Dark Surrender

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.

I am a calm, blue ocean.

The mantra always put her back in control.

She slipped past Mr. Smith, catching the scent of his cologne. He smelled rich and spicy, vibrant. Kind of like incense, or really old books. She felt his eyes on her as they left the café, walking between the pair of black and gold Grecian urns she’d had converted into fountains with trickling water. Green fronds of assorted palm trees swept down from overhead, and ancient rocks she and her grandfather had collected from their travels to places like Greece, Egypt and Africa, lined the short path back to the museum lobby.

“We’re still finalizing things for Saturday’s gala opening,” she said, leading the way across the white marble floor of the lobby to the red carpet at the entrance of the exhibit, where tall white pillars lined the archway. “It’s mostly ready.”

Since she had systematically taken charge of nearly every operation at the museum in order to keep the running of things out of Jonathon’s hands, she was falling a little behind in some areas. It was already Wednesday, and that left her with three more days. She would have it finished on time.

“Your grandfather founded the museum,” Mr. Smith said. “I feel like royalty, getting a tour from a celebrity.”

“The Whitmores are hardly celebrities.” Jillian was strangely flattered by his interest. “Well, maybe my grandfather, but he’s passed on.”

“Your loss was recent,” Mr. Smith said, coming around to walk by her side. “I was sorry to hear of their death.”

Jillian still couldn’t talk about her grandparents and the accident. Tears welled in her eyes and her chest constricted with the pain of their absence. In losing them, she’d lost what remained of her only family, along with the love, emotional support and security they provided, leaving her to face the world alone.

She blinked back the tears as they reached the white pillars of the exhibit entrance. “Here’s the exhibit.”

“I thought it would be bigger,” he commented, walking through the entrance ahead of her to get a quick look around.

“The Whitmore is a small museum,” she said.

“Yes, but surely you have more than what is here.” He turned in a circle, his eyes scanning the entire exhibit in a few seconds.

“I had trouble verifying the authenticity of many items I came across.”

“Weeding out the impostors?”

“Something like that.”

“It goes along with the territory. You learn to spot a fake.”