chapter Six

  I remember the first time I truly felt like I had no control over the world around me.

  I'd been on my first tour, out on a reconnaissance mission that was supposed to go smoothly for a newbie medic like me. I'd been barely nineteen, freshly engaged, and still trying to wrap my head around where I was. I believed in what I was doing, and growing up in a military family, was aware of the risks.

  Knowing something and then knowing it, however, were two totally different things.

  Needless to say, my unit had been attacked in an area that we'd thought was safe. None of us had been prepared for the assault, and we'd lost two soldiers before I'd even had a chance to get to them.

  It was my first time witnessing death firsthand, deaths that I knew weren't my fault, but that I still blamed myself for. Logically, I knew that if I would've gone after them, I'd most likely have been killed too, and even if I hadn't, I most likely couldn't have saved them anyway. It hadn't taken away my guilt though. I told myself that there was nothing I could've done, that the entire thing had been completely out of my control, and a part of me knew it, remembered how the chaos had felt.