She wore wide-legged, black silk slacks, black heels, and a royal blue sweater that caressed more than covered her full breasts. Her blond hair was loose and artfully mussed, as if she’d just gotten out of bed.

When she turned toward Rooke, her eyes slowly traversed every inch of Rooke’s body. Her mouth lifted into a pleased smile.

“Please tell me I didn’t drag you away from your work,” Melinda said, her voice intimately low.

Rooke resisted the urge to push her fists into her pockets, as if hiding her hands could somehow safeguard what she created with them.

Instead, she crossed to the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot her grandfather had already made. The clock over the stove showed it was almost nine. She’d missed breakfast. After taking a sip, she turned back and met Melinda’s mildly amused gaze.

“You aren’t interrupting. I was just finishing up.”

“Good, because I would hate to disturb an artist while in the midst of creative passion.”

Rooke averted her gaze, but she knew it was already too late to hide what Melinda must have seen in her eyes. Her work was her passion, the most intense experience of her life, touching her in ways no human being ever had. Liberating the figures from the stone both aroused and satisfied her, physically and emotionally. She’d managed to live without the same kind of intimacy with anyone, without seeking a connection even when her need was so sharp she bled from it, because she was waiting. Waiting for the moment when she would experience with a woman the perfect union, the total harmony, she shared with stone.

“Is it always enough?” Melinda asked softly.

“I don’t know.” Rooke glanced at her grandfather, who was leaning back in his aluminum-legged kitchen chair, observing them with casual

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curiosity. “I guess Melinda explained about her gallery in New York City.”

“A little.”

“I told Mr. Tyler that you are an exceptional artist, but obviously, he doesn’t need my opinion to know that.” Melinda opened a briefcase and extracted a folder that she laid in the center of the kitchen table.

“I brought a contract for you to review. I’ve already purchased the sculpture that was part of the estate auction. Mr. Barnes delivered it last night. It’s even more beautiful than I expected. As it happens, I had a solo showing scheduled later this month and the artist is unfortunately unable to appear due to a sudden illness. I want your work to fill that slot.”

“You haven’t even seen the rest of my sculptures.” Rooke was having trouble grasping Melinda’s offer. She’d never really thought about what she was eventually going to do with her sculptures. It had been enough to create them. While she was absorbed with the work, her mind was clear and her body at peace. When she was finished, she could gaze upon the embodiment of her dreams and desires. That had been enough.

“I was hoping we could rectify that this morning. Why don’t you show me?” Melinda stood, placing her hand on Rooke’s arm. “I’ll leave the paperwork for you to review later. You’ll want your attorney to look at it, of course.”

Rooke shot a glance at her grandfather, who lifted his shoulder, telegraphing that it was her call. She could say no and he would never bring it up again. Melinda regarded her expectantly and when she looked into her eyes, she caught fleeting glimpses of tall buildings, bright lights, and intimate, shadowed recesses with women pressed close around her. For just an instant she saw herself in the center of a crimson-draped bed, naked, a woman beneath her whose face, like the woman in the stone, was hidden from her. Startled, Rooke blinked and then there was only the swirling green-gold of Melinda’s eyes.

“How many?” Rooke’s throat was dry and her voice came out husky. “How many would you want?”

Melinda’s expression became avid, intense. She curled her fingers around Rooke’s arm and leaned into her. “Why, all of them.”

“I can’t.” Rooke braced herself, feeling as if she were suddenly under attack. She had the almost overwhelming urge to lash out, to

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defend herself against some danger she couldn’t fully perceive. A wave of sorrow and loss threatened to choke her. “I…not all at once.”

“All right,” Melinda said quickly, stroking Rooke’s arm. “Six, then. Take me to them. You can choose.” She glanced over her shoulder at Rooke’s grandfather. “You won’t mind, will you?”

“It’s up to Rooke.” Pops regarded Rooke steadily. “I’ll be happy if you stay right here, the way things are, for as long as you want. But I always thought…” He paused and cleared his throat. “I always thought there was more out there for you.”

“I’m not leaving,” Rooke said to Melinda. “This is where I live.

Where I work. I need to be here.”

“Of course. We can talk about all that later.” Melinda slipped into her long leather coat and took Rooke’s hand. “Come on, now. No more teasing.”

Rooke led Melinda along the icy path to the garage, still uncertain as to what she should do. Melinda had a way of making her want things she’d never thought she wanted. The idea of bringing her sculptures out of hiding so that others could see them, own them, was both frightening and exciting. All her life she’d been dismissed. Laughed at. Pitied.

What would it be like to be respected, to have what she did, who she was, mean something?

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” Melinda said, as if divining Rooke’s indecision. “I know who you are, what you are. When people see your work, they’ll know it too. They’ll want more. They’ll want you.”

“That’s not why I sculpt. I’m not interested in being wanted that way.”

Melinda laughed. “All right, then. I promise to keep you safe from the clamoring crowds. I’d rather prefer to keep you all to myself anyhow.”

“In here.” Rooke slipped her arm from Melinda’s grasp and opened the side door, reaching inside to flip on the light. When Melinda followed her inside, she said, “Wait here. I’ll get them.”

“No.” Melinda stopped her by tugging on her arm.

Rooke turned and was taken aback to find Melinda very close to her. So close that Melinda’s breasts brushed her chest. “What?”

“I want to see,” Melinda murmured, resting her palm flat against Rooke’s chest, just above her heart. “I want to see them. I want to see

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where you work. I want to see you touch them.” As she spoke, she leaned closer until her pelvis almost rested against Rooke’s.

Melinda’s hand was hot, hot enough to kindle the fire simmering in Rooke’s belly. Sweat trickled down her throat and onto her chest, her barriers melting, her defenses crumbling. A pulse beat madly in her throat and Melinda brought her fingers up to trace it.

“You have so much power, so much life.” She brought her mouth close to Rooke’s. “I saw it in the sculpture. I felt it last night when I held it. I felt you. ”

Rooke saw Melinda’s lips part, felt a rush of heat flash from beneath Melinda’s fingers and settle deep inside her. She instantly tightened, stiffened, engorged. In another second, she would taste Melinda’s desire and Melinda would know hers. Rooke backed up until Melinda’s hand fell away. Her stomach was tight and she recognized it for what it was. She’d walked away from arousal before. Many times.

But never had it been this difficult.

Melinda’s breasts rose and fell rapidly as her breath came in short, hard gasps. “Nothing makes business more satisfying than when it’s mixed with pleasure.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Not yet.” Melinda folded her arms beneath her breasts. “There’ll be time for that later. Let me see what you’ve been hiding.”

Rooke paused a moment longer, knowing without quite understanding how, that she was about to take a step that would change her life forever. Melinda waited, her gaze burning hot on Rooke’s face.

Rooke unlocked the door to her sanctuary, but she did not bid Melinda to enter. She would not give her everything.

She chose a series of four female nudes, each almost three feet square and weighing close to seventy-five pounds. One figure reclined on her back, the other on her side, one sat with a leg drawn up, and the last knelt, neck arched. With each there was a sense of another woman close by, perhaps having just touched her. A kiss, an intimate caress, lingered in their smiles, in the thrust of their breasts, in the languid pose of their limbs. These were women who had loved and been loved well.

Melinda’s expression went from excitement to supreme satisfaction as Rooke carried them out and placed them one by one on the rough wood surface of her workbench. Melinda extended her hand.

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“May I touch them?” Melinda’s eyes seemed almost feverish.

Rooke said gruffly, “Go ahead.”

Melinda skimmed her fingertips along the curve of a breast, down the long plane of an abdomen, over a gently rounded thigh. Her breath escaped in a long, sensuous sigh. “Oh yes. These are exquisite. So powerful. You have such power.”

“I’ve only uncovered what was already there.”

“You know there’s more,” Melinda whispered. “The pleasure, the passion, you carved from this stone is just waiting to be called in the flesh. Waiting for you.”

“I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet.” Rooke fought down the excitement that shot through her while watching Melinda caress the figures only she had ever touched.

“I know. I’m leaving this afternoon. I’ll wait.” Melinda lifted her hand, warm from the stone, and stroked the edge of Rooke’s jaw. “I’ve waited a long time already.”

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ChapTER EighTEEn