by Deanna Lee
“But you’d like to.”
I flushed and lowered my gaze back to the floor. “I didn’t say that.”
When I looked up at him, he was concentrating once more on the area he was working with a thin chisel. I asked him, “Have you ever been with another man?”
“No.” He picked up a cloth from the floor and used it to clear away dust and particles. “I have a friend who’ll fuck anything that will sit still long enough, but I prefer women.”
“Anything?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t seen him make an exception yet.”
“I’ve known several straight men that wouldn’t be comfortable with a bisexual friend.”
“Derek isn’t bisexual. He’s trisexual.”
“Trisexual?”
Shame laughed. “He’ll try anything once. As for his attraction to men, it doesn’t bother me. He knows he’ll get nowhere fast with me.” He frowned, looking at the work he had done and toward my hands. “You have nice hands.”
“Thanks.” They were my grandmother’s hands. I’d noticed that fact a few years ago when I’d bought myself a rather amazing diamond for my birthday. The ring was still one of my favorites.
“What do you like about sex?”
I took a deep breath. “Why do you insist on asking me such personal questions?”
“You are in my favorite chair, naked.”
Well, I was naked. I wondered why he was using the chair. Finding myself naked in his favorite piece of furniture felt odd and intimate. Just as intimate as that moment when he’d slipped his fingers into me. I clenched my thighs briefly as the memory stirred my body.
What could it hurt to answer his questions? “I like being close to someone. Just touching and being touched is good. There is something beautiful about those first moments of discovery.”
“Yet your bed is empty.”
Once more, I found myself looking at the floor that stretched out between us. There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t reveal what had been taken me from in New York. It wasn’t something I talked about casually. Sitting up a little straighter, I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t going to let him bait me into giving him information about my past.
“I heard you are courting Samuel Castlemen for this winter?” Shame asked.
Relieved that he’d changed the subject, I sighed. “Yes. I’d like to bring his Phases of a Woman to Boston. He put me off for a while, but he e-mailed me because he’d heard that you were going to show with the gallery. So I owe you my thanks.” I was relieved that he’d decided to change the subject. I took a deep breath and willed my stomach to stop jumping.
“He’s a talented man. The power he can put on canvas is something to be envied.” He pulled off his protective goggles and laid them aside. “You need a break; you’ve been sitting like that for an hour and a half.”
I let my arms fall to my side, surprised so much time had passed. “Are you ready to stop?”
“I’m at a good place to stop.” Shame stopped a foot away from me and looked me over. “Are you ready to stop?”
“Stop what?” I asked. I was really ready to stop playing his game, but I didn’t know if that was what he meant.
“Hiding.”
“You’ve seen and touched more of me than any man I’ve dated in recent memory. I fail to see what I could be hiding.”
His gaze dropped briefly to my breasts, and a smile moved across his lips briefly before he met my gaze. “You’ve been dating some profoundly unlucky men.” He took a step closer. “Why are these men so unlucky?”
They were all boring men that I’d chosen to go out with because I wasn’t interested in fucking them. Of course, telling Shame that was out of the question. I pulled my legs back up and wrapped my arms around them. “You’re getting very personal with me, Shamus.”
“And if I told you I wanted to get as personal as possible with you?” He moved around the chair, and his fingers trailed along the back, catching in my hair briefly. “How would you feel about that?”
“That depends.” I flushed a little, remembering the feel of his hand cupping my sex, a finger sliding between my labia.
“On what?”
“Do you want more from me than the occasional fuck?”
“I am a man of some appetite. So we can say that it wouldn’t be just an occasional fuck.”
“Okay…so do you want more than to fuck me regularly?” I smiled briefly when he came back around in front of me. “Our physical attraction is there, but I’m too old to play such games.”
It was obvious that our conversation was affecting him as much as it was me. I pressed my thighs together in an effort to ignore the stinging arousal that burned there. My gaze flicked back to his face before dropping to the tented fabric of his pants. I was seriously interested in seeing how big his cock was. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be disappointed.
“I don’t know you well enough to ask for a lot. I want you, and what I had the other night is simply not enough.”
“Yeah. I noticed.” I dropped my gaze to his crotch again and wet my lips.
The man was going to kill me with sexual frustration. I desperately wanted him to make a move, yet I knew somehow that he wouldn’t. I also didn’t think I was brave enough to ask for it. Some modern woman I’d turned out to be. I couldn’t even tell a man I wanted to have sex with him. But it was more than sex. I needed more, and I wasn’t sure I could accurately communicate that.
“It’s rather unfair that your own state of arousal isn’t more obvious.”
My hands tightened briefly into fists and then I forced them to relax. I knew that I was soaking wet. All I had to do was release my legs and spread them. The damp curls that covered my sex would be obvious. My nipples tightened against my thighs as I considered what I should do. Carefully, I released my legs and let them slide to the floor. I sucked in a breath as I met his gaze. I could feel my nipples hardening further. They started to hurt.
His gaze was hard, tense. I could feel his tension moving between us. I spread my legs further and bit down on my lip as his gaze automatically dropped to my pussy. My thighs were damp, so I knew there would be no mistaking my physical state. I wanted him to drag me from the chair, toss me on the floor, and fuck me unconscious. I wasn’t ready to ask.
I watched his tongue slip out and wet his bottom lip, and my thighs tensed in response. I only had to ask. If I asked, he would come to me and slip that tongue in and eat me. I knew it and I wanted it.
“You could drive a man insane like that.” He took a step back from me and the space he’d given me in his favorite chair. “Padded walls and a straitjacket insane.”
I scooted forward in the chair and planted my feet flat on the floor. “You want me.”
“Of course.”
I ran my hands down my thighs and stretched a little. “But?”
“But I don’t take advantage of women.”
“You think you’d be taking advantage of me?”
“You aren’t here of your own free will. You’re naked in my studio because I outmaneuvered you. So yes, I’d be taking advantage of you.” I watched him swallow hard and close his eyes briefly. “I won’t be that kind of man.”
“I understand.”
He offered me his hand and I accepted it without thinking.
Standing in front of him, I cleared my throat. “Shame?”
“Yes, Mercy?”
“I should probably get dressed.” I moved past him, resisting the urge to brush against him, and went behind the screen.
With unsteady hands, I pulled my dress off the screen and put it back on. Once the top of it was laced closed, I went back around the screen for my shoes. Shamus was sitting in the red chair watching me. I asked him, “Why did you kiss me the other day?”
He didn’t answer immediately. After what seemed a long time he looked at me. “I couldn’t help myself. I have little impulse control when it comes to you, it seems. At the time you didn’t seem to mind. Did I upset y
ou?”
“No.” I picked up my purse and rummaged through it for my keys. “I was just surprised.”
“You are a beautiful woman, Mercy. It shouldn’t be a surprise to you that men find you attractive.”
I felt myself blush. How in the hell could I be blushing when I had just spread my legs wide for this man? “I was under the impression that you didn’t date white women.”
He laughed and leaned back in the chair. “I like women a lot, no matter their color. My own mother is only half black.”
“You don’t always act like a man who’s attracted to me.”
“I don’t normally sleep with my models.”
“You’ve said that before.” I looked at him, saw the frustration and confusion on his face. I found that surprising. He hadn’t struck me as a man who would easily display his thoughts.
“I can’t think of you sexually while I work. I wouldn’t get anything accomplished.”
“You questioned me about my sex life.”
“That was about making you uncomfortable.”
His admission fell between us, and the silence stretched taut. “Why?”
“I want to capture what I see in you when no one is looking,” he murmured.
“And what is that?”
“You aren’t comfortable in your own skin.”
I flushed with anger. “That’s not true.”
“Mercy, will you tell me why you left New York?”
My stomach knotted up again. The thought of revealing to him the ugliness of my past almost made me physically ill. This talented man who had kissed me because he couldn’t help himself didn’t deserve the extent of my nightmare. I straightened my shoulders and glanced toward the stairs that functioned as my escape route.
“I’ve already told you.”
“You told me a half-truth.” He reached out to touch me. His fingers were warm and soft as they moved across my cheek and traveled with a fleeting motion over my lips. “I see the fear.”
I backed away, angry at the invasion. Deep down I knew that my anger was irrational, but I couldn’t help it. “I’m going to go.”
“I’ll see you Monday.”
I nodded. At the stairs, he called my name. I turned to look at him. “Yes, Shame?”
“Why did you kiss me back?”
I looked over his face and smiled. “I couldn’t help myself.”
At home, I stripped off my clothes in my living room and went naked to the bathroom. I’d always found being naked a liberating and relieving experience. It’s as if my whole body can relax and breathe. I thought about Shamus, and knew that my reactions to him were different. In fact, being naked with Shame wasn’t like anything I’d ever known. The lovers of my past were pale, thin ghosts compared with the solid and real form of Shamus Montgomery.
I looked in the mirror and took in my breasts, full C cups, still firm and high. My nipples were pink but grew darker when aroused. I had a decent stomach for my size, not flat but certainly not flabby. I had full hips, decent thighs, and an ass that I wouldn’t have wished on my worst enemy. Well, maybe I would. I checked it out in the mirror and sighed.
After taking a quick shower, I grabbed a snack and sat down in front of the television. Three hours of channel surfing later, all I could say with complete honesty was that I was absolutely sick of real people. I went to my bedroom and took out my favorite vibrator. It was sleek, with a rotating head and a little latex thing that stimulated my clit when I inserted it in my pussy.
It couldn’t replace the warm glide of a man between my legs, but as substitutions went, it wasn’t bad. I pulled off the T-shirt and shorts I’d tugged on after my shower and slipped into my bed. Turning on the vibrator, I slid it between my labia gently. The hum of the vibrator itself was enough to make me wet, and having it pressed against my clit brought arousal rushing to the surface.
Pushing it inside, I pressed the button that controlled the clit stimulator. My body responded instantly to the quick pleasure of the mechanical device. Heat flushed over my body as I thought about Shame and his hands. It would be so good to have him touch and stroke me the way he had the alabaster as he’d worked on the sculpture. With my free hand, I fondled one breast, pinching and pulling at the nipple until it hurt.
The heat of orgasm took my breath as it moved over my body. It was so much pleasure that it almost hurt. Pulling the vibrator out of my pussy, I tossed it on the bed beside me. My clit was throbbing pleasantly between my labia.
I had masturbated for as long as I could remember. Staring at the ceiling, I thought about the pleasure I could attain alone, and the pleasure of being with a man. Two years was a long time to go without a man. I had kept my bed empty on purpose, and the reasons were twofold. Flushing with anger, I stood from the bed and took the vibrator to the bathroom.
I washed it and laid it on a hand towel on the bathroom counter. It was too late to push the memory back. It was there, already in the front of my mind, devastating and so harsh that I could almost smell Jeff. Running my finger along my jaw, I could still remember the horror and pain of that moment. He’d hit me only once. I’d been so stunned, so hurt that I’d given Jeff my trust.
Dropping my hand from my face, I went into the bedroom and tried to forget him. It was no use. Frustrated and getting angrier by the minute, I went to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of Crown Royal out of the freezer. I liked my whiskey cold. I poured half a glass and leaned against the counter while I drank it.
Alcohol did nothing to soothe me, it never had. I finished off the glass and waited for the numbness to set in. Drinking didn’t push the memories away, but it made remembering easier to handle. I wondered briefly what it did for Lisa. Did it push it all away, or did it make her feel strong enough to stand up to the man who’d beat her?
Jeff had broken my trust, taken it from me when I’d begged him not to. Hurt me, raped me, and pretended all the while that I wanted it. I was ashamed of that night in a way that I could barely put into words. Ashamed that I had trusted him, and so hurt that he hadn’t deserved it. I’d quit my job at the museum when I found I couldn’t enter the building without wanting to curl up and die. I never wanted to see him again.
Thinking about that horrible night inevitably brought to mind the person who’d found me, Martin, the sweetest and most thoughtful man I’d ever known. He’d found me huddled in my office the next morning, where Jeff King had left me, broken and savaged with emotional and physical trauma. Martin had picked me up off the floor and carried me to the couch in his office. Then he’d talked me into going to the emergency room.
I remember the two detectives, the man with the face that showed he’d known too many tragedies, and the woman who desperately wanted to help me heal, who had come to collect my rape kit. They’d been disappointed when I told them that there would be no charges filed and that I would not name the man responsible. In the end, Martin had asked them to leave and abide by my decision. The woman had lingered at the door. As she turned to leave, I saw tears streaming down her face.
She’d never seemed to understand the choice I made that night. She had cried for me. I hadn’t cried, and that thought lingered with me for months after I moved to Boston. I had survived Jeff, and that had always been enough, until now.
My thoughts drifted to Shamus Montgomery and his beautiful work. His passion for life and art was a part of who he was, and I feared exposing him to all that I was. I wouldn’t taint him with my memories of Jeff. Unwillingly, a mental picture of Lisa Millhouse’s last work came to me. I saw the woman, her femininity bared before the world, hovering at the feet of some unknown and evil force.
Shaken, I walked to the phone and picked it up. Dialing Lisa’s number from memory, I spoke the moment she answered the phone. “Is it me?”
Silence lingered and then Lisa spoke. “It’s both of us, Mercy.”
“You’ve known for months, how?” I demanded softly.
“Looking in your face was like looking in a mirror.” I
heard her sigh, and then she continued. “Are you afraid to go to sleep at night?”
“Only on nights like this.” I walked through my house and sat down on the couch. “You?”
“It comes and goes for me. Is it Shamus?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“You do,” Lisa responded. “You’re attracted to him.”
“Yes.”
“You want him.” She sounded amused.
“Yes.”
“Almost to the point of painful violence, and you wonder if you are sick for thinking that way.”
I closed my eyes. “Christ, Lisa.” Lisa laughed, and I could hear her moving around. “What are you doing?”
“Making a sandwich. You woke me, and now I’m hungry.”
I was sorry that I’d woken her, but found myself unwilling to end the call. “It’s a little early in the evening to be asleep.”
Lisa snorted. “I take it when I can get it. Does Shame make you nervous?”
“I’m not afraid of him.”
“No, I know you aren’t.”
“I have too much baggage to have a relationship with a man like him.”
“He’s a man. Yes, he is a passionate and sensitive artist, but he’s also a strong and caring man. Shamus is a thoughtful and thorough lover. If he is interested in you, and I’m surprised, considering his own rules about his models, then it’s because he sees something special and lovely in you.”
“I’m way too messed up to be involved with a man like him. He deserves better.”
“That’s bullshit. What happened to you doesn’t make you less than what you were before.”
I sighed. “He’s too much for me.”
“He’s a good man, Mercy. You can trust him.”
“I do.”
“And it scares you.”
I groaned. “I never realized you were psychic.”
“It’s a hidden talent.” Lisa paused and then grunted. “We didn’t discuss that woman last night. I understand why you couldn’t warn me ahead of time that she was coming out here, but, I swear, things are going to get nasty if she gets brave enough to try it again.”