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The Reluctant Nude

Chipping away at her resistance, one touch at a time…

The Reluctant Nude

© 2011 Meg Maguire

Fallon Frost’s late foster mother had done so much to heal the wounds of her damaged childhood. So when a lecherous developer plans to bulldoze her old home to make room for a strip mall, the practical, ordered life Fallon has built for herself is threatened.

Then he makes a twisted proposal. He’ll leave the land alone if she poses nude for a sculpture that’ll end up in his collection. Seeing no other choice, she heads for Nova Scotia—only to find something totally unexpected. A sexy, hot-blooded,
infuriating
sculptor.

Guarded, sexually detached Fallon is a challenge Max Emery can’t wait to tackle. Yet with each tap of his chisel, he uncovers a woman who rekindles a dream he thought lost. Home, family…love. And the closer he gets to her core, the harder it becomes to accept that he’s carving her naked body for another man’s eyes.

As progress on the sculpture almost grinds to a halt, their fragile fantasy world collapses under the weight of reality. Threatening Fallon’s one chance to save her foster mother’s land…and any chance she and Max have to find love.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Reluctant Nude:

“When do you think we’ll start the marble?” Fallon was curious to watch the process. She’d come to know the menagerie of marred statues in Max’s garden intimately in the past two weeks. What he did was breathtaking, astounding. She could admit that now. She wanted to see him at work.

“Soon. We are close. Closer. But we’re not quite there yet.”

“You mean the touching bit?” she asked, body tensing. Since bringing it up Max hadn’t pressured her about it, but she’d been living in fear of the inevitable day when it couldn’t be put off any longer.

He nodded. “I know you’re not thrilled, but I hope you trust it is necessary now.”

“Yeah. I do.” She shivered nonetheless. She wasn’t a great fan of being touched, handshakes and the platonic hugging of friends aside. It was probably why her relationships never made it past the three- or four-month mark. She dreaded to think how uncomfortable Max’s touch would be—his eyes alone often felt like a brand on her skin.

“Perhaps this afternoon we will try?” He cocked a cautious eyebrow across the table at her. “It must be soon if you wish to stay on schedule.”

“Yeah, I do.” Fallon frowned. It had become startlingly easy sometimes to forget why she was here, whose statue she would ultimately be posing for. “But don’t expect me to be comfortable or anything. You may have to sculpt me wincing.”

“I am sure I won’t. It is all that energy nonsense I am sure you’re sick of hearing about.” He held his hands up and wiggled his fingers like a close-up magician. “Nothing personal. In your job, when you’re working outside, what is it you do?”

“A lot of plant and animal collection…checking on populations of weeds and algae and mollusks and things, looking to see what’s declining and what’s thriving in a given area.”

“And what if you had to do that with your eyes closed?”

She nodded. “I get it. It’d be really difficult.”

“And
I
understand you do not want to be treated like a specimen. But you see what I’m saying?”

“Yeah.”

He smiled deeply in his wicked way. “So you better keep drinking.” He refreshed her glass and gathered their dirty dishes.

As Max puttered, Fallon sipped her wine and tried to imagine what it would be like, having Max’s hands on her. She shuddered, though not entirely from trepidation.

For over a week now she’d been having dreams about him, the sorts of dreams she’d never been disposed to before. Dreams that had her waking up in cold sweats in the early hours of the morning. Stark visions of this man’s predatory body and dark eyes, rough hands, rough voice. Dreams about commanding him and being commanded.

Across the room she could see the long ridges of muscle flanking each side of his spine, his shoulder blades, his shirt pulled taut against these shapes as he washed dishes. In her dreams those muscles twitched and tightened with other kinds of labor. Fallon hadn’t felt the protracted touch of his skin since they’d shaken hands her first day at the studio, but neither had she forgotten it. Calloused fingers and palms on her bare body. She swallowed.

Max dried his hands on a dishtowel. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she said, heart pounding. “Can we do this in baby steps? Can I keep my clothes on?”

He nodded.

“Good.” She shrugged her sweater off and stood in jeans and a tee in her usual space near the center of the studio. She trembled harder with each step he took toward her. By the time Max was directly in front of her, Fallon was shaking.

“You look terrified,” he said, hands tucked safely in his pockets.

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you might cry.” As he said it, Fallon felt the pressure mounting in her tear ducts.

“I won’t cry.”

“You can if you want, you know.”

“Well, I don’t,” she snapped, more surly toward him than she’d been all week. “Just get started, already.”

Max slid his hands from his pockets and held them out, inviting her to do the same. Her fingers shook visibly. She held her breath as he sandwiched them gently between his palms, and the heat and roughness of his skin made her flinch.

“This is very hard for you,” he said softly, eyes on their hands as his thumbs rubbed her wrists.

“Yes, it is.” She could admit that. What she couldn’t admit was that it wouldn’t be
nearly
this hard with anyone else on the planet. “Only because it’s been built up so much.”

It felt as though Max had been warming his hands by a fire, his skin was so hot. “I hope it is not triggering any bad memories.”

“No.” It was triggering something much different. A breed of sensation Fallon had spent her entire adult life avoiding.

“You’re very cold.”

“I have low blood pressure,” Fallon offered. “Unless you meant that figuratively.”

“No, just your hands,” he said carefully, focused on their point of contact. His fingertips traced small circles over her knuckles. He slid them up to her forearms, raising all the tiny hairs, raising the fear bubbling in her core. She began to shake hard.

“Oh.” Max’s eyes widened and he yanked his hands away, holding them at a safe distance. “You’re not ready for this,” he said, alarmed. It wasn’t an expression she’d ever seen him wear before.

“No, I can do it. I have to. I’ll do whatever we have to do to get this statue made. Keep going.”

“That’s enough for today.”

“No. It’s
fine
.” Fallon’s anxiety spiraled. “If this ridiculous project fails, it’s not going to be because of me.”

“I understand. But understand too, that this is useless to me right now. I don’t need to feel your
body
. I need to feel
you,
all that energy. I cannot do this if you are a mess. You’re not ready yet.”

Anxiety spiked to anger. “I’m doing my best.”

“Well I’m not carving you when you’re like this. I may as well sculpt you out of sand, you feel so unstable.”

Fallon pressed her palms to her neck. “God, this is so stupid.”

“What is stupid?”

“This. All your energy nonsense. The way you make everything so freaking intense and complicated and
weird
.”

“I can’t help that.” His calmness looked as if it was taking a concerted effort.

Fallon groaned.

“Why are you angry?” he demanded. “I’m trying to make you as comfortable as I can, yes?”

“Well, you’re failing.” Fallon narrowed her eyes. “You make me very, very
un
comfortable. You’re going to have to work around it, because it’s not going to change.”

Max stepped away, scraping a chair across the floor and sitting, burying his head in his hands, defeated. He rubbed his eyes and stared up again. “I thought we were making so much progress.”

“We still would be if you’d just keep going. I’m going to be uncomfortable, doing this. Deal with it.
I
am.”

“You have no clue what this is about, do you?”

“I’m proud to say that everything about you is incomprehensible to me,” Fallon cut back. “Especially all this touching BS. But I’m going along with it. Try and extend me the same courtesy, okay?”

Max stood, face steely, patience abandoned. He leaned his back against the rail of the spiral staircase and held Fallon’s eyes.

“What?” she said.

“Touch me, then.”

“You?”

He nodded, neutral.

“That’s supposed to help?” Her gaze zigzagged over him.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But try it, Little Miss Scientist. Suspend your empirical disbelief for me.”

“If that’s what it takes to keep this project moving forward, fine.” She nodded and took a couple of steps closer, studying his face, his arms, the black hair at the collar of his shirt.

“Fine,” Max agreed, that wicked gleam coming to his eyes. “Fair is fair.”

He peeled his shirt up from the waist, revealing that body so maddeningly adept at making Fallon’s heart skip a beat. Tossing it aside, he reached down and unbuckled his thick belt. Fallon felt her eyes widen, embarrassed but transfixed as he lowered the zipper and eased his jeans down over slim, toned hips. The garment dropped to the floor and Max stepped out, toying with the waistband of his gray boxer briefs, eyes glued to Fallon’s, demanding her answer to an unspoken question.

A future with the woman of his dreams is within his grasp…if the past will stay that way.

Long Time Gone

© 2010 Meg Benjamin

Konigsburg, Texas, Book 4

Erik Toleffson wasn’t looking to become Chief of Police. He’s got enough trouble trying to rebuild his relationship with his three brothers who, until just recently, ran the other way when he approached. He’s not the bully they grew up with, but bad memories are tough to overcome.

Morgan Barrett is as worn out as a vat full of crushed grape skins. She never planned to run Cedar Creek Winery, but there’s no one else to shoulder the load as her father recovers from an injury. All she needs is a little sleep. Just a five-minute nap in the booth at the Dew Drop Inn…if that guy across the bar would stop staring at her as if putting her head down on the table is a crime.

After Morgan yawns in Erik’s face, there’s nowhere to go but up. With time, though, their relationship warms like a perfectly blended Bordeaux. Until the shady mayor digs into Erik’s past and dredges up information that could drive a permanent wedge between him and his brothers—and sour any chance of a future with Morgan.

Warning: Contains hot sex with mango sherbet, crooked politicians, yuppy bikers, Bored Ducks, and a Maine Coon Cat with attitude.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Long Time Gone:

Technically, he was still on duty, assuming that the call forward worked on his cell, of course. A new way to get around not having enough people for night duty since it was Peavey’s day off. “I just wanted to check on you. To tell you the truth, I didn’t expect you to be awake.”

He’d hoped she would be, though.
Bingo
.

Morgan walked behind the bar and opened the refrigerator. “Water? Soda? Fruit salad? I’ve got a little of everything.”

“Soda. Thanks.”

He watched her reach into the refrigerator. She had on jeans and a white tank top that showed a lot of her chest and did interesting things to his solar plexus. When she turned to set the can down in front of him, he saw the clear outline of her nipples against the white ribbing.

No bra. His lungs contracted.
Down boy!

“Actually, I slept most of the afternoon.” She pushed a hand through her hair, sending short curls tumbling around her ears.

The shadowy disks of her nipples peaked against the thin cotton. He wondered if the feeling in his chest was heart palpitations.

“So now I’m wide awake.” She grinned in his general direction.

He tried to remember what she was talking about.
Oh yeah, sleeping.

He pulled up a bar stool on the other side of the counter. Better than standing there with his pulse thundering in his ears. “Nice place. How long has it been open?”

“The winery? Dad started off in a Quonset hut around 1994. He and Ciro finished this building a few years ago.” She looked up at the vaulted ceiling over her head, smiling. “I’ve always liked it.”

“How long have you lived here?”

Her smile faded slightly. “I moved in after my dad got hurt. Before that I just came down on weekends. But I needed to be on-site so I could help Ciro.”

“Does your mom come down to help you out sometimes?”

Her smile disappeared entirely. “My mom doesn’t like wine.”

“Must have made for interesting dinner conversation.” He picked up his soda.

“Oh, it did that.” Her lips stayed flat. “Like I told you, my folks are separated. Not legally, but practically.”

“Where do they live?”

“Austin. My mom’s there full-time. My dad was there in a rehab facility, getting his leg back in shape. My mom let him move back in when they released him, so maybe some good came out of the whole wretched mess. Maybe they’ll work out their differences. What about your folks?”

Erik frowned, not sure what she was asking. “They’re still in Iowa.”

“Are they thinking of moving down since all of you are here?”

“They threaten to every once in a while. We might be able to lure them down for the winter, but my mom’s not big on heat.”

A moment of silence stretched between them. He tried to think of something to fill it. “Remembered anything else about what happened on the hill?”

She gave him a dry smile. “No. In fact, I’m looking forward to forgetting the whole thing.”

Not as great a smile as before, but he’d take what he could get. He mentally told his nether regions to cool it. “I’ll try to get back up there tomorrow to see if I can find the tracks you talked about.”