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Muse [MultiFormat]
eBook by Clare London
eBook Category: Erotica/Gay-Lesbian Erotica/Romance
eBook Description: Gavin McGrath's art career is in ruins, his health is failing, his wife's left him because of his promiscuity, and he's alienated people in the industry with his aggressive and arrogant behavior. But when a full pot of red paint falls on his current canvas, apparently ruining it, it brings a change in his life he never expected. A strange, beautiful young man appears in his studio as his companion and Muse. Matteo is from another time but he understands artists all too well--and now his place is with Gavin. Matteo brings devotion and inspiration across the centuries, forcing Gavin to take stock of his life and his behavior in the months he has left to him. Eventually Gavin realizes he must reconsider the capacity for love he's always scorned--before it's too late for both him and Matteo... Genres: Gay / Paranormal / Ghosts / Hauntings / Time Travel
eBook Publisher: Amber Quill Press, Published: 2010
Fictionwise Release Date: May 2010
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"4.5 Stars!...I'm a great fan of Clare London's understated prose and complex, not entirely sympathetic, characterization. In Muse she has provided the reader with both of those, plus a rather strange, melancholy but also compelling tale of love beyond the grave...I greatly enjoyed this emotional tale of love and art. The way that Gavin is changed through the power of Matteo's love and devotion was wonderful to read and I recommend this short story for those looking for something a bit different from a conventional M/M romance."--Jenre, Reviews By Jessewave
Matteo laughed. Such a relaxed, untroubled sound. "But I'm here now." He leaned his head back and planted his bare feet firmly on the floor, wriggling once more to get comfortable. "So now you must tell me about yourself, Gavin McGrath." When I opened my mouth to protest again, he shook his head, his young, soft eyes a little grave. "While you paint, of course."
It was nonsense. Didn't I say so? All of it. It couldn't be happening and it shouldn't be tolerated. But I got up from my chair and picked up the palette. Matteo nodded at me, encouragingly. I stood at the easel and concentrated on the top section of the canvas. The red paint had bubbled there; the light in the studio caught the top of each bump, reflecting and refracting, blending the dips and shadows. I could see the opportunity to paint the emergence of a life, bursting into existence, raw and innocent and clean. My vision was much clearer than usual and the pain in my chest had eased. For one brief, shocked moment, I thought I caught the scent of the orange, hanging in the air of the studio, tart and sweet. And as I painted, I started to tell Matteo about myself.
Several hours later, he stopped murmuring replies to me. I no longer heard the creak of the floorboards behind me as he shifted to get comfortable. Was he asleep? I wiped a bead of sweat from my chin, but for some reason I was wary of turning around to look.
"Matteo?"
There was a slight whisper--it might have been a draft under the door out of the studio. I tried for a careless, cynical tone.
"You never said who your artist friend is."
He sighed, then. "Concentrate on your work, Gavin. It's not important. And maybe you won't have heard of him? He uses the name of his town, where he lived and his parents died. It was before he came to Rome. He goes by the name of Caravaggio."
And when I whirled around, Matteo had gone. I never heard the door either open or close behind him.
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