by Deanna Lee
Suddenly he spoke. “Talk to me.”
I frowned. “Talk to you?”
“Tell me about your day.”
I sighed. “Well, it was a good morning, but the afternoon was a trial.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yep. I was manipulated by an arrogant man into posing naked in his studio.”
“Must be really horrible to be so beautiful.”
I glanced at him, saw a smile that slipped across his lips as he stared intently at the paper in front of him. “Is that why I’m here?”
“Beauty is a varied and wonderful thing. I’ve known women who would not fit the traditional definition of beauty but were entirely beautiful to me. Then there are women like you…an amazing face and all those curves. My grandfather would say you look like ten miles of bad road. Curvy, challenging, and thrilling to explore.”
“And do you want to explore me?”
He lifted his gaze. “In every way possible.”
“Do you say that to every woman you bring into your studio?”
He stood and walked over to me. Sitting on the side of the platform, he ran his finger along the line of my jaw.
“Mercy.” The gentle way he said my name, combined with the soft drifting of his fingers on my face, made me want to wrap myself around him. “Tell me why you think so little of yourself.”
I flushed; not moving was an effort. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m lying here, naked. What more could you want?”
Saying nothing, he continued to stare. I felt almost penetrated by his gaze, as if he were reading my soul. His dark eyes took all of me in, and I moved, unable to help myself. His eyes darkened further, allowing me to see his own response to me. He wanted me, despite the cool exterior he was presenting.
Silent, Shamus watched me fidget on the pillow.
The red silk slid over my skin, and I felt a blush cross my face as my nipples tightened further and pushed against the material. His gaze dropped to my breasts. His tongue darted against his bottom lip. Swallowing hard, I could almost feel his mouth on me. My nipples were so hard they ached. I moved my legs together and watched his gaze move down my body to my legs. I wished that I’d left the silk off. I wanted him to see the damp curls of my sex, so he would know exactly how much I wanted him.
He sighed and stood. “You are wearing more than you think.”
“I’ve done exactly what you’ve asked of me. What the hell more could you want?” My response came out snappy and hard. I regretted the loss of control, but his pointed dismissal of my sexual response to him had hurt.
“I think you do know what I mean. But you hide from yourself more than you hide from the world.”
I watched him walk away from the platform. He turned to look at me as tension stretched between us, then he let his gaze drop to the floor.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and I found myself unable to let the silence persist. “Why do you care?”
He plucked the robe from the floor. “We’re finished.”
“It hasn’t been two hours.” I pressed my lips together briefly. I’d done what he wanted, and his dissatisfaction was infuriating.
“No, but you’re too tense for me to continue.”
“I’m sorry.”
I didn’t want to be sorry; briefly, I indulged in a little self-hatred for the apology. The situation was ridiculous. No matter how I tried to justify it, there was no getting comfortable with the idea of posing for him. Telling Shamus Montgomery no seemed impossible. Who was he to come into my life and start to demand my time and attention? I’d considered my life full until he’d presented himself, and resented him for reminding me of the things that had been missing.
“Dress and I’ll walk you out.”
I stood up and let the silk drop away. He held out a hand to help me step down. I let my fingers curl briefly against his palm before I pulled my hand free. Silently he offered me the robe.
I glanced briefly at the robe, dismissed it, and walked to the dressing screen. I dressed quickly behind the screen, relieved the session was over. Standing there in my sundress, I still felt naked. My clit was throbbing between my labia, and my nipples were still unbearably hard. Clutching my purse, I left the screened area and glared at the reason my body was reacting so strongly.
Shamus stood by the stairs, the door once more open. I lifted my chin and walked to him.
Slipping past him, I went down the stairs. At the bottom, I paused and wondered if the early dismissal meant that he’d changed his mind about my posing. He joined me and walked beside me to the exit.
As he pulled his keys out to let me out, I took a deep breath and said, “Mr. Montgomery—”
“Shame,” he corrected. “My friends call me Shame.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be his friend.
“Will you want me to return tomorrow?”
“Yes.” He turned the key in the lock and opened the door for me. “We’ll order some food in and spend some time together before we try again.”
I walked quickly to my car and looked back to him as I pulled open the driver’s door. He was standing where I’d left him.
I had no business getting involved with a man, especially now when my career was on the right track, and I should have been grateful for his restraint. Instead I felt rejected and angry.
I yanked my seat belt into place and turned the car on. He pulled his door shut as my headlights came on. Lust burning in me, I shoved the car into drive and hoped that I would make it home before surrendering to the need to self-pleasure.
I finally inserted my key into my apartment door and shoved it open. The trip home had done nothing to knock the edge off my physical response to Shame. I tossed my keys and purse aside and closed the door with a sigh of relief. Four bolt locks and a chain later, tension started to seep out of my body.
I went into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of wine. With a generous glass of wine in hand, I moved into my living room. I could still smell him; the musky cologne had followed me home. Drowning in thoughts of Shamus Montgomery, who was plainly stingy with his cock, I took a generous sip of the wine and then set the glass down.
I pulled my dress over my head. My white strapless bra and panties fell on top of the dress. I stood in my sandals for a moment, and then toed them off as I picked up my glass. After a deep swallow of wine, I dipped my index finger into the glass. Wetting my nipples with the liquid, I set the glass aside as my hand slid down my body. I sat down on the couch. The slightly rough material rubbed my skin as my back met with the back of the couch. I covered my pussy with one hand and closed my eyes.
Rubbing the heated flesh I found there, a relieved sigh escaped my lips. I slipped one finger between my labia and flicked my clit carefully. My finger moved back and forth as I thought about the man who had brought me to such a state without even trying. In my mind’s eye, I imagined his hands moving over my pale thighs, the darkness of his skin marked against my own. Then his powerful body would move over me, his mouth drawing wet trails down my chest, and his lips pulling at my nipples. My teeth clenched as my orgasm overwhelmed me.
My hand fell from my body. I sought out my wineglass and drained the remaining contents. I hoped Shamus Montgomery was suffering for his self-control as much as I was. It would only be fair. The man had driven me to masturbation twice in one day.
When I could, I rose from the couch and walked into the kitchen to refill my glass. I glanced toward the phone and answering machine.
The message light was blinking madly. I hit the “play” button. The machine hummed, and then all I heard was nothing. A hang-up. I deleted the message and found two more just like it before I got to the final message. The moment Jane started speaking, I smiled.
“You’d better have lots of juicy and nasty things to tell me. My lesbian lover–gay friend thing didn’t pan out. I went to the Peach Tree with Susanne, but it freaked me out when women hit on me. Susanne told them that I was her bitch.”
> “How prisonlike.” I glanced toward the machine as Jane continued.
“Yeah, I know what you are thinking. But if I were in prison, I’d definitely want a lover like Susanne.” Jane snorted. “Oh, I scuffed my brand-new shoes, and you know how I feel about that.”
I did, indeed. Jane worshipped shoes much the same way I did purses. She reminded me of a meeting I had scheduled first thing in the morning, and then was cut off, probably by my machine. Deleting her message, I considered the hang-ups. It seemed that it was time to change my phone number again.
Uncomfortable with my line of thought, I walked toward the bedroom while sipping my wine. I went to my desk, sat down at my computer. Sitting back in my chair, I watched the e-mail pour into my inbox. There was an e-mail from Martin. I suppose he’d written to see if I’d gotten the wedding invitation. I hadn’t e-mailed him or received e-mail from him in more than six months. It had been difficult to contact him after I’d finally realized how much I’d hurt him by leaving New York.
I opened the e-mail reluctantly and sighed. Since there was no way I could go to New York to attend his wedding, I wished that I could simply ignore the e-mail and the invitation. But I couldn’t do that: the man had been the center of my world after I’d been raped. He’d taken care of everything, and it was difficult even now to imagine how I could’ve survived without him. No one had ever understood my pain and horror the way he’d seemed to.
I closed the e-mail message and marked it for reading later. If I ignored it completely, he would call. Then I would have to tell him that I couldn’t bring myself to come to New York. In fact, I hadn’t gone back since I’d left. My parents had come to me on holidays and birthdays, though they made it clear they found Christmas in Boston less than desirable.
My mother had sent me two chain letters, a joke, and the newsletter for her garden club. I’d never understood why she belonged to a garden club, as she lived in an apartment. Apparently, she thought her window garden counted. I browsed through the newsletter; I knew she wouldn’t have sent it if there hadn’t been something about her. I found it near the bottom. Julia Witherspoon-Rothell was there, in all of her glory, with a shiny shovel in hand. The article stated that she had broken ground on a community garden in Brooklyn.
Since community gardens had been my mother’s passion for more than ten years, it wasn’t much of a surprise. But it was nice and somewhat amusing to see her standing there in designer overalls and tidy white athletic shoes. I glanced toward the clock and frowned. It was entirely too late to call her. She went to bed with the sun, and always had. I finished off the wine and went to take another shower.
With lust firmly on the back burner, I was left mildly irritated that I’d responded so strongly to Shame. To be honest with myself, I’ve never been one to deny myself something. If I wanted it, I usually got it. Being forced to deal with my own needs was a slight blow to my pride, especially needs that had been stoked by a man.
Tomorrow would be a new day, a day that would end with me in front of Shamus Montgomery, naked.
CHAPTER 3
I entered Holman Gallery and tried to ignore the two clerks on the sales floor who were blatantly staring at me. The entire damn gallery knew about the deal I’d struck with Shamus Montgomery. It was difficult deciding whether to be angry or pleased by that.
Jane was waiting for me outside my office, and the rest of staff hovered near her desk. Walking past Jane, I took the coffee she offered and tried to give her a smile as she came into my office and shut the door firmly behind her.
Keeping that fake smile on my face, I looked Jane right in the eye. “If you tell a single one of those backstabbing wenches out there what I’m going to tell you, I’ll kill you and destroy your body in the office shredder.”
Jane held up her hand in the universal sign of Scout’s honor, which I’ve never trusted. “I promise not to tell the wenches a damn thing. However, I’m going to die if I don’t get some news.”
“Fine. I got naked, he sketched me, and then I put on my clothes and left.”
Jane frowned. “That was not worth my promise.”
“It’s a business arrangement.” I sat down at my desk and sighed when my face started to heat. “Business that was so intimate that by the time it was over I wanted to run for my life.”
“Did he do something weird?”
I glanced up and chuckled at her outraged expression. “Why? Will you go beat him up if he did?”
“I just might.”
“No, he didn’t do anything weird.” I sighed. “He just sat on the floor and sketched.”
“Oh.” She sat down and glanced briefly out into the bull pen before centering her gaze on me. “Are you going back today?”
“Yes.”
“Is your reaction caused just by nerves, or are you genuinely put off by all of this?”
“Well.” I sighed and stopped to think before responding. “Okay, it’s flattering that an internationally known artist is inspired by me.”
“He said you inspired him?”
“Yes.”
She blew air between her lips and shook her head. “Wow. Did your ego explode?”
“Well, I couldn’t argue against it.” Shrugging, I dropped my gaze to the desk in front of me. “He’s an amazing and thoughtful man, despite the fact that he tricked me into posing for him.”
“I wish a famous, insanely sexy artist would trick me into getting naked.”
I laughed as she stood. “Be careful what you wish for.”
“Nothing happened?”
“There is something about the man.”
“Yeah, there always is something about men who are gorgeous and wealthy.”
I laughed and shook my head. “He’s arrogant and domineering. I’ll admit that I find him attractive. I’d have to be dead not to.” I picked up a pen and tapped gently against the glass top of my desk. “I’d really like a solid wood desk.”
“It wouldn’t match the rest of the office.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t care.”
“What I hate is that I can’t take off my shoes at my desk. Anyone that comes near me can see everything.” She crossed her arms over her breasts and sighed. “No privacy.”
“I think that was Milton’s goal.” I motioned toward the bull pen. “Look out there, all you see is legs. It’s no mistake that ninety percent of the staff is female.”
“That’s why I wear pants. He’s not going to spend his day checking out my legs.” She turned in her seat to focus on me. “Nothing happened?”
Her skeptical expression amused me. I suddenly wished that I did have something to share. “Well, I had a cramp in my leg and he rubbed it.” I shrugged. “He was a perfect gentlemen.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah.” I nodded and then glared at her when she smiled. “I didn’t say that.”
“It’s too late to take it back.”
“It’s business.”
“Ah, crap, come on. You were naked with that sexy man, and all he did was draw you. You could at least tell me he drew on you. I could live with that.” Jane sighed and then crossed her arms over her breasts. “That man is probably the sexiest human being in this city.”
Laughing, I shook my head and then sipped my coffee. “It was all perfectly decent.”
Jane glanced out towards the bull pen, deflated. “Can I tell Perky Tits that he worshipped you for hours?”
I looked briefly at Sarah and grinned. “You need to stop calling her that. You are going to slip up one day and say it to her face.”
Jane stood up and strode toward the door. “How can I live vicariously through you if you have no life?”
She shut the door behind her, leaving me to sit there and digest her words. While it hadn’t been her intent, her observation about my lack of a life hurt. I fiddled with a pen, tapped it against my desk, and considered the gaping hole in my personal life. I couldn’t very well ignore the fact that I’d had a handful of dates in a ye
ar. Two of them had been blind dates, blind dates that had ended so badly I could barely stand to think about them.
I glanced at my phone when it started to ring. I picked it up. “Mercy Rothell.”
“It’s me.”
“Good morning, Milton.” I bit down on my lip to keep from groaning aloud. He only called when he wanted to argue with me without having to look me in the eye. Which meant he was going to demand something totally out of the question.
“How did your meeting with Montgomery go?”
“An arrangement was made.” There was no way I was going to give that troglodyte the details of how or when I got naked. It was weird enough to think the word naked when he was around.
“Good.” There was a long pause and then he got to the reason he was calling. “You have an appointment with Lisa Millhouse. You’ll be taking Sarah with you. It will be a good experience for her.”
“Lisa Millhouse doesn’t tolerate strangers.” I looked at Sarah’s desk and found her staring at me. “Taking your plaything along could potentially ruin the gallery’s professional relationship with an up-and-coming artist that the art world is very excited about.”
He sputtered and then huffed.
I should learn to keep my opinions to myself. Milton Storey had been trying to get me fired since the Board of the gallery hired me. He hated the shows I arranged, considered Lisa Millhouse’s work pornography, and sought out every opportunity to sabotage the gallery’s contract with her. Her contract had been my first assignment with the gallery, and getting it signed had gone a long way toward cementing my place at Holman. Our Board had wanted her work for a long time.
“You’ll take Sarah,” he insisted.
“I will not,” I responded gently. “If we were to lose the Millhouse contract and have an empty east wing this summer, the Board would expect it was for a good reason. As far as I’m concerned, entertaining your current piece of eye candy simply doesn’t qualify as a good reason.”
He hung up on me. That was his usual response when reminded that I was only five months away from taking his job. I shouldn’t have rubbed his nose in it, and doing so made me feel malicious and mean. Still, there is something to be said for being mean to someone who drives you insane.
