My phone rang. Milton strolled out of my office, leaving the door open, which I hated. As I picked up the phone, Jane was at the door, gently pulling it closed. I was going to miss her when I went to prison for killing Milton.
“Hello.”
“Ms. Rothell.”
Shamus Montgomery. His voice was smooth and cultured, yet it woke something wild and nearly unspeakable in me. I wanted to be angry with him for his presumption. The truth was that I enjoyed his arrogance so much that I couldn’t wait to tangle with him again. The fact that he’d had called me so soon led me to believe that maybe he felt the same way.
“Mr. Montgomery. I’m glad you called. You didn’t give me much time to consider your offer.” My opening volley was met with a brief silence.
“It wasn’t an offer.”
Looking down at my desk, I sighed and then glanced out at Jane in the bull pen. She held up a piece of paper with SHAMUS MONTGOMERY IS A GOD written on it in big red letters. I glared at her and turned in my chair so I didn’t have to see her or her stupid sign.
“I can assure you there are scores of women who would happily strip naked and pose for you. I just don’t happen to be one of them.” That was a damn lie. Well, it was a half-lie. I could easily see myself getting naked with Shamus Montgomery; it was the posing part that put me off. I focused on one of my fingernails and frowned at the cuticle. It was a prime example of how I felt inside: ragged.
“I have a feeling that it’s time you did something different,” he said.
“I’m not stagnating,” I snapped and then frowned, realizing that he hadn’t said anything like that.
His silence wasn’t comforting. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he considered what my response had revealed. Closing my eyes, I waited for him to say something. Anything.
“Don’t be late, Mercy.”
He hung up. I crossed my legs at the knee and tried to ignore the dampness in my panties and the gentle throb of my clit. Anger and want twisted in my body, and having no outlet for either left me frustrated and thoroughly confused. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d met a man that stirred my body as Shamus Montgomery did.
I turned in my chair and stared at Jane pretending to be working on her computer. Glancing at my own monitor, I noticed that my instant messenger was flashing. I clicked on the window, and I saw a message from Jane.
“Only an idiot would turn down the chance to spend the summer NAKED with Shamus Montgomery.”
“Bite me,” I responded and then cut off the messenger.
I watched Jane giggle for a moment, and then swiveled my chair to look out the window. She was right. Shamus Montgomery was a sexy and talented man, and women traveled thousands of miles to pose for him. I should feel honored that he wanted me in his studio. He was a powerful artist, and I knew what he could draw out of a woman. Still, his desire to capture my soul wasn’t a comforting one.
Exposing myself to a man like Shamus was a far bigger step than anything my therapist and I had worked on. The thought of being vulnerable was an unbearable one. I’d tried so hard to put my experience in New York behind me, but that didn’t mean I was ready to go on display.
Despite all of those fears and the anger that he’d outmaneuvered me, I was left with a fine layer of arousal that simmered under my skin. I could almost feel his hands moving over my body, the pressure of his body against mine, and the blunt tip of his cock pushing into my emptiness.
I lowered my head to my desk. “What a fucking nightmare.”
After work, I hurried home to hide in my apartment. I’d lived in Boston two years and had used that time to create a space that was unique and mine. The apartment had four rooms, including the kitchen and the large bathroom. My furniture was modern without being uncomfortable, and I’d used a crème foundation color for each room. Then, when the mood struck, I’d bought outrageously colorful pillows and rugs and strewn them throughout every room. I could admit to myself that my apartment was my sanctuary from the world. I’d learned the hard way just how cruel life could be.
I toed off my shoes and left them near the door. After quickly sorting the mail and tossing all of the junk, I took the rest to the kitchen table and sat down.
The first envelope was from New York, with my ex-boyfriend Martin’s return address on it. My relationship with Martin was one of the few in my life that had returned to a friendship after the sex was over. It looked like a wedding invitation. It was. I frowned as I read over the details and then dropped it onto the table. I knew I wouldn’t go. Going to New York, even for the wedding of a friend, was completely impossible for me.
The wedding invitation had unsettled me, and I knew why. It was selfish and terribly cruel, but I regretted that Martin had found someone to share his life with. Though he certainly deserved it. Martin was the best man I’d ever known. A very selfish part of me wanted him to be waiting in the wings for me. Disgusted with myself, I rubbed my face briskly.
I stood up, made myself a sandwich, and brought it back to the table. Then I opened the rest of my mail until all I had left was a large manila envelope from the museum I had worked for in New York. With dread, I opened it and spilled the contents out onto the table. I didn’t remember signing up for the museum’s mailing list with my home address, but I must have. It was a foolish error. The glossy advertisements slipped across each other as I picked up a press release with a photo of Jeff King’s face on it. He’d been promoted and now held the position I’d left more than two years ago.
God, I hated him. I wondered if there would ever be a day I could look at his face and not feel his hands biting into me. I could almost smell his cologne. It made me furious that even his picture had the ability to invade and hurt me.
The phone rang as I choked down the rest of my sandwich. I jumped on it immediately, relieved. “Hello?”
“Hey. What are you wearing to Montgomery’s tonight? Did you pick out matching underwear? Wear that great perfume we bought at the mall last week, the one named after that singer.” Jane paused briefly. “Hey, are you there?”
“Yes. I’m going to wear my blue sundress, and I planned on putting on matching underwear and no perfume.”
“Oh, come on, Mercy!”
“Jane, it is not my aim to seduce or in any other way provoke Shamus Montgomery.” I glanced around the kitchen and then briefly to the mail I’d abandoned on the table.
“If you don’t get laid soon, I’ll have to renew my subscription to Penthouse Forum.”
I laughed, amused by her petulant tone. “Why don’t you run out and get laid? Hell, get laid for me, too.”
Jane snorted and then sighed deeply. “Men suck, Mercy. I might start going to gay bars, try to find a gay male friend and a lesbian lover. Then I can pretend I’m on some sexy cable show and not worry about tedious things like real life.”
I leaned on the counter. “You and I both know that you aren’t going to give up men. However, a wild night with a woman would broaden your horizons.”
She laughed and I could almost see her shrug. For all of her bravado and charm, Jane was fairly tame, and I doubted that she would allow herself to be with another woman. She chattered for another few minutes and reminded me again to wear perfume, and then we ended the call. I valued Jane. Female friends had always been a rarity in my life, but that didn’t mean I was going to douse myself in scent.
I put the phone back on its base and walked back to the table. Jeff King’s handsome, cruel face stared back up at me. Grimacing, I picked up the photo and tore it down the middle. He was nothing to me. I had to believe that. I’d left him and that life behind.
At 4:30 P.M., I forced myself into the shower. Under the cool water of the massaging showerhead, I tried