Dark Surrender

Because she had something he wanted.

***

“Who do you suppose he is?” Jillian wondered as she continued to study the man with casual glances.

She couldn’t keep her damn eyes off him.

He radiated a savage intensity. It glittered in his wild, blue eyes. He looked like he belonged on an ancient battlefield, or seated on some royal, Heavenly throne, not loitering in the café of a small museum like The Whitmore.

“It looks like he’s waiting for someone.” Denise leaned back in her chair and popped a cold French fry in her mouth. “Let’s wait and see if she’s gorgeous model material, or another handsome hunk, in which case you’d be out of luck.”

“He doesn’t look gay.” Jillian fumbled with the clasp of her gold necklace and routinely centered it at the back of her neck.

“They never do, honey.”

Jillian reached for the tube of lip gloss and opened it, swiping some of the sticky, sweet stuff on her lips, when she saw Denise frown. “What is it?”

“It’s worse than I thought. Take a look.”

Jillian braced her arm on the back of her chair and pivoted around to see the man being joined by her boss. He and Jonathon shook hands.

“Oh God,” Jillian heaved a sigh. “I hope they aren’t friends.”

“Deal breaker.” Denise reached her hand out for the lip gloss.

Jillian passed the sparkly tube back. “Total deal breaker.”

She’d known there had to be something wrong with a man that perfect. A friend of Jonathon Crawford’s was not a friend she wanted to have.

“He might just be interested in making a donation, or lending the Whitmore a rare, valuable collection,” Denise tried to see on the bright side. “In that case, he’d be working with you.”

“Unless Jonathon needed to suck up to him,” Jillian said. “Then he’d take over.”

“You two are both fighting so hard to maintain control of everything around here that one day, one of you is going to drop from sheer overload, or one of you is going to have to let it go.”

Jillian knew what Denise meant. Jonathon was the legal owner of the museum through the Will her grandparents had left behind, but Jillian couldn’t let it go so easily. She loved the museum. She’d been raised by her grandparents and had spent endless hours roaming the halls and exhibits. It was all she had left.

As for Jonathon, his dishonesty was apparent. She could sense a layer of darkness in him and knew he didn’t care about the museum. He was after something else, and she was going to make sure he didn’t get it. She only needed a majority vote from the Board of Directors to push him out of his position, then she could work on the legal part.

“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.”