Alyssa Morgan - Dark Surrender

“I won’t let him win,” Jillian declared. “This is my museum, and I know it better than he does.”

“You know I’m in your corner,” Denise said. “I can’t stand Jonathon.”

Jillian watched as the two men conversed, marveling at the striking contrast between their features. Jonathon was tall, but barely reached the man’s shoulders, and his short, dark hair, dark eyes and black suit lent an air of coldness to him. The man, with his navy suit, blue eyes and golden hair, emanated a warmth of spirit.

What business could a handsome, dignified man, well under the age of sixty, possibly have with Jonathon and her museum?

“They’re looking over here.” Denise dropped the lip gloss in her purse and zipped it closed.

“I know.” Jillian’s stomach fluttered with nervous excitement. “Let’s go.”

“No way,” Denise protested. “You’re going to meet this guy. I can already picture your first date: a heated discussion about Art and History and ancient artifacts. It’ll be a real blast.”

Jillian had a sudden image of her and the man seated on an intimate sofa before a blazing fire, drinking a nice Beaujolais, lost in conversation, lost in each other. It was a nice thought, but she didn’t know if she would ever find what she was looking for.

Most men had no idea what she did for a living and they were unable to communicate with her beyond a certain level. Her knowledge and expertise in her field earned her more glazed-over looks than hot dates, and her glasses, chignons and pencil skirts only added to her nerdiness. What would it be like to have a man who understood exactly what she did? One who shared the same passion for Art and History?

A girl could dream.

Denise shot upright in her chair. “Don’t look, they’re coming over.”

Jillian froze. Panic bloomed in her gut. What did she do? What did she say? How did she make sure her craziness didn’t show?

Denise got to her feet and strapped her purse over her shoulder, then pushed in her chair.

“Where are you going?” Jillian didn’t want to make a fool of herself alone.

“I don’t think they’re coming to see me.” Denise smiled. “Come by my office later and tell me what happens.”

“Wait—”

“Hello, Jillian,” Jonathon said, reaching their table.

“Jonathon.” She gave a slight nod, hating that she had to speak to him at all and not about to acknowledge him with a title of respect if he couldn’t do the same.

“Do you have a moment?” he asked. “There’s someone who would like to meet you.”

Jillian glanced at the man standing next to Jonathon. He didn’t smile, didn’t say anything, but his blue eyes held an intensity she couldn’t describe. She felt his gaze all over her body, like the gentle caress of a lover. A shiver of excitement danced along her spine.

“How’s it going, Jonathon?” Denise gave him a bright, fake smile. “Did you get that little problem cleared up?”

Jonathon stared darkly at Denise, and Jillian swore if looks could kill, he’d be pleased.

“Just leaving, Ms. Randall?” Jonathon’s condescending tone left no doubt he expected her to do exactly that.

“The restoration lab calls.” She hugged Jillian goodbye. “See you later, hon.”

Jillian watched Denise walk away in her short skirt and her high-heeled boots. She wished she had the same easy confidence and self-assurance as her friend. Jillian found it hard to even function without her anxiety pills.

“Let me introduce Mr. Winston Smith,” Jonathon said.

Jillian rose from her chair and accepted the man’s offered hand. “Hello.”

It was all she could say. His hand was warm and his grip firm, but gentle. Her lady parts were definitely going soft. She didn’t want to let go of his hand, but she had to.

“Mr. Smith wants to make a donation and has some questions about becoming a patron,” Jonathon continued. “I thought you could go over the details for me. I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

Jillian knew that wasn’t true. Jonathon couldn’t go over the details of the museum because he didn’t care to know them. “I thought your schedule was clear this afternoon.”

Jonathon narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Something came up.”

“Oh.” She nodded.

In truth, she didn’t care what he did, as long as he left her alone.

“I admit,” Mr. Smith finally spoke. “I’ve overlooked this little museum in the past, but it’s rather charming.”

Jillian loved the husky sound of his voice, tinged with an accent she couldn’t quite place. It only added to his sensual appeal.

“How did you find us, Mr. Smith?” she asked, curious, and found that saying his name didn’t feel right.

Mr. Smith.

It sounded false.

Not that she was good with names, she just had a strange feeling it didn’t belong to him.

“I’ve noticed your signs advertising the upcoming Lost Treasures of the Bible exhibit,” he explained. “It sparked my interest. I collect Holy relics.”

“So does half of the archaeological world, Mr. Smith,” Jillian said.

She’d met so many fanatics while putting together the latest exhibit, had seen a ton of false relics and replicas, that he’d have to give her something better than that.

“I might be interested in donating a few of my pieces, but I’d like to see the exhibit first.”

“What sort of pieces?” she enquired.

“Does it matter?” Jonathon snapped, clearly irritated. “Just show him the exhibit.”

He adjusted the perfect knot of his gray-striped tie and cleared his throat, collecting himself.

“I’ll be in my office.” After a nervous glance at Mr. Smith, he left the café.

Those were the small slip-ups that made Jillian suspicious of Jonathon. Like for the slightest moment he’d let his true nature show, and then remembered he had a particular role to play. She wasn’t falling for it.

“I’m sorry he was rude,” Jillian apologized for Jonathon’s hasty retreat.

It was difficult to come up with anything else to say. Finding herself stranded alone with the handsome Mr. Smith left her tongue tied.

“Have I interrupted your lunch?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with the hint of a devilish smile.

A simple question to answer. Her anxiety ebbed away and she began to feel more comfortable in his overwhelming presence. She felt compelled to smile sweetly. “My friend and I had already finished our lunch. It’s no bother.”

As she pushed in her chair she stared at him, letting her gaze drift up along his broad chest, to where the top few buttons of his shirt had been left undone. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. She looked up to his face, over his strong chin and his full, sensuous lips, to his straight nose, finally landing on his celestial blue eyes.

He stared back at her with a growing intensity, like he was trying to unlock some secret she had hidden deep inside her soul. It was a weird, invasive feeling.

“Shall we see the exhibit?” he asked.

What exhibit? she thought.

Her mind felt empty, then quick as a flash she remembered. “Oh, yes, the exhibit.”

Duh! You work here, idiot.

What was wrong with her?

She felt crazier than normal for some reason. Not her normal form of anxiety, this was something different.

Jillian motioned towards the café exit with a sweep of her hand. “This way.”

“After you,” he said, giving a wolfish grin as he ran a heated look along the length of her body, his gaze lingering on her hips.

And he’d be staring at her ass when she led him out of the café. Knowing he was checking her out sent little shivers racing over the surface of her skin. When her mind started to take off on a wicked tangent she quickly shut it down and wiped the thought away. Exactly like Dr. Weber had taught her to do in their sessions.