Undressing Mercy. Deanna Lee
Undressing Mercy
DEANNA LEE
APHRODISIA
APHRODISIA BOOKS
For my husband, who is the most patient man on Earth. For my mother, who gave me a typewriter when I told her I wanted to write and never said it was an impossible dream.
For my sister, who read my work, even when it was bad, and asked for more.
For my best friend Amy, who is a constant source of support and inspiration.
My thanks to my agent, Jess, who found me and helped me make my dream come true.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER 1
I’d been seeing Dr. Lesley Price for about eight months; she knew more about me than anyone else on earth, and I resented that. She knew what kept me up at night, and what it took to push the world away. It was her knowledge of me that would help me heal, and for that reason alone I tried to keep my resentment to myself. There are those that say therapy is a relieving experience. It’s always left me tied up and out of sorts.
“You’re close to your goal.”
I nodded, pulled one leg underneath me, and tried to find a spot on the beige wall behind her head to focus on. “Yes, close.”
“And the nightmares?”
“None since March.” I sighed and finally met Lesley’s gaze. “Okay, fine, there have been a few.” I frowned and shook my head. “I should’ve gotten a male therapist.”
“You find it easy to lie to a man?”
I chuckled. “What woman doesn’t? Come on, how many times have you told a man that size doesn’t matter?”
Lesley pursed her lips briefly and then shook her head, brown curls bouncing around as she did. “Okay. But we’re off track.”
“You started it.” I crossed my arms over my breasts. “I’m still not sleeping through the night, and the only reason I’m not checking the doors and windows is because I force myself not to. So when I can’t sleep, I lie there and worry about not getting up to check the fucking windows and doors.”
“He’s not in Boston.”
“No, he isn’t.” I looked around the room, taking in the elegant leather furniture before snuggling into the recliner that I was in. The leather furniture should’ve made the room seem formal, yet it was soothing and comfortable. Odd. I’d never imagined I would be comfortable in a therapist’s office.
“How’s your sex life?” She cut right to the chase with that one. But I supposed I deserved it.
“Absent of a cock, small or otherwise.” Shrugging, I looked down at my hands. “I just can’t find a man that I can get sexually interested in.”
“You mean you can’t find a man you can dominate in bed, so you don’t bother.”
I shrugged and then nearly giggled as I imagined myself in a black leather outfit, with whip in hand. “Well, that image has appeal.”
“Don’t be flippant, Mercy.” I glanced up and met her stare. Her face was as serious as her tone had been.
“Fine, weak men turn me off. Strong men…” I sucked in a breath.
“Scare you.”
“No, I’ve told you before, I don’t fear men or sex. I fear Jeff King, and I’m afraid of him in a way I never thought I was capable of.”
“How do you feel about that fear?”
I stood and walked away from the recliner. “Why don’t you have a couch?”
Lesley laughed. She had a good strong laugh, and I found her amusement comforting. “It’s rather old fashioned. I prefer the recliner.”
I glanced toward the sleek leather recliner that I’d just left. “I’m not afraid of sex.”
“I believe that you believe that.”
I hate psychobabble. Frowning, I looked out the window. “When did you get the new Jag? It’s good to see that my money is going to such a good cause.”
“Last month.” She cleared her throat. “Take a seat, Mercy.”
I walked back over to the chair and sat down. “I have a big meeting this afternoon.”
“Yes, you mentioned it earlier. Will this meeting further your career with the gallery?”
“I believe so. The Board of Directors will be hard pressed to find a reason not to renew my contract next year.”
“It’s important to you.”
“Success is important to everyone.” I drew in a deep breath; my tone had been hard and angry. My next words sounded more like me. “I’ve never met anyone who enjoyed failure.”
“Is your boss still a source of stress for you?”
“He’s frustrated, I can see that. I understand that he doesn’t want to lose his place at the gallery. It doesn’t matter who’s sitting in my place, come August he’ll be gone anyway.”
“You’re enjoying watching him squirm.”
I flinched and then grimaced. “He uses power to manipulate women.”
“His lack of respect for women makes you want to punish him.”
Hell, yes, I did want to punish him. “Perhaps.”
“Do you view him as someone like the man that raped you?”
“No. He’s nothing like Jeff King. Milton Storey is a small-minded man who has no ability to adapt. He’s used social standing and the connections he gained through his marriage to keep his position at Holman. It’s no longer enough, and now he’s grasping trying to stay on top.”
“Are there any men in your life that you trust, Mercy?”
“I trust Martin.”
“Yes.” Lesley sighed. “But Martin Colwell is in New York. He’s in your past. You know that.”
“Okay, fine. I’m not much on trust these days.” I looked up, and she was writing on a legal pad. I hated when she did that, because I was never sure if she was writing a grocery list or creating a psychological profile that would put me in an institution. The timer ending the session dinged gently. I bolted out of the chair. “I’ll see you later.”
“Mercy.”
I sat down and clenched my teeth. “Okay.”
Lesley reached out, plucked the timer off the desk, and then dropped it in a desk drawer. “Your work stresses aside, it is important to your continued progress that you address your personal issues.”
“I’m here because I want to address my personal issues.”
“Yes.” She nodded and inclined her head. “Yet you back away when we come close to making progress.”
“I try.”
“I want you to think about sex, Mercy. Think about sex and its place in your life. Write