by Deanna Lee
I nodded, overwhelmed. With hands that were surprisingly steady, I handed him his copy of the contract, then sat back in my chair. Dimly, I was even slightly proud of the fact that I had remembered to sign the contracts and give him a copy. I watched him fold the contract and then slip it into a pocket inside his jacket.
After a brief exchange with Milton, the damn man walked out, leaving me alone with the contract.
Trying not to shake, I placed it back in the folder with Shamus Montgomery’s name on it and stood. “This should be filed.”
Not bothering to look at Milton, I left the room and hurried toward my office.
Jane was in my office when I entered. She hopped up from my desk and smiled. “I’ve answered all of the e-mails in your query folder. You have four meetings tomorrow morning before lunch, and I’ve confirmed the travel arrangements for Ms. Carol Banks. She’ll be here on Friday as scheduled.” She walked to stand in front of me and stared. “Well?”
I nodded. “He signed.”
“Holy shit, Mercy! That’s cool.” She took the folder from my now-numb hand. “What’s wrong?”
I swallowed hard and shook my head. “You won’t believe me.”
“Come on, spill it.”
“Shamus Montgomery wants me to pose for his final piece for the show.”
“Oh. My. God.”
Oh my God, indeed. The blasted man had signed the contract after I’d assured him the gallery would secure the model he wanted. He’d backed me into a neat little corner. And it was a fascinating corner to be in. I was both excited and scared. It would’ve been foolish to deny that I found Shamus Montgomery insanely attractive.
“Mercy, this is awesome.”
I turned and glared at her. “Tell me, Jane, exactly what part of this is awesome?”
“Come on! That sexy man wants to strip you naked and sculpt you. What the hell could be better?”
I was thirty pounds past my ideal weight, and pushing a size twelve. I’ve never been one of those women who dieted obsessively; however, I preferred being slightly slimmer. Also, I had no interest in getting naked for an artist. Shaking my head, I turned to find Jane staring at me. She frowned, walked to my office door, and shut it.
She turned and stared at us with a determined expression. “Mercy, you’re a beautiful woman.”
“Thanks, Jane.” I didn’t consider myself unattractive, and I had no way of explaining to Jane what I was really thinking.
“You have a lovely face and a great curvy body.” She held out her arms to display the trim, tidy body I secretly envied. “I’m nearly a boy.”
Laughing, I shook my head and sat down at my desk. “You don’t look like any boy I’ve ever seen.”
Jane leaned against my desk. “Look, a man like Shamus Montgomery doesn’t make mistakes. He wants to sculpt you, Mercy. Not me and not Miss Perky-Fake-Tits Johnson out there.”
I looked through the glass wall and out into the bull pen where Sarah Johnson worked. “You think they’re fake?”
“Are you kidding? They can’t be anything else,” Jane snorted. “I’ve considered reporting her to the EPA.”
“For what?”
Jane shrugged. “There is no way she’s still biodegradable.”
I laughed and looked back to Sarah; Milton was holding court at her desk. I personally found him tedious on most occasions, but it was obvious why Sarah feigned interest. She believed that he could help her get somewhere in the art world. Despite his upcoming forced retirement from Holman Gallery, Milton Storey did have influence.
Milton finished preening for the environmental hazard and started toward my office. “You’d better scoot,” I said to Jane, “or he’ll have a chance to ask you why you still haven’t gone out with his son.”
Jane grimaced and darted past Milton just as he entered the room. The sudden movement confused him for a moment, and his gaze jerked from her exiting form and to me several times before he settled on my face.
“What can I do for you, Milton?”
“I was just telling Sarah about the deal with Shamus Montgomery. She’d be willing to take your place as a model.” Milton tucked his hands into his pants pockets and inclined his head. “She’s young and thin.”
Young, thin, and plastic. I glanced toward Sarah and knew exactly what was on her mind. It would be a cold day in hell before I’d let her parade around in all of her manmade glory for Shamus Montgomery. I wasn’t exactly convinced I could pose for him, but I knew I couldn’t allow her to do it either. “Mr. Montgomery made his choice. I did promise the man the gallery would secure the model he wanted.” I leaned back in my chair, and watched Milton fidget.
Finally he looked out at Sarah and shrugged.
Miss Perky Tits glared at me and went back to her work.
My phone rang. Milton strolled out of my office, leaving the door open, which I hated. As I picked up the phone, Jane was at the door, gently pulling it closed. I was going to miss her when I went to prison for killing Milton.
“Hello.”
“Ms. Rothell.”
Shamus Montgomery. His voice was smooth and cultured, yet it woke something wild and nearly unspeakable in me. I wanted to be angry with him for his presumption. The truth was that I enjoyed his arrogance so much that I couldn’t wait to tangle with him again. The fact that he’d had called me so soon led me to believe that maybe he felt the same way.
“Mr. Montgomery. I’m glad you called. You didn’t give me much time to consider your offer.” My opening volley was met with a brief silence.
“It wasn’t an offer.”
Looking down at my desk, I sighed and then glanced out at Jane in the bull pen. She held up a piece of paper with SHAMUS MONTGOMERY IS A GOD written on it in big red letters. I glared at her and turned in my chair so I didn’t have to see her or her stupid sign.
“I can assure you there are scores of women who would happily strip naked and pose for you. I just don’t happen to be one of them.” That was a damn lie. Well, it was a half-lie. I could easily see myself getting naked with Shamus Montgomery; it was the posing part that put me off. I focused on one of my fingernails and frowned at the cuticle. It was a prime example of how I felt inside: ragged.
“I have a feeling that it’s time you did something different,” he said.
“I’m not stagnating,” I snapped and then frowned, realizing that he hadn’t said anything like that.
His silence wasn’t comforting. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he considered what my response had revealed. Closing my eyes, I waited for him to say something. Anything.
“Don’t be late, Mercy.”
He hung up. I crossed my legs at the knee and tried to ignore the dampness in my panties and the gentle throb of my clit. Anger and want twisted in my body, and having no outlet for either left me frustrated and thoroughly confused. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d met a man that stirred my body as Shamus Montgomery did.
I turned in my chair and stared at Jane pretending to be working on her computer. Glancing at my own monitor, I noticed that my instant messenger was flashing. I clicked on the window, and I saw a message from Jane.
“Only an idiot would turn down the chance to spend the summer NAKED with Shamus Montgomery.”
“Bite me,” I responded and then cut off the messenger.
I watched Jane giggle for a moment, and then swiveled my chair to look out the window. She was right. Shamus Montgomery was a sexy and talented man, and women traveled thousands of miles to pose for him. I should feel honored that he wanted me in his studio. He was a powerful artist, and I knew what he could draw out of a woman. Still, his desire to capture my soul wasn’t a comforting one.
Exposing myself to a man like Shamus was a far bigger step than anything my therapist and I had worked on. The thought of being vulnerable was an unbearable one. I’d tried so hard to put my experience in New York behind me, but that didn’t mean I was ready to go on display.
D
espite all of those fears and the anger that he’d outmaneuvered me, I was left with a fine layer of arousal that simmered under my skin. I could almost feel his hands moving over my body, the pressure of his body against mine, and the blunt tip of his cock pushing into my emptiness.
I lowered my head to my desk. “What a fucking nightmare.”
After work, I hurried home to hide in my apartment. I’d lived in Boston two years and had used that time to create a space that was unique and mine. The apartment had four rooms, including the kitchen and the large bathroom. My furniture was modern without being uncomfortable, and I’d used a crème foundation color for each room. Then, when the mood struck, I’d bought outrageously colorful pillows and rugs and strewn them throughout every room. I could admit to myself that my apartment was my sanctuary from the world. I’d learned the hard way just how cruel life could be.
I toed off my shoes and left them near the door. After quickly sorting the mail and tossing all of the junk, I took the rest to the kitchen table and sat down.
The first envelope was from New York, with my ex-boyfriend Martin’s return address on it. My relationship with Martin was one of the few in my life that had returned to a friendship after the sex was over. It looked like a wedding invitation. It was. I frowned as I read over the details and then dropped it onto the table. I knew I wouldn’t go. Going to New York, even for the wedding of a friend, was completely impossible for me.
The wedding invitation had unsettled me, and I knew why. It was selfish and terribly cruel, but I regretted that Martin had found someone to share his life with. Though he certainly deserved it. Martin was the best man I’d ever known. A very selfish part of me wanted him to be waiting in the wings for me. Disgusted with myself, I rubbed my face briskly.
I stood up, made myself a sandwich, and brought it back to the table. Then I opened the rest of my mail until all I had left was a large manila envelope from the museum I had worked for in New York. With dread, I opened it and spilled the contents out onto the table. I didn’t remember signing up for the museum’s mailing list with my home address, but I must have. It was a foolish error. The glossy advertisements slipped across each other as I picked up a press release with a photo of Jeff King’s face on it. He’d been promoted and now held the position I’d left more than two years ago.
God, I hated him. I wondered if there would ever be a day I could look at his face and not feel his hands biting into me. I could almost smell his cologne. It made me furious that even his picture had the ability to invade and hurt me.
The phone rang as I choked down the rest of my sandwich. I jumped on it immediately, relieved. “Hello?”
“Hey. What are you wearing to Montgomery’s tonight? Did you pick out matching underwear? Wear that great perfume we bought at the mall last week, the one named after that singer.” Jane paused briefly. “Hey, are you there?”
“Yes. I’m going to wear my blue sundress, and I planned on putting on matching underwear and no perfume.”
“Oh, come on, Mercy!”
“Jane, it is not my aim to seduce or in any other way provoke Shamus Montgomery.” I glanced around the kitchen and then briefly to the mail I’d abandoned on the table.
“If you don’t get laid soon, I’ll have to renew my subscription to Penthouse Forum.”
I laughed, amused by her petulant tone. “Why don’t you run out and get laid? Hell, get laid for me, too.”
Jane snorted and then sighed deeply. “Men suck, Mercy. I might start going to gay bars, try to find a gay male friend and a lesbian lover. Then I can pretend I’m on some sexy cable show and not worry about tedious things like real life.”
I leaned on the counter. “You and I both know that you aren’t going to give up men. However, a wild night with a woman would broaden your horizons.”
She laughed and I could almost see her shrug. For all of her bravado and charm, Jane was fairly tame, and I doubted that she would allow herself to be with another woman. She chattered for another few minutes and reminded me again to wear perfume, and then we ended the call. I valued Jane. Female friends had always been a rarity in my life, but that didn’t mean I was going to douse myself in scent.
I put the phone back on its base and walked back to the table. Jeff King’s handsome, cruel face stared back up at me. Grimacing, I picked up the photo and tore it down the middle. He was nothing to me. I had to believe that. I’d left him and that life behind.
At 4:30 P.M., I forced myself into the shower. Under the cool water of the massaging showerhead, I tried in vain to clear my mind. The truth was, as fascinating and sexy as Shamus Montgomery was, I knew that he was far too dangerous to get involved with. He wasn’t the sort of danger that scarred and damaged, but the kind of danger that made blood boil and flesh heat with impatient passion.
Leaning against the tile wall of my shower stall, I pulled the massaging showerhead from its hook. I rinsed the soap from my body casually, and then slipped the pulsating head between my legs. The cool water rushed against the heat of my pussy, making my clit throb with the sweet pain of sexual arousal. With my thumb, I changed the setting on the showerhead and pressed it more firmly against my labia. The water beat against my clit as I carefully started to move the head around.
Would Shamus be the kind of man who enjoyed a woman’s pleasure as much as his own? Would his hands move over skin with knowledge and skill? I pressed against the wall with all of my strength and shuddered against the rushing water on my clit. I imagined a tongue moving over me, dipping into my pussy, and then moving up to tease and brush over my clit. The dangerous and stimulating pleasure of teeth grazing and then firm lips sucking.
Eyes closed. Legs stiffened. I came. The orgasm swept over my clit. My insides clenched and tightened in response. The emptiness of my womb was harsh against my body’s response to the incessant push of water. Had it been so long since a man had filled me? I wanted a man, and I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that any man would do. I wanted Shamus. Momentarily weak, I put the nozzle back on the hook and sucked in a deep breath.
The edge was off. The burning lust that I’d been pushing aside since I’d set eyes on Shamus Montgomery had dissipated, but I wondered how long that state would last. I had a feeling that masturbation wouldn’t be a permanent substitute for him.
I was half-dressed when the phone rang. By the time I reached for the receiver, the answering machine had already picked up. Pausing, I waited while the electronic version of me told the caller I wasn’t available. The beep came, and all I heard was silence. Then the caller hung up with a gentle click. I sucked in a breath, irritated at the fear that slipped over me.
Though it had been nearly fourteen months since Jeff had last called me, whenever I got a hang-up on my answering machine, my first thought was that it was him. I picked up the phone and checked the caller ID. The call showed up as an “unknown number.” I hung up the phone and stood for a few seconds, fighting with paranoia and self-hatred. I hated myself for allowing Jeff King a place in my mind. Finally, I went back to my bedroom to finish dressing.
When I couldn’t stall any longer, I gave in and gathered my purse and keys. I didn’t want to be late; it would give Shamus the upper hand.
CHAPTER 2
I sat in the car in front of his studio, a brownstone in downtown Boston. My fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel. Lowering my head, I wallowed in self-pity for a few minutes, then pried my fingers from the wheel and picked up my purse. I dragged myself out of the car and hoped that my displeasure was obvious.
Shamus Montgomery’s studio space was on the entire second floor of a three-story building. The top floor was his living quarters, although rumor had it that very few people got an invitation into his personal space. I knew no one who had gotten that close to the elusive Mr. Montgomery. The first floor was a show space and one of the most popular small galleries in the area.
Pushing the door open, I stepped inside.
Shamus was standing with a
customer in front of a large oak sculpture of two figures that were both obviously female. The pose was intimate and sensual in a way that made my stomach tighten. The customer was running her hands over the smooth and seductive wooden sculpture as if she couldn’t help herself. I knew that she wouldn’t leave without buying it; just watching her fondle it made me want to purchase it myself. Cringing, I remembered the hole in my savings due to the purchase of one his other works about six months before at auction.
Finding the woman’s fascination with the piece unsettling, I turned to look at the rest of the gallery. A large stone sculpture dominated the floor space; it was marked SOLD. The lines of the female figure were gentle and passionate. I wondered who Shamus had used for the work, and if she was still in his life.
Before long I heard the murmur of voices and steps on the wooden floor, and then the jingle of the tiny bells over the top of the door indicated the customer had left. Glancing toward Shamus, I watched him lock the door and twist the blinds closed. We were alone.
“You look worried, Mercy.”
I cleared my throat. “Mr. Montgomery, I’d like to talk to you about securing another model.”
“Only you will do.” He walked to the staircase and unhooked the chain holding the PRIVACY sign. It knocked against the wall briefly, but echoed ominously throughout the empty gallery. “My studio is upstairs.”
“Why me?”
“Maybe it’s because of your stunningly beautiful face.”
“Maybe that isn’t good enough.” I held myself still, resisting the urge to run my fingers through my hair. I hated being nervous.
“You inspire me.”
Well, what the hell could I say after that? I inspired him, and a feeling of giddy, girlish delight swept through me. I stomped down my ego and pressed my lips together. He’d knocked the wind out of my sails, and I could only assume that had been exactly what he wanted.
What did he want from me? Fighting the urge to run away, I hurried past him and up the stairs. Shamus Montgomery seemed too much for me. All of my thoughts about challenging him had fallen by the wayside. In his studio, a large slab of alabaster sat on a drop cloth in the open work space. A low platform covered with another cloth stood in front of the alabaster. I turned toward the stairs and looked back at him. He stood on the top step, watching me.
