Morgan’s Muse by Harley M Cranston

Description

Find more from this author on:

Amazon

Facebook

About the author:

Born in Texas, Harley Cranston now lives in Southern California with her boyfriend of nearly 10 years, Frank, and enjoys writing fiction of all kinds. She works nights in a warehouse, her “day job”, and has recently embarked into the world of self-publishing. In her spare time she enjoys watching drag races, football, and working on cars herself, especially hotrods.

What inspired you to write your book?

Love evreything paranormal, fantastical, and sexy. I decided why not combine fantasy and paranormal with erotic dreams and fantasies I’m sure everyone has?

Here is a short sample from the book:

Part One
Virtually empty at three in the morning, the diner held a hushed, relaxing silence as Morgan Caine let out a laden sigh and sipped black coffee from a tan plastic cup. It should be relaxing. Her inner city-girl scowled. Grant, I could strangle you. What’s so great about total silence? A lone truck driver occupied a booth along the row of windows pretending to be a wall, eyelids fluttering up and down as though trying to stay awake long enough to eat. The bored gray-haired waitress, dark circles under pale blue eyes, wiped the olive green counter, gaze straying again to the clock over the serving space that opened into the kitchen area.
Morgan finished her coffee in two gulps, pushed the chair back, and left a five dollar bill on the table to cover the coffee and a generous tip. I can make the cabin in an hour and, maybe, finally, get some sleep while it’s still dark.
The bell over the door jangled, jerking her attention to the leather-clad, helmeted customer stepping over the threshold. Morgan went still, staring at the newcomer. Easily six feet six, he barely cleared the door frame without ducking. A black leather riding jacket complete with silver zippers and other decorative things, hid nothing of a muscled build. Black jeans hugged hips and thighs as though sewn on around his flesh.
At six one herself, Morgan towered over most people. He’s got several inches and a good eighty pounds on me. Stomach fluttering, she inched forward as he approached the counter. Warm leather, soft as butter, brushed her bare arm as they passed in the aisle. Shivers rippled through her and she shot a glance over her shoulder. He had yet to remove his helmet as he sat at the counter.
“Get out of here, Morgan,” she muttered under her breath. “He’s just a man, a biker at that.”
Ignoring the pull of the large man and the urge to go back inside, order coffee and sit next to him, she hurried out of the restaurant. She spotted her rented four-wheel drive pickup truck under the one parking lot light that struggled to put out a dull yellow glow, and all but ran across the asphalt. As she unlocked the door, her gaze strayed back to the restaurant. Through the windows, partially blocked by neon lighting, posters, signs, and other debris, she stared again. He sat at the counter, helmet at his elbow as he lifted the coffee mug to his lips. The jacket hung over the back of the stool and she caught a glimpse of dark hair.
Get a move on, Morgan, logic ordered as her stomach fluttered once more. She shoved the key in the ignition, twisted it, and listened to the satisfying rumble of the well-tuned engine. A sigh of relief didn’t quite mask the twinge of disappointment nagging at her.
“Do not do this,” she lectured her rising libido. “The last time you leaped before you looked with a hot guy in leather, you barely lived to regret it. Get to the cabin.”
Shoulders squared, spine rigid, Morgan drove away from the restaurant and out of the small town, the name of which she hadn’t bothered to learn.
The narrow two lane road curved into the mountains, twisting higher and higher as trees and undergrowth thickened. Headlights swept the road, visibility clear on a cloudless moonlit night. Trees and brush crowded so close to the roadside, the dirt curb disappeared. “Don’t break down,” she murmured. “There’s no place to pull over.”
Fluttering in a slight breeze, leaves glinted under the full glare of the moon. Dark shadows spread between trees and bushes, tendrils encroaching on the edge of the road. The dark forest surrounded her, but the headlight-illuminated twists and turns of the asphalt humming under the tires lit the drive to the cabin, hidden deep in the woods. Less than an hour after leaving the restaurant, Morgan parked the truck in a small clearing dominated by an A-frame log cabin.
The glare of the truck lights cut through the clearing, mocking the moon light, and rested on the sliding glass doors of the cabin. The front deck sported a propane grill, its cover lowered, metal fixtures gleaming. The cabin, living room/bath/and kitchen area on the first floor, bedroom on the second, drew a grin from Morgan as she shut off the engine.
“You have it all here, Grant,” she commented. “Propane grill, cushy deck furniture, two floors. Rustic luxury. All ready for me to just move right in, complete with the generator you promised to have someone turn on for me.”
Smirking, she climbed out of the truck, grabbed her backpack, laptop case, and a second backpack full of office supplies, and carried it all to the front deck. Dropping everything on a cushioned lounge chair, she fished a key out of her pocket. “Generator better work,” she muttered to the absent Grant. “Or you’re a dead man.”
She twisted the key in the lock, slid the glass door aside, and stepped over the metal threshold. Sliding fingertips over the rough wood, she found the switch and flipped it up. Several lamps lining the walls, placed on end tables and the desk along one wall, flooded the area with a soft glow, proving Grant’s caretaker had indeed done his job. Shadows flickered in corners. A faint light filtered from the second floor, drifting down the stairs huddled in the far corner.
“Got anything brighter?” she mumbled as she moved into the cabin.
Gaze flitting over the rustic decor, she took in the logs comprising the walls. Not a single chink let in moonlight. The well-built cabin withstood decades of bad weather, storms, and long periods standing empty. A fireplace, built into the brick back wall, the only non-wood material used in construction, sent fleeting pictures of a glowing fire, her and a handsome man wrapped up in each other, through her mind. Morgan blinked, banishing the romantic images. “Who needs romance, or even hot sex,” she scoffed. “There’s no such thing as love.”
Maybe that’s why you can’t write. Grant’s parting words echoed in her mind. “I don’t have to believe in love to write erotic horror stories,” she argued, her sharp voice reverberating around her.
Pushing writer’s block out of her mind, along with Grant’s opinion, she returned to the deck, grabbed her bags, and took them up to the second floor.
The bedside lamp cast a soft glow over the king size bed, positioned so she could lie down and gaze out the sliding glass doors to the upper deck. Grant Travers, her agent and rich as Midas, believed in creature comforts. “Even in your mountain retreat.” She grinned. “The only reason I agreed to this ridiculous trip.”
Leaving the unpacking until later, she slid her computer case on top of the six drawer dresser and left the back packs on the floor at the foot of the bed. Fatigue dragged at her as the last of the caffeine gave up its feeble struggle to keep her alert. Not bothering to undress, she flopped onto the bed, on top of the covers, and closed her eyes as soon as her head settled on the pillow.
More than an hour later, Morgan sat up amidst the rumpled bed covers and rubbed eyes gritty from lack of sleep. Silence, broken by the whisper of a breeze through the trees, the nocturnal hum of insects, and the rustle of night creatures in the underbrush, settled over her like a hot, heavy blanket. An owl hooted in the distance. A shudder rippled over her and her stomach churned. Morgan squirmed, needing the rush of city traffic, horns blaring, people shouting, and the blast of an occasional emergency siren to lull her into the deep sleep that had eluded her since leaving Tucson.
“I don’t belong here,” she muttered, sliding her legs over the edge of the bed. “It’s too damn quiet out here to sleep.” A laden sigh escaped her. “Maybe a walk will tire me enough to doze, or take a nap later.”
Darting a glance at the black computer case perched on the dresser, she scowled, stood, and went downstairs.
As she slid the glass door aside and stepped out onto the warm wood planks of the deck, the night beckoned. Soft breezes lifted the hair off the back of her neck, cooling her flushed skin. It blew over her face like a lover’s warm breath, drawing her toward the darkness between the trees ringing the cabin. Air so quiet she picked out individual nocturnal grunts and shuffles of movement, enshrouded her until her pace slowed. She meandered among the thick trunks, along a grassy path on a circuitous route until she stood on the shore of a small lake undisturbed by civilization.
Joy swelled inside her, simple appreciation for a piece of nature’s beauty, banishing any lingering discomfort with the unaccustomed silence. Moonlight glittered off the water, sparkling like diamonds. A rhythmic roar built in her ears, pulling her around the lake to the rushing water cascading from the cliff high overhead. The glittering spray danced in front of her, refreshing and cool on her heated skin.
Senses dazzled by scenery, Morgan blinked at the man emerging from the froth at the base of the cliff. Bathed in silver light, he stood stark naked on the edge of the lake, water lapping at his ankles. Mouth watering, Morgan couldn’t look away. Her avid stare took in shining male perfection, from that long dark hair glinting in pale moonlight to the muscled arms and legs of a powerful build meant to draw female attention. Though difficult to see details, she swallowed hard. Oh god. She bit back a groan, struggling not to drool at such a magnificent specimen of pure male sexuality. You are in such trouble, Morgan. Get out of here before he sees you spying on him. He’s stark naked, for god’s sake!
Her feet moved…toward him! As she approached, each footstep a whisper in the damp grass, he turned in profile, a lean silhouette against the waterfall, back-lit by the glinting silver light. Breath caught, she stopped only a few feet from him, trapped by fascination. Eyeing him as though staring at a feast of her favorite desserts, Morgan yearned for his touch, body clamoring for more than the mere sight of such chiseled masculinity. Rigid, defined muscles attested to great strength.
He hadn’t flinched at her arrival and seemed undisturbed by her blatant interest. In profile, his body stood out in stark relief, cock growing as it rose from the patch of shadow marking his crotch. Even at night with nothing but the moon shining down on him, Morgan gasped at the size of his erect penis. Her pussy clenched, dampening cotton with her abrupt need. Morgan gaped, amazed by at her body’s reaction as much as by this perfect stranger.
Their eyes locked, held, as time spun out. In slow motion, he reached toward the pile of clothes she hadn’t noticed on the ground, caught by the stunning sight of him. He pulled on a pair of dark-colored pants that might have been jeans, easing them over the strong columns of his thighs and narrow hips. The rasp of the zipper whispered across the night, sending shivers up her spine as disappointment spiraled through her. Leaving the waistband unbuttoned, he grabbed a shirt, gleaming white, and lowered it over his head.
Morgan blinked, let out a breath, and sucked in fresh air. The straps of the tank top curved over broad shoulders her hands itched to grab, fingers digging into hard muscle as he… Stop it, Morgan. You don’t even know him! Her pussy didn’t care, weeping that he covered what it wanted. Eyes gleaming, he looked at her again and moved toward her. Breath held once more, anticipation a tight knot in her gut, Morgan stood rooted to the spot. Touch me, her body begged, the words dying in her throat. Oh god, touch me!
Every nerve screamed for him. Her throbbing pussy demanded that rigid flesh to pound it hot and hard. He stood in front of her, eyes she couldn’t tell the exact color of glinting like swirling silver pools, mysterious and compelling.
Morgan Caine! Her mind shrieked at her and set alarm bells clamoring in her head. What do you think you’re doing?
She stumbled back a step. I… Rough callused hands wrapped around her upper arms, steadying her.
He’s a man!
Swallowing hard, trapped in his burning stare, she managed not to drool. And what a man! Those long fingers wrapped around her arms warmed her skin, and every nerve in her body sizzled to life at the contact. Without conscious thought, she moved closer until his heat swamped her, drew her into a sensual haze that fogged what little mind she still possessed. Trapped in that glittering stare, the burning intensity etching the sharp planes and angles of his face, Morgan surrendered anything and everything he desired from her.