Читать книгу Undressing Mercy - Deanna Lee - Страница 7

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 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 grant 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 parents 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.

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.