Tossing her head defiantly, Shay determined to rout him out of his insouciance. "What my mother is tiptoeing around so timidly is that I'm a model. A highly specialized model." She paused dramatically. "I pose nude."
She turned toward the handsome man who was glowering at her with stern disapproval and countered his expression with one of smug triumph, knowing that the revelation would rattle him to the foundation of his bigoted soul.
But he met her dark eyes without flinching. His lips barely moved as he said softly, "And I'm a minister."
Chapter Two
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For several stunned seconds Shay stared at Ian. Tearing her eyes from his at last, she looked to her mother for verification. "I … I thought I mentioned that it was Ian who married us," Celia said in a soft whisper.
Acute embarrassment made Shay's cheeks burn with hot color. A dull roaring filled her eardrums, yet her mother's voice had the magnified, distorted pitch of someone speaking in a dream. "No," Shay croaked. "No, you didn't mention that Ian was a minister."
What had she said to this man? What had she done? Damn! He didn't look like any clergyman she'd ever seen. He didn't wear a Roman collar or robes or any of the solemn trappings she associated with the ministry. It wasn't fair that he sneaked around like a normal person, incognito, waiting to catch someone red-handed in a transgression.
Her embarrassment began to change to simmering anger for his not telling her about himself. He'd made a fool of her, and that stung her pride. But lashing out at him would only distress her mother. Instead Shay put on her most ingratiating smile, faced him, and said sweetly, "I hope my part-time occupation doesn't shock you, Reverend Douglas."
He took a sip of coffee nonchalantly. "Nothing you do would shock me."
She heard the undercurrent of scorn in his voice and pressed her lips into a thin line. Before she could offer a comeback, her mother intervened.
"I don't want either of you to get the wrong idea about what Shay does. She doesn't pose for men's magazines or anything like that." Celia laughed nervously.
"I don't need you to defend me to him," Shay said, aiming her ire exclusively at Ian.
"I'm not, Shay darling," her mother replied diplomatically. "I'm only trying to explain your work." Turning to face her husband, she added, "Shay's used by the most renowned artists, photographers, painters, and sculptors. She's the subject of works of art. Nothing she's posed for could ever be considered lewd."
Shay despised the pleading sound in her mother's voice. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she said in agitation, and pushed her chair away from the table with a scraping sound. "I'll do the dishes while the three of you hold a prayer meeting over my lost soul." Without another word, she flounced into the kitchen.
Minutes later, her arms were deep in hot, soapy water, a kitchen towel tucked into the waistband of her skirt in lieu of an apron. She didn't turn around when the door swung open behind her. Resolutely she continued with her task of scrubbing the cooking pots. She didn't want to talk to her mother just now. But her back stiffened with surprise when she heard an unmistakable low voice behind her.
"Do you want me to relieve you?"
"No," she answered curtly, striving to ignore the sudden pounding of her heart. "Why didn't your father install a dishwasher when he was building this place?" she asked crossly to cover her sudden nervousness. There was no sense in denying it to herself. As good as her I-don't-give-a-damn act was, she was mortified by what she'd said and done in front of Ian Douglas.
He laughed as he set down the stack of dirty dishes he had carried in from the dining room. "I think he didn't install a dishwasher because he and my mother had such fun doing the dishes together. They'd come in here after the evening meal and spend hours cleaning the kitchen. They'd talk and plan. I envied their closeness during those times."
Mollified by his refusal to take offense, Shay asked curiously, "Were you an only child?"
"Yes."
"Me, too. I think most only children feel left out when their parents share a private moment. Excluded, like they're intruders and not really part of a family."
"Are you speaking from experience?"
She looked up at him from the sink, ready with a defiant answer, but his expression was soft with understanding. "Yes, I guess so," she admitted, then turned back to the sink while he made another trip to the dining room. When he returned, she asked the question uppermost in her mind without intending to ask it. All of a sudden it was there on her lips. "Why didn't you tell me you were a minister before I made a complete fool of myself?"
&nb
sp; Again he laughed. "Circumstances weren't exactly conducive," he said, sweeping an old-fashioned straw broom around the vinyl floor. "When do you suggest I should have made such a pronouncement? While I was standing in the buff with my mouth hanging open? Or maybe you think I should wear a sign around my neck to warn people of my vocation."
He was making fun of her, and her every muscle strained in rebellion. "You could have said something about your work when we were talking this afternoon."
"What? And robbed you of the opportunity of trying to turn me on?"
Splashing hot water and suds against her stomach, she dropped a plate back into the sink and rounded on him. "I wasn't trying to turn you on!"
"Oh. So you run around without wearing any underwear just for the fun of it?"