Undressing Mercy. Deanna Lee

swept over up my face, and that pissed me off. Blushing was not part of the smart, modern-woman image I’d spent more than two years redeveloping. Therapy, self-defense classes, and determination had helped me carve out a place in the world where I felt safe and in control.

      Settling back in my seat, I watched Shamus Montgomery pull out the chair directly in front of me. He was tall, at least six feet three inches, and had the grace of a big hunting cat. He sat down in the chair and focused on me as if I were the only person in the room. It was the sort of attention that I had enjoyed from men in the past, but felt uncomfortable with now. God, the man was breathtaking.

      I waited until he was settled before speaking. “I understand you have twenty-two pieces ready for the show.”

      “Yes, but there are always twenty-three. It’s what my audience will expect.” He inclined his head and fixed his gaze on my face. “I need the right woman for the final piece.”

      “The gallery will help you find a willing model.” I pulled out the contract and set it in front of me. The right woman. I fought a frown. Had I just promised to find this gorgeous and amazing man the right woman?

      “I’ve chosen a model.”

      He’s already found the right woman, I thought. Lucky girl. As soon as I found out who she was I figured I’d hate her guts. “Good. I’ve made the changes to the contract that your lawyer insisted on and have included the changes that you had previously agreed to. However, I must admit your breach-of-trust stipulation was a hard sell to the Board.”

      “I don’t like sharing my work with people I can’t trust. If exhibiting at Holman Gallery proves to be a pleasurable experience for me, I’ll have no need to withdraw my work from your skillful hands.” He paused, looked over my face carefully, and then asked softly, “Aren’t you interested in knowing who’ll pose for me?”

      I forced myself to meet his gaze, taking in those dark brown eyes and thick, dark lashes. There was humor in his eyes and in the curve of his firm lips. Again, the desire to know what he tasted like surfaced. I let my gaze slide over the strong, angular features of his face. The man looked like a fallen angel. A profoundly naughty fallen angel.

      Smiling back, I looked pointedly at the contract before speaking. “The gallery will secure the model you require for your last piece.” I pushed the contract across the table with a pen.

      Milton Storey grunted when Shamus picked up the pen and signed both copies with bold, deliberate strokes. He pushed the contract back across the table at me, but didn’t lift his fingers when I reached for it. “I’ll see you at six P.M.”

      I looked up and met his gaze, ignoring Milton’s intake of breath at the statement.

      My mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

      “You’re the model for my last project, Ms. Rothell.” He stood as I signed the contracts. “You do know where my studio is?”

      I nodded, overwhelmed. With hands that were surprisingly steady, I handed him his copy of the contract, then sat back in my chair. Dimly, I was even slightly proud of the fact that I had remembered to sign the contracts and give him a copy. I watched him fold the contract and then slip it into a pocket inside his jacket.

      After a brief exchange with Milton, the damn man walked out, leaving me alone with the contract.

      Trying not to shake, I placed it back in the folder with Shamus Montgomery’s name on it and stood. “This should be filed.”

      Not bothering to look at Milton, I left the room and hurried toward my office.

      Jane was in my office when I entered. She hopped up from my desk and smiled. “I’ve answered all of the e-mails in your query folder. You have four meetings tomorrow morning before lunch, and I’ve confirmed the travel arrangements for Ms. Carol Banks. She’ll be here on Friday as scheduled.” She walked to stand in front of me and stared. “Well?”

      I nodded. “He signed.”

      “Holy shit, Mercy! That’s cool.” She took the folder from my now-numb hand. “What’s wrong?”

      I swallowed hard and shook my head. “You won’t believe me.”

      “Come on, spill it.”

      “Shamus Montgomery wants me to pose for his final piece for the show.”

      “Oh. My. God.”

      Oh my God, indeed. The blasted man had signed the contract after I’d assured him the gallery would secure the model he wanted. He’d backed me into a neat little corner. And it was a fascinating corner to be in. I was both excited and scared. It would’ve been foolish to deny that I found Shamus Montgomery insanely attractive.

      “Mercy, this is awesome.”

      I turned and glared at her. “Tell me, Jane, exactly what part of this is awesome?”

      “Come on! That sexy man wants to strip you naked and sculpt you. What the hell could be better?”

      I was thirty pounds past my ideal weight, and pushing a size twelve. I’ve never been one of those women who dieted obsessively; however, I preferred being slightly slimmer. Also, I had no interest in getting naked for an artist. Shaking my head, I turned to find Jane staring at me. She frowned, walked to my office door, and shut it.

      She turned and stared at us with a determined expression. “Mercy, you’re a beautiful woman.”

      “Thanks, Jane.” I didn’t consider myself unattractive, and I had no way of explaining to Jane what I was really thinking.

      “You have a lovely face and a great curvy body.” She held out her arms to display the trim, tidy body I secretly envied. “I’m nearly a boy.”

      Laughing, I shook my head and sat down at my desk. “You don’t look like any boy I’ve ever seen.”

      Jane leaned against my desk. “Look, a man like Shamus Montgomery doesn’t make mistakes. He wants to sculpt you, Mercy. Not me and not Miss Perky-Fake-Tits Johnson out there.”

      I looked through the glass wall and out into the bull pen where Sarah Johnson worked. “You think they’re fake?”

      “Are you kidding? They can’t be anything else,” Jane snorted. “I’ve considered reporting her to the EPA.”

      “For what?”

      Jane shrugged. “There is no way she’s still biodegradable.”

      I laughed and looked back to Sarah; Milton was holding court at her desk. I personally found him tedious on most occasions, but it was obvious why Sarah feigned interest. She believed that he could help her get somewhere in the art world. Despite his upcoming forced retirement from Holman Gallery, Milton Storey did have influence.

      Milton finished preening for the environmental hazard and started toward my office. “You’d better scoot,” I said to Jane, “or he’ll have a chance to ask you why you still haven’t gone out with his son.”

      Jane grimaced and darted past Milton just as he entered the room. The sudden movement confused him for a moment, and his gaze jerked from her exiting form and to me several times before he settled on my face.

      “What can I do for you, Milton?”

      “I was just telling Sarah about the deal with Shamus Montgomery. She’d be willing to take your place as a model.” Milton tucked his hands into his pants pockets and inclined his head. “She’s young and thin.”

      Young, thin, and plastic. I glanced toward Sarah and knew exactly what was on her mind. It would be a cold day in hell before I’d let her parade around in all of her manmade glory for Shamus Montgomery. I wasn’t exactly convinced I could pose for him, but I knew I couldn’t allow her to do it either. “Mr. Montgomery made his choice. I did promise the man the gallery would secure the model he wanted.” I leaned back in my chair, and watched Milton fidget.

      Finally