Alyssa Morgan - Dark Surrender

The double doors of his library swung open and James led Ms. Whitmore into the room. She had on another of those tight skirts that emphasized the curve of her hips and her long legs. Her black sweater had short, ruffled sleeves and her shiny, black high heels were feminine and sexy. She had her blonde hair pulled back from her face and her librarian glasses sat on the slender bridge of her nose.

“Ms. Whitmore,” James formally announced their guest.

Kyriel walked over to greet her. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

“I’m not sure it was the best decision,” she said as her eyes scanned the room. “But I feel I can trust you, and I don’t know why.”

Nothing like a little persuasion to make a person believe whatever he wanted them to believe. The power he had over human minds was subtle, yet effective, and most of the time it saved him from having to use force.

“I want to help you, Ms. Whitmore, it’s as simple as that.”

Her emerald green eyes scrutinized him from behind her glasses. She wasn’t fully convinced, and when he tried to break into her mind, he found it blocked. All he could pick up on were her emotions. To not have the full use of his power was frustrating. It took away his edge.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” James asked from the doorway, taking his cue to leave.

“No, thank you,” Kyriel dismissed the old man.

He backed out of the room and pulled the doors closed, leaving the two of them alone.

“I wouldn’t imagine someone like you to have a butler,” she said.

“What would you imagine?” he wondered, curious to see what she thought.

“You seem like more of a loner.” She grasped her hands behind her back and fidgeted nervously. “Not someone who leaves the management of life’s details to another.”

She was right, but what she didn’t know was that Kyriel lived two lives. Being a fallen angel was his secret, but he found managing the everyday aspects of his human identity tedious, and that’s why he employed James.

“An estate of this size requires a lot of work,” he said. “And I need someone to take care of things when I’m traveling.”

“You must have been around the world at least a hundred times to have put together such a vast collection.”

He admired the mild irony behind her observations. She would never guess how close she was to the truth.

“I’ve been a few places,” he remarked, seeing his travels reflected in the pieces of his collection. “Home is where I’m most comfortable.”

“I can see why.” Her roaming gaze finally landed on something of interest. “Is this Michelangelo’s work?”

She rushed over to one of the bookshelves, to the red chalk sketches done by none other than Michelangelo. Kyriel watched her as she inspected the drawings, his gaze roaming over her round backside and down the length of her smooth, shapely legs. He remembered their kiss. The way she’d parted her lips, letting him taste the sweetness of her mouth. To see her eyes light up with interest over his collection excited him, and he wanted to do more than kiss her today.

“Those were done during Michelangelo’s planning phase for the Sistine Chapel,” he provided some of the background.

“These drawings are extremely rare. They’re signed,” she noticed. “Did you get them at an auction?”

“No, they were a gift.”

“They were passed down to you?”

“You could say that.”

She wouldn’t believe Michelangelo had signed the sketches and given them to him more than four centuries ago.

Something to remember me by, Amico, and should I become a famous artist, perhaps you could even sell them for a flask of wine and drink to my name.

Kyriel wouldn’t dream of selling them.

“These are amazing.” She peered at the drawings through her glasses, and her hands hovered inches from touching the parchment. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

Kyriel had an entire house filled with things she had never seen. He could spend days showing her his treasures. A sudden image of the two of them sprawled out naked on top of his desk leapt into his mind, exciting him even more, and he had to struggle to get control of his lusty thoughts. This was meant to be a strictly professional visit. He’d brought her here because she had something he wanted.

“How about a trade, Ms. Whitmore?”

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