by Deanna Lee
“Should we get started?” Had I actually asked that?
He smiled at my question, amused, I could only assume, by the squeaky way the question had come out of my mouth. “Yes, I believe we should.”
I swallowed hard and tried to ignore the way his dark gaze slid over my body.
His skin was a milk chocolate brown that made me want to lick him. Regretting that thought, I moved around to the platform and then looked at the large piece of stone that sat behind it. “You don’t usually make a habit of using alabaster.”
“There’ve been few women that model for me who fit that medium,” Shamus admitted as he closed the door, sealing us in.
“I see.”
He motioned toward a dressing screen in one corner. “You’ll find a robe behind the screen. Just the robe.”
I nodded and walked toward the screen. Just the robe.
The robe was made of dark blue silk and smelled gently of fabric softener. I shed my clothes with shaking hands and pulled it on. The silk was cool and fell around me gently. I double knotted the belt—my safety knot—but finally had to leave the protection of the screened area.
I saw a cotton-covered pillow now lay on the platform. It was large enough so that I would be able to lie on it.
Shamus eyed me, his gaze moved from my feet upward until he encountered my face. His mouth curved in a small smile.
“You like making women nervous?” I asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “Do I make you nervous?”
Glaring at him, I walked toward the platform, fuming. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. “How do you want me?”
“On your back, screaming my name, but for now we’ll work on the position for the piece.”
On my back, screaming his name. I swallowed hard and took a step back from the platform. It was the first time he’d expressed sexual interest me, and, as interested as I was in getting to him in that way, his admission was startling. The blunt verbal admission of our obviously mutual attraction had shaken me loose of all of my previous nervousness and introduced a new kind. This man was no longer just a man who wanted me to pose for him naked.
Shamus Montgomery was now a man who wanted to get me naked for a sexual purpose. A purpose I might’ve enjoyed under different circumstances. But I had no control in this situation.
My trembling fingers lingered on the belt of the robe. The double knot wasn’t enough. “I can’t.”
I glanced up and looked at his face.
He was staring at me in confusion. “Are you afraid of me?”
The question, so softly asked, was like a blade on my skin. It was difficult to understand how words could pierce so deeply, and so fast. I didn’t fear him, at least not physically. However, emotionally, he represented a world of sensuality and pleasure that I’d had long denied myself.
Shamus Montgomery was everything that I once looked for in a man: strong, intelligent, arrogant, talented, and thoroughly sexy. His easy physical grace put me on edge. This was a man who understood his own body and, in turn, understood exactly how to use it to his advantage. Would that grace and his apparent attention to detail prove to be more than I was prepared for? That is, if I actually developed the nerve to seduce the man.
I cleared my throat. “This isn’t the sort of relationship I normally allow with artists.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“I want to tell you no and leave.” I looked away from him, angry with myself for letting him know how uncomfortable I was.
“Then why don’t you tell me no and leave?”
I flushed and stared at the platform. “Losing your contract could hurt me professionally.”
“And you think I should feel guilty that I’ve manipulated you into a situation that you find uncomfortable?” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me.
“You don’t feel guilty?” I raised one eyebrow in question, and wasn’t surprised when he looked away from me. “You don’t seem the type of man that normally has to resort to such things to gain a woman’s time or attention.”
“No, most would say that I have an easy time of it with women.”
“So, why not just ask me? Did you come to Holman’s knowing that you wanted me to model for you?” His expression spoke volumes. Shamus wasn’t a man used to having to explain himself.
“I approached Holman’s for the show because of you. You were my goal, Mercy. I value the work I’ve created. So, of course, I want it showcased in the best possible venue, but I could’ve had any gallery in the city.”
“Why didn’t you just ask?” I demanded again, more furious than before at his high-handed maneuvering.
“Because you would’ve told me no.”
“So you force me into a position where I can’t refuse you.” I turned away from him and walked away from the platform. “Don’t you think this makes this situation twisted?”
“A little. But I don’t let my own discomfort get in the way of what I want.”
I believed that. Moving further away from him, I stopped in front of a nearly empty bookshelf that lined one wall. A simple velvet cloth on one shelf held eight miniature women. Each was unique and beautifully crafted. “What are these?”
“They are a project I’m working on for my grandfather.”
I glanced toward him briefly and let my gaze go back to the figures as he approached. “They’re charming.”
“Thank you.” He picked up the first piece, carved in rosewood. “This is my grandmother, Lian. She came to the United States with only the clothes on her back, and a child. She had escaped China at a time when it seemed impossible. Once here, she sought out the man who had fathered her child.”
“Your grandfather?”
“No. My Aunt Jia is entirely Chinese.” He picked up another carving. “This is her. She’s a doctor in New York. Once my grandmother realized that she’d never find her lover, she took a job in grocery store in Chinatown. My grandfather met her there, and from all reports, fell in instant lust with her. That lust quickly turned to love. He promised her the world and took in her two-year-old daughter as his own. They’ve never spent a night apart in their entire marriage.
“Their relationship wasn’t an easy one. They had their problems but managed to survive well. They had three sons and a daughter together.” He touched the third female figure with a hesitant fingertip. “My mother, Grace, was that daughter. The other women are my uncles’ wives.”
“No great-grandchildren?”
“All boys.” He laughed softly. “Though Grandfather has hopes that one day I will have a daughter. He is one hundred and two, so as you can imagine, he is less than patient about me attempting to meet that demand.”
“When do you plan on giving these figures to him?”
“The next time I go to New York.” He cleared his throat. “We should begin work.”
I moved past him and walked to stand in front of the platform. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
“Men say that every day.” I forced myself to remain still as he walked toward me, and stopped just short of touching me.
“I’m not like every other man in your life.”
“I know that.” He wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. I took a deep breath. “How long?”
“The first couple of sessions will be around two hours.”
Two hours. One hundred and twenty minutes of naked time with a man I didn’t know. I took a deep breath and forced myself to look at his face. I wondered if he thought I was crazy. Soap and the slight hint of aftershave teased my senses.
His scent was all male, and something else. After a moment, I placed it. He smelled like sandalwood and Egyptian musk. I wet my bottom lip. Taking my hand, he gently guided me toward the platform and helped me step onto it. His fingers deftly made short work of my safety knot. He spread the robe open and pushed it off my shoulders.
“Trust me.”
“What sort of trust would you have me g
rant to you, a stranger?”
“Trust that I’ve created beauty all of my life, and never once in all of my thirty-two years have I considered having any part in destroying it.” He cleared his throat, his gaze never leaving mine. “My father collected butterflies as a child. When I was eight years old he gave me the collection he’d spent years putting together. I was devastated by all of that lifeless beauty. As you can imagine, my father was at a loss as to how to deal with me.”
“Yes. I imagine so.” I took in a deep breath when he smiled softly.
“I couldn’t understand how anyone could admire beauty and then destroy it in an effort to keep it close. We eventually buried that butterfly collection in a small funeral in the backyard.”
“I grew up in an apartment building in New York.” I swallowed hard and kept my eyes on his face. I could hardly believe he hadn’t glanced down even briefly.
I released my hold on the robe, and a shiver ran down my spine as the silk scraped over my overly sensitized skin and fell away from me completely. I was exposed—vulnerable. Scared that I would please him. Scared that I wouldn’t.
Two years had passed since I’d been naked with a man. Being naked for someone was intimate, far more intimate than I’d allowed in a very long time. Somewhere along the way I had granted Shamus the trust he requested.
Exposed and worried, I watched him take a few steps back. I remained still as Shamus’s gaze left my face and drifted leisurely over my breasts and then further down. He inhaled sharply, held, and then released the breath as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. His reaction helped me let go of some of the tension I’d had coiling inside. No one can remain unaffected by someone else’s admiration.
“Lie down,” he said gently.
“On my side?” I asked softly, wishing that my insides would stop shaking.
He nodded silently, held my hand until I was on my knees, and then released me. I met his gaze and saw nothing but approval. God, this man was amazing, and his approval meant more to me than I expected. He backed up a few steps and then stopped to stare. His gaze moved from my toes, up my legs, across my breasts, and then finally to my face.
“Beautiful.” He turned and walked across the room and picked up something. He returned to me with a piece of red silk, holding it out in front of him, eyeing it and me. Shamus paused, and then shook his head and walked away once more. He brought back a small pillow this time, which he placed under my head.
His fingers moved through my hair, spreading it out on the small pillow. Then he draped the silk carefully over my breasts. My nipples tightened immediately, stimulated by the glide of soft material. His gentle fingers brushed over my shoulder as the material slid under my arm and fell down behind me. The silk brushing and falling down my back sent a wave of awareness and arousal down my spine. I looked away from him as he knelt on the platform in front of me.
Trying to remain motionless as his hands moved over the line of my hip, I focused on the yet-to-be-touched block of alabaster. Shamus moved his hand to my thigh; he pulled my left leg forward and slipped the silk between my legs to cover my pussy. I fought the urge to move toward him, to encourage more intimate touches. Did he want me the way I wanted him?
The silk, at first cool on my skin, warmed as it brushed against me. I felt myself flushing, and I tried to think about something horrible to keep my body from responding to an attraction he appeared to have no interest in exploring now. His touch had been so impersonal that I felt bereft. It was difficult to remember that I wasn’t in an intimate personal situation. To him, it was work.
I closed my eyes briefly as he brought the silk back over my thigh, effectively covering my “pink parts,” but leaving me in a state of undress that was unbelievably stimulating.
“I didn’t think you covered your models.”
He met my gaze and nodded. “It’s a shame to cover you. But when I first saw you, this is what I thought of.” He stepped back from the platform. “Are you comfortable?”
Surprisingly, I was. “Yes.”
He left me and returned with a large sketch pad. He sat down on the floor a few feet from the platform.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to spend a few sessions sketching you. Once I pick the final pose, I’ll start working with the stone. The sketches will allow me to work with the bigger piece when you aren’t here.”
I had nothing to do but watch him. And that was enough.
Shamus had powerful, careful hands. Hands that would glide, and fingers that would move over skin, bringing heat and pleasure. Would he be a careful lover, or would he lay a woman out beneath him and devour her with his need? I could almost feel his body, strong and graceful, moving against me, between my legs, and then inside me. My womb clenched against nothing, and I bit down on my bottom lip briefly to keep from moaning.
I focused my attention on his face then. It was perfect—the line of his jaw was strong, classic. Angular and masculine in a way that made me want to touch him. He had a great body, defined and muscular without being too much. He was a physical artist, so I expected that.
I’d dated a black man when I was in college, but there was no comparison. The difference was startling. My memories of Brian were a frenzy of physical unions that would make me ache and demand more. Brian had taught me a great deal about myself and how to pleasure a man.
But Shamus was no college boy. Intense and passionate, he was the sort of man most women wouldn’t be able to resist, at least on some level. All of his art pieces, even the small ones in his gallery, were sexy and wrought with sensuality. I’d admired his work for years, and now he was sculpting me. If anyone had told me that I’d meet Shamus Montgomery and be modeling for him all in the same day, I would have laughed.
The silence in the room was surprisingly comforting. This was odd because I loved noise and usually had the radio or television playing at home. Why was silence so much easier to endure with him?
“Will you take photographs?”
“No.” He looked up and met my eyes. “I never photograph my models.”
That was a relief. Having drawings of me was one thing, but full-blown color photos were another matter. What normal woman wanted her ass immortalized in living color?
I cringed at the thought of a camera. It’d come out in therapy that pictures had been taken of me during the rape exam at the hospital. I could still remember the faint click of the camera, and the flash bursting with light. Despite my effort not to react, Shamus had noticed and put down the pad.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, fine.”
Shamus leaned back on his hands and glanced me over. “You seem upset.”
“I was just thinking about something unpleasant.” I dropped my gaze to the length of floor that stretched out between us. “I’m fine.”
Picking up his pad, he went back to work while I tried to push the past away. Lately, it seemed easier to let go of what had happened to me in New York. It was never really far from my thoughts, but now it seemed to hurt less and anger more. It hadn’t been easy for me to get past the point of pain and betrayal. Perhaps it would’ve been easier to get to the angry stage if I hadn’t considered Jeff King a friend. Not a close friend, but certainly not a stranger. Until that moment in my office when I realized that he was dangerous, I’d never thought for a moment that he would hurt me.
I glanced toward Shamus and found him working intently. There was something special about him, and it was more than his artistic skill. It amazed me that I could inspire a man like him. He’d traveled all over the world and was one of the most sought-after sculptors in the entire country. His work graced the lobbies of countless buildings around the world. It was no understatement that men and women traveled half the world over to come to the very place I was lying.
He belonged to a world of beauty that I could only look at but never truly be a part of. My passion for the arts, both past and present, sustained me through difficult years with my p
arents and the move to Boston. Yet I would never truly understand what it’s like to be an artist.
I shifted and grimaced as the muscle in my thigh tightened. Sitting still had caused it to cramp up. “I need to stretch.”
Shamus stood and walked over to the platform. “Your leg?”
“Thigh.” I swallowed hard when he sat down on the platform and motioned me to turn over on my back.
“Let me help.”
“Okay.” I shifted onto my back and stretched my legs out. That didn’t help.
Strong, firm fingers traced the muscle briefly before Shamus used both hands to shift my leg and move it. The red silk fell away from my sex, revealing my pussy and the damp curls that covered it. I watched through half-closed eyes as he gently but firmly massaged my thigh, and sighed when the muscle began to relax under his touch.
“Lift up a little.”
I planted my foot flat against the pillow I was lying on and shifted slightly as his hands slid up my thigh, nearly to my hip bone, only to pause and then travel leisurely back down. The man was trying to make me stupid. I bit down on my bottom lip and swallowed hard to keep from making any sounds. He glanced at me then, his gaze drifting over my breasts and then to my face.
“You are a beautiful woman.”
“Thank you.”
“Is this better?”
I nodded and shifted away from him when he removed his hands. I knew I was fairly close to spreading my legs and begging him to fuck me. “It’s fine now.”
“I’d like to do a few more drawings.”
“Okay.”
After a few seconds, he nodded and stood. I watched him regain his place on the floor and pick up his drawing pad. He waited until I’d backed into the position he had arranged and slipped the silk back into place before he started work again. My arousal made remaining still almost impossible.
