Dark Surrender

Jillian gave a casual glance over her shoulder at the café entrance, and then she craned her head even further and gaped, her mouth open. She’d never seen a more handsome man. He was riveting, and she couldn’t help but stare.

“Got your attention now?” Denise laughed. “He looks like your usual stodgy, upper-class type, but he’s young. No doubt that one comes from Old Money.”

Jillian shook her head, unable to form any coherent thought. There was nothing stodgy about the man. Everything he emanated was purely raw and masculine, sexual.

“His suit is nice, classic,” Denise commented, approving his wardrobe. “Looks like Gucci. The choice suggests excellent taste.”

Denise would know. During college she’d interned at a fashion magazine and spent an entire summer studying fashion in Milan.

Jillian didn’t have to know Gucci in order to admire the way his elegant gray suit fit such a tall frame and wide shoulders. The collar of his crisp white shirt had been left open with the top few buttons undone, revealing some of the smooth, golden skin of his broad chest. He wore the tawny, blonde locks of his shoulder-length hair neatly pulled back at his nape. His stance was casual, with his hands tucked into his pants pockets, but no one could mistake the aura of power and ageless strength he possessed.

A sudden rush of heat surged through her veins as wicked images of strong arms drawing her up against a rock-hard chest formed in her mind. She curled her fingers as she imagined the solid feel of rippling muscle flexing beneath her fingertips. Licking her lips, she could almost taste the salt of flesh on her tongue.

“Bingo!” Denise sucked loudly on her straw as she finished her diet soda. “Your lady parts are going soft, admit it. He’s beautiful.”

Jillian felt alive in a way she had never before experienced. There was a tingling in the pit of her stomach and a longing ache deep within her that only intensified as her eyes landed back on his sharp, handsome face.

“More than beautiful,” Jillian said, breathless, as she rested her arm across the back of her chair. “He’s perfect.”

“Then it’s settled.” Denise plopped her purse in her lap and pulled out a sparkly red tube of lip gloss, which she handed to Jillian. “Go ask for his name, and then ask him if he’d like to take you out to dinner.”

Anxiety seized her, shutting down the warm tingle of desire. Even if she could work up the courage to ask a man for a date, she didn’t think she could make herself get out of the chair and walk across the room.

“You can do it,” Denise encouraged, waving her hand. “Don’t let one bad choice ruin you forever. Be glad you didn’t marry the jerk, and get back at him by being blissfully happy and dating a guy like that.”

God bless Denise. She’d made it her personal mission to pull Jillian out of the rut she’d been stuck in for the last three years, no matter how much she kicked and screamed. After her ex-fiancé turned psycho on her she’d called off the wedding and moved in with her only family, her grandparents. To this day the jerk still stalked her, harassing her for having the guts to leave. How could she bring a new man into her life when it was such a terrible mess? What would he think?

“I can’t ask a guy like that out.”

“A guy like that is just what you need.” Denise set the tube of lip gloss on the table, then smoothed her hands through her long, dark brown hair. “I’m working very hard to get you laid, and it has to be with the right guy. That,” she pointed to the man, “is the right guy.”

Jillian looked over at the man again and found him staring right back at her, his steely blue eyes piercing through her like lasers. She was caught, held in his captivating stare, unable to look away, and it made her feel exposed, like he could see her innermost desires, her deepest secrets.

“A man built that well has to be good in bed,” Denise remarked offhand. “He just has to.”

The man’s brow quirked up, his blue eyes lighting with interest.

Could he hear them across the café? Over the loud din of voices as the other customers talked and laughed?

The start of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. Jillian’s entire body smoldered from that subtle look. She imagined his full lips on hers, kissing her, wrapping her up in his strong arms.

Afraid he really could see into her mind, she turned back to the table to hide her embarrassment. She braced her hands on the end of the table to anchor herself to something tangible. She didn’t dare look back at him, no matter how badly she wanted to. The man was almost too much for her to take in all at once. Tall, devastatingly handsome, and way out of her league.

Denise chewed on the end of her straw while she continued to stare at him. “I’ll bet he can go all night.”

“Would you be quiet?” Jillian hushed. “I think he can hear us.”

“Really?” Denise set her soda on the table. “Come over here, big boy,” she purred softly, smiling and waving her fingers at the man. “My friend needs what only a man like you can give her. Please come over and ask her out, because she’s way too chicken to make the first move.”

“Are you nuts?” Jillian wished the floor would open up and swallow her.

She knew it wasn’t possible he’d heard what Denise said, so why did she have such a weird feeling?

Denise laughed. “If he comes over here, you’d better say yes.”

“He’s not going to come over here.” Jillian knew that for a fact.

She ran into handsome men all over the city, and she considered herself a fairly pretty woman, but they never asked her on a date. They never asked for her phone number. Not even coffee.

What was she doing wrong?

Denise said she was closed-off and jaded, and that men could sense it. Jillian liked to think she was just waiting for something extraordinary. For a man who made her breathless.

The gorgeous stranger standing in the café of her museum seemed like a good place to start. In spite of her embarrassment, she stole another glance over her shoulder. He appeared to be waiting for someone and he checked his watch. She took the chance to study his powerful, chiseled profile: his straight nose, the sharp angles of his face, covered by a soft dusting of blonde stubble. Despite the fancy suit and well-groomed hair, the shadow of a beard gave him a rugged, savage look. Like he’d be just as comfortable standing on a battlefield with a sword and armor.

Jillian could stare at him all day and, judging by the ravenous looks directed at him from the rest of the women in the café, she wasn’t alone.

“Where do guys like that come from?” Denise propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand.

“Heaven,” Jillian said, once again feeling breathless. “Straight from Heaven.”

***

Kyriel wasn’t blind to the desirous looks he got from women. Those were exactly the kinds of looks that had landed him on Earth in the first place. He couldn’t help the enticing lure he had as an angel. He was irresistible to humans. God made the angels that way on purpose. Through the centuries he’d gotten used to the unwarranted attention he received from women.

Eventually every female pair of eyes in the room would become trained on him, and they all held the same secret desire.

Sex.

Kyriel used his irresistible sexuality to his advantage. He figured if he was banished to Earth, he might as well enjoy his punishment. Women were his favorite pastime, along with food and drinking. And driving, of course, but he put his love for expensive cars and high speeds in a separate category. He’d already committed the greatest sin—disobeying God—so he didn’t think indulging in a few of the mortal sins would make much difference. It certainly made his endless sentence more bearable.

Once there had been a time when he couldn’t stand being stuck on Earth, and now he almost preferred it over Heaven.

Having his full powers made all the difference.

He checked his watch again, not necessarily concerned with the time, but upset that the man he was supposed to be meeting was late. Manners had become a thing of the past. People today placed less value on respect and more emphasis on money. It was a shame, but Kyriel didn’t like to get involved in human affairs. If they wanted to live an empty existence he wouldn’t stand in their way.

As an angel he’d risked everything to bring them forbidden knowledge but, unfortunately, he couldn’t make them use it. To their credit, being ignorant wasn’t totally their fault. There were dark powers at work. Organizations that wanted to keep the sacred knowledge for themselves and enslave the rest of humanity. Thanks to angels like Kyriel, those of them who were watching, that would never happen.

While he waited, he perused the small cafe. No threats and nothing to hold his interest, until he spotted a watchful pair of green eyes looking at him with genuine attraction. Blonde hair, cheeks soft with color, nose dainty, mouth rosy. She was a natural beauty. The kind of woman who didn’t know how beautiful she was.

Kyriel also knew Jillian Whitmore was smart. Wicked smart. She’d gone to school at Columbia and had earned two doctorate degrees, one in Art, one in History, and at twenty-eight years of age she was Head Curator of her family’s museum.

His excitement grew. Kyriel had found the perfect mode of introduction, and after seeing her in person, he couldn’t wait to meet her.

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.”

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.”

“What makes you such an expert?” she wanted to know. “If I might ask?”

“I’ve devoted a good portion of my life to finding and preserving items which best represent the presence of the Divine here on Earth.”

Jillian had never heard her career summed up more perfectly.

“So did my grandfather,” she said, amazed that Mr. Smith understood her field so well.

An interesting coincidence.

“I didn’t used to believe in God or Heaven when I was a little girl,” she told him. “And when I started going out on digs with my grandfather, or traveling around the world with him, searching for relics, I was skeptical. Most of the items were based on legends or stories, but they held no history. You couldn’t feel the passage of time from the fakes, but once and awhile, when you held something authentic in your hands, you just knew it was real. You felt it in your soul.”

“Is that what you love about history, Ms. Whitmore?” he asked, his blue eyes sparkling at her in the dim light. “That you can feel it?”

Jillian blushed, realizing she’d revealed too much about herself to a stranger. “Only those who really love history would understand.”

He smiled, seeming pleased. “I’m glad you do.”

A sudden rush of excitement flooded her veins. The fact that Mr. Smith understood any of what she was talking about was a refreshing change, and she wanted to hold onto the moment for as long as she could.

“Would you like to see some of our main pieces?” She walked over to the clay Sumerian tablets, encased by glass. “These were found on a dig in Thebes.”

“Sumerian Scribes,” Mr. Smith said.