Undressing Mercy. Deanna Lee
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.
“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