Suddenly the hands stopped and she whirled around. She almost screamed when she realized she was staring face to face with Michael Daughton, professor...of art history. What stopped her scream was the look of desire, mixed with the look of… it couldn’t be. No, he couldn’t be feeling ashamed at what he had done, could he? She stared in bewilderment as he hung his head and dropped his hands, backing away from her. He felt like the World’s Greatest Asshole. As his dark gaze dropped from her. He was at least six inches above her own five-six. He forced her face up. “So, what's it going to be, Patricia?”Patricia gazed at him and wordlessly reached up to unbutton her blouse. She took her time, acutely aware that now three of the men were watching her with rapt attention. Only Undertaker showed no change in attitude. “I do this tonight, and?” The inflection in her voice conveyed the meaning of her question.“You're in no position to barter, Patricia.” Mr. Johnson looked at her. More

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