Picture Me Sexy

Delaney's soft green gaze searched his face. “Are you by any chance psychic?” she asked. “Because if you're feeling what I'm feeling, then I want you to read my mind.”

Liquid heat slid through his veins. He didn't need to possess any telepathic talent to know exactly what she was thinking. Yet he hesitated. Something inside him knew that once he took this step—once he was with her—he would never be the same. He would be irrevocably changed…and it scared the hell out of him.

“Why?” he asked, stalling for time.

Delaney stared hungrily at his mouth. “So that you'll do what I want you to without having to be told.” She closed her eyes tightly. “Because telling you is too hard, makes me responsible and—And tonight I don't want to be responsible.” She opened her eyes and her beseeching gaze met his. “Tonight I just…want.”

Sam's thin thread of resolve snapped. “Reading your mind might be beyond my talents,” he said, reaching up and running the pad of his thumb over her mouth. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “So why don't I start by reading your lips?”

Dear Reader,

This story was born when I read an article about a woman who thoroughly enjoyed sex, was very uninhibited…so long as the lights were off and her partner never saw her naked. Being a tad modest myself (ahem, vast understatement), this really struck a chord and I started wondering
What if
…?

What if the heroine was an unbelievably modest lingerie designer who'd been jilted twice? (Bless her heart.) What if she planned to overcome that modesty by giving her fiancé boudoir photos? (Hmm. Gutsy.) And what if the cheating worm dumped her, taking another woman on the honeymoon and leaving our poor heroine with an appointment for boudoir photos she no longer needed? (What an idiot! Good riddance!) So then, what if she decided that men were scum, and she wanted those photos anyway? (Humph. More power to her.) And what if the photographer epitomized sin in the flesh…and then she found herself trapped overnight with him in his loft? (Ooo-la-la!) And what if the photographer was the faithful hero she'd been looking for and he was willing to do whatever it took to make her see he was the one for her? (Yes, yes…
yes
!)

Picture Me Sexy
is the result of all that chaotic wondering. (Ah, the workings of an author's mind. It's almost scary, isn't it?) I had a ball writing Sam and Delaney's story. I hope you enjoy reading it as much.

Enjoy,

Rhonda Nelson

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

M
EMPHIS LINGERIE QUEEN
Delaney Walker jilted—again!

Delaney muttered a soft oath as she stared grimly at the newspaper. Given the state of the economy, the scandal with the Catholic Church, and the recent war, one would think that the
River City Herald
could feature something besides her pitiful social life on their front page. It was ridiculous really. Journalism and the state of society was at an all time low if her busted love life was considered news. Hell, it wasn't news, Delaney amended—it was entertainment. She grimaced.

She
was entertainment.

The moment she'd gone from being a struggling designer to an overnight success, Delaney had become Memphis's bad-girl icon. Never mind that the moniker didn't fit, that the reputation was a complete figment of society's imagination. She designed hot, racy lingerie, ergo she must be hot and racy. Her lips curled wryly.

Ha. Nothing could be further from the truth.

That mentality coupled with her penchant for dating the occasional baseball star and for her alarming
tendency to get engaged and—just as quickly
un-
engaged—didn't help matters in the least. Memphis journalists followed her every move with avid interest, got paid to print her humiliations as if her life were merely the next chapter of a running joke. Most of the time, Delaney didn't care. Any publicity was good publicity as far as she was concerned. She'd always fumed about it in private, then laughed all the way to the bank.

But for reasons she didn't understand, it was harder to summon the laughter this time, and even harder to laugh her way to the bank.

Delaney suspected that glum realization stemmed from the fact that Roger worked at the bank.

Her spineless ex hadn't even had the common courtesy of calling off their engagement in person—he'd taken the hi-tech approach and e-mailed her. That had been a first. She'd been dumped over dinner and over the phone, but this was the first time she'd been given the old heave-ho via the information superhighway.

But it would be the last. She was absolutely, unequivocally finished with men.

Delaney read through the article, winced at the accompanying picture. Hogsville. She looked huge. She was no dainty miss by any stretch of the imagination—she'd been an overweight child and still suffered the effects of that mentality—but in all fairness, the photo wasn't an accurate depiction of her true self. Her lips curled. If that were the case, then
Roger would have scales and a long forked tongue, which more accurately matched his character.

“Delaney…I have bad news.”

Delaney looked up from her desk and met the worried gaze of her personal assistant. She blew out a breath and slouched back into her leather executive chair. “I've already seen the paper, Beth. You can lose the gloom-and-doom expression. Honestly, I'm surprised that they hadn't gotten wind of it before now.” She and Roger had been officially un-engaged for almost a week now. Clearly someone at the
Herald
was losing their touch. The last time she'd been jilted, it only taken a couple of days for the story to break.

Beth shook her head, winced. “It's not that.”

Delaney hummed under her breath. Interesting. “Am I going to need a Kiss or the Big Block?” she asked, using her own personal uh-oh scale. Amazing how many things could be gauged by chocolate. Some problems could be handled with a mere satisfying Kiss of chocolate. Others—like being dumped for the second time—required a larger dose. That's where the Big Block came in. She'd consumed quite a bit of chocolate over the past week—the only food weakness she'd allowed herself to keep once she'd finally carved the pounds off she'd hauled around as a child—but she'd vowed to get her addiction under control. Amazing what a new attitude could do.

Beth bit her bottom lip. “Definitely a Big Block.”

Uh-oh, Delaney thought. That didn't bode well for
her peace of mind or her hips. Thank God for anti-depressants and Lycra, she thought with a droll smile.

With a silent sigh, Delaney tossed her pencil aside and donned a friendly expression despite the familiar sensation of dread swelling in her belly. She'd detected a flash of pity in Beth's tense gaze and instinctively knew that this particular morsel of bad news wasn't business related—it was personal.

The worst kind.

Nevertheless, Roger had already called off their engagement. Whatever Beth had to tell her couldn't possibly be any more humiliating than that.

Delaney pulled in a bolstering breath, plucked a block of chocolate from her drawer and sat it on her desk. Still, it couldn't hurt to be prepared. “Well?”

“You know that trip to the Greek Isles you wanted me to cancel?”

Delaney snorted and rolled her eyes at her assistant's attempt at tact. “You mean my honeymoon?”

“Er…that would be the one, yes.”

The one that she'd spent months planning, that she'd insisted on paying for herself because her dream honeymoon had been so exorbitantly expensive she'd felt guilty asking Roger's proud but poor parents to foot the bill. Roger, the tightfisted bastard, had never offered to share the cost with her.
Thrifty,
she'd rationalized.
A good money manager.
He'd routinely stuck her with bills that he should have paid all under the guise of not “infringing upon her in
dependent nature.” What a jerk. Delaney mentally tsked and shook her head. How plainly she could see that now.

“What about it?” Delaney finally asked.

Beth shifted miserably. “I, uh, can't cancel it.”

Delaney blinked, taken aback. “What? Why? I know that it's last minute, but I still should be able to get a partial refund.” Roger's cousin owned a local travel agency and had pulled the honeymoon together for them. Considering she'd been the injured party in the breakup, she never expected any problem in canceling the trip and recouping part of her funds. In order to avoid further humiliation, she'd given Beth the job of calling. She should have known she wouldn't be so lucky. “Get them on the phone,” she sighed. “I'll take care of it.”

“Believe me,” Beth sighed wearily. “If it was that simple I wouldn't be in here.”

“But it is simple,” Delaney insisted as an insistent quiver of annoying alarm vibrated in her belly. “I've paid for a honeymoon package that I no longer need—being as I'm no longer going on a honeymoon,” she added pointedly.

Beth chewed her bottom lip. “You might not be going on a honeymoon…but Roger is.”

The room dimmed and brightened all in the same instant. The bravado inspired by her new I-hate-men-because-they're-faithless-disloyal-oversexed-unprincipled-bastards attitude momentarily wavered. “I'm sorry?”

With a sympathetic sigh of regret, Beth made her way across the plush rose carpet and lowered herself into one of the red satin wingback chairs that fronted Delaney's huge antique desk. She swallowed nervously. “Roger and his, uh, new bride are presently on their way to Greece.”

So she'd been wrong, Delaney thought numbly. Being dumped for the second time just short of the altar
wasn't
the most humiliating thing that could happen to her—being dumped, summarily replaced, and having your dream honeymoon
stolen
from you was much worse.

Curiously, the idea of Roger having married another woman didn't bother her nearly as much as the stolen honeymoon. A significant revelation lurked in that thought, but Delaney was too upset at present to ponder it. Honestly, would this nightmare ever end? The papers would undoubtedly have a field day with this latest twist in the Delaney Walker saga. Being a local celebrity of sorts was great for sales, but hell on her personal life.

“Well.” Delaney forced a bright smile and envisioned herself serenely denuding Roger's prized antique roses. Revenge therapy played a significant role in her new attitude. “Just exactly when did the happy couple depart?”

“This morning,” Beth said gravely. “Roger called and asked the travel agent to bump everything up and issue new tickets for his new…for Wendy. Sorry. Yours were nonrefundable.”

Wendy the accounting wonder, Delaney realized with a spurt of undue surprise. Obviously during all of those late-night meetings, Roger had been checking out more than the bottom line of his personal finances—he'd been checking out Wendy's as well. Delaney ignored the prick of mortification this newest disgrace brought and blew out a disgusted breath. Well, wasn't that just par for the course? Clearly the temptation of a cost-effective honeymoon—after all, it was hard to beat
free,
Delaney thought darkly—was too much for them to pass up.

The familiar burn of anger and humiliation roiled through her stomach, flashed up her neck and scalded her cheeks. She instinctively tore into the Big Block, broke off a piece of chocolate and popped it into her mouth. Good grief, she'd thought she'd worked past this. After this last fiasco, she'd taken a good hard look at herself and had decided an attitude adjustment was in order.

With the previous jilting, Delaney had taken the brokenhearted, but proud and dignified approach. She'd laughed when she wanted to cry, she'd been calm when she wanted to scream and she'd never—
never
—acted anything less than respectable. She'd always tried to be the bigger person, and what had it gotten her?

Dumped again.

She'd been left with another mess to clean up. Had Roger considered canceling the caterers? No. Helped with returning gifts? Uh-uh. Delaney once again
mourned the loss of her china, the beautiful Wedgwood
Floral Tapestry
she'd planned to display in the gorgeous antique china cabinet her grandmother had left her. No, Delaney thought as irritation knotted her insides, Roger hadn't planned to see to anything. And really, in all fairness, why would he? She'd always been the perfect little fiancée. Too well-mannered and polite to do otherwise. He'd fully expected her to do it.

Because she'd always been a sweet Memphis belle, Delaney thought with no small amount of self-disgust.

Because she was a respected businesswoman with ties to the community.

Because, while she might design some of the most sensual, most erotic lingerie in the business, he'd known that she'd
never
had the gumption to wear it, much less do any of the wicked, depraved things in the bedroom her creations implied or inspired. Roger, the two-timing, self-serving spineless weasel had known her secret, had known that she was so miserably modest that she'd only do it
at night, in the dark,
and
under the sheets.

Her phobic modesty had been a bone of contention between her and Roger, particularly in the bedroom. But Delaney simply couldn't help the way she felt. No matter how much weight she lost, no matter what size she finally shrunk herself into, when she looked in the mirror, she still saw the fat, ridiculed child
she'd been. No matter how unreasonable it seemed, how bizarre, she couldn't seem to work past it.

Still, as a way of proving that she could learn to be adventurous, could learn to be the sexy siren he so desperately wanted, Delaney had decided to give Roger boudoir photos as a wedding gift. The shoot was scheduled for this afternoon. At first, she'd planned to cancel it, but upon further consideration, had decided that the first step in becoming a new woman meant getting past old issues. What better place to start than with her modesty?

While she could have had any one of her photographers here at
Laney's Chifferobe
—her catalogue lingerie business—do the spread, Delaney had booked an outside business to handle her photos. There were some things that were simply too personal to share with people she saw on a day-to-day basis and required anonymity. Despite present circumstances, her lips curled into a droll grin.

Boudoir photos of the boss certainly qualified.

The photographers employed by
Laney's Chifferobe
were accustomed to peering through their lenses and pulling lollipop perfection—stick-thin bodies with big heads—into focus. Delaney's size ten pear-shaped body didn't fit the bill. Not just no, but hell no. She'd clean up roadkill before she'd offer her less than perfect form up to that kind of critical scrutiny. She'd had enough of it as a child to make up for a lifetime.

Delaney knew that Roger planned to come back
from his honeymoon and find the mess of their broken engagement cleaned up, expected to waltz back into River City Bank and continue to manage her company's account, and he fully expected her to be the bigger person—translate
doormat
—she'd always been.

Well, he expected wrong, and would be in for a rude awakening when he and darling Wendy returned.

Once the initial hurt and humiliation had worn off, Delaney had taken a long critical look at herself and decided a change was in order. She'd spent too much of her time trying to be perfect, had wasted too much of her time on men. She was a two-time loser in the game of love. Clearly, her radar was faulty, otherwise she'd have been able to find a faithful one by now, one that hadn't had an ulterior motive—like soliciting her business. Her last three serious relationships had shared that same common denominator—in one capacity or another, they'd all stood to benefit from her business.

No more.

She'd tried, she'd failed. The end. She'd decided a married happily-ever-after simply wasn't in her cards. At least with a man. Women by nature were more faithful creatures. Though she knew it was doubtful—she'd always been fascinated with the opposite sex—Delaney had decided to broaden her scope. In an effort to spark some latent lesbian tendencies, she'd begun listening to Melissa Etheridge,
had started watching re-runs of
Ellen
and
Rosie.
So far no luck, but who knew? She grinned. The right woman might come along and trip her trigger.