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?”

  Chapter 7

  “A trade?” Jillian hadn’t seen that coming. “Like with baseball cards?”

  Mr. Smith had original sketches by Michelangelo sitting on a bookshelf in his house, and he wanted to trade. Did he belong to a circle of rich collectors who traded priceless art and artifacts with each other, or bet with them in card games when they got bored?

  Mr. Smith walked over to the massive desk and sat on the edge, staring at her with his mesmerizing blue eyes. “A trade where we both get what we want.”

  He had dressed more relaxed today, wearing only a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and gray suit pants. His hair was neatly pulled back and he had shaved, but the well-groomed appearance didn’t hide the wolf lurking beneath. Jillian got the feeling Mr. Smith was used to getting what he wanted, either with money, intimidation, or force. But there was also something so compelling about him and it drew her to him, almost helplessly.

  “Obviously you want the ring.”

  “And you want authentic Holy relics for your exhibit.”

  “How do I know your pieces are authentic?”

  He gave a wolfish grin. “You’re welcome to challenge any piece in my collection. If we’re going to trade, I don’t want you to feel cheated.”

  Jillian’s mind was getting that fuzzy feeling again. Confused, as if she’d missed part of a silent conversation. She had no intention of parting with the ring, yet Mr. Smith spoke as if they’d already agreed to the trade. He was getting her all turned around, just like when he’d kissed her.

  That one kiss had set her whole body on fire with a deep longing. She might have agreed to anything in that position, and it scared her because it wasn’t like her to lose control. This man, no matter how charming and enigmatic, made her question her sanity. She didn’t need that. She felt crazy enough without his seductive kisses.

  “Any piece?” she questioned, feeling like a kid given free rein in a candy store.

  Although she would never trade the ring, it wouldn’t hurt to let him think she might consider it, therefore getting a good look at his collection in the process. This grand, golden room sparkled with treasure. Light bounced and reflected off glass, a rainbow of jewels, and thousands of gilded pages. Surprisingly, she felt comfortable, considering the potential threat Mr. Smith posed. The room had symmetry, rows of books, pictures on the walls, rugs on the wood floors. They were all laid out in perfect patterns, down to the glasses and bottles of booze on the gleaming black bar. She felt no compulsion to organize or arrange. The room was perfect.

  Just like Mr. Smith.

  “Where would you like to start?” he asked.

  Jillian’s gaze shifted to his impossibly handsome face. This was all like a dream come true.

  So she got started.

  “First edition?” she questioned, walking to the next shelf, where a book sat on display, left open to the remarkable illustration of Hell receiving the fallen angels.

  “Paradise Lost is very close to my heart,” he said, pushing away from the desk. “Milton was a friend.”

  Jillian shot him a quizzical look. “You knew a man from the seventeenth century?”

  “I said he was like a friend.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, his steely blue eyes focusing on her with avid intensity.

  Jillian felt that confusing swirl in her head and figured she must have heard him wrong.

  “Where did you find the book?”

  “It was also a gift.”

  “You have some generous friends,” Jillian commented as she looked at the many items filling the room, wondering just how many of them were gifts.

  “I can also be generous.” He crossed the room to stand behind her. “Extremely generous.”

  She felt the heat of his breath on the back of her neck and his closeness electrified her, sending a delicious shiver sliding down her spine. She imagined leaning back and molding herself against the hard length of his body. The impulse was purely sexual and so foreign to her that it brought on a wave of nervous anxiety.

  She took a few steps away from him, while she pushed up her glasses with her finger, and then straightened the hem of her sweater. In a hurry to find a distraction her gaze latched onto a golden sword with colorful jewels encrusted around the hilt. It sat on a shelf across the room, resting sideways in its stand, and she walked over to it, attempting to keep Mr. Smith at a distance.

  “Where did this sword come from?”

  She could feel a kind of raw, otherworldly power emanating from the sword, or maybe that was just because the thing was so old. The cut of the blade and the way the jewels were laid into the hilt suggested early fourth century. Her inner nerd was doing cartwheels. What an astonishing find.

  “The Archangel Michael lost it at the battle of Samson and the Philistines. The angels found it among the rubble.”

  Jillian gaped at him, her lips parted. “You’re telling me this is the sword of an angel?”

  “Yes.” His eyes held confidence, authority.

  He truly believed it, or she wasn’t the only crazy one in the room.

  “How can it be?” she argued. “Even if the stories in the Bible are true, why would they leave something so important behind?”

  “Who says it’s important to an angel?” He casually shrugged it off.

  “But wouldn’t they want to keep it a secret?”

  “Why?”

  Jillian faltered. She didn’t have an answer. Clearly Mr. Smith understood angels better than she did.

  “I think it would be perfect for your exhibit.” He came to stand behind her again, gazing over her shoulder at the sword. “What do you think?”

  “Even if I had the time, I couldn’t verify the authenticity.”

  “Perhaps not on paper,” he said, his breath hot against her ear. “But what do you feel?”

  His deep, husky voice sent shivers through her entire body, awakening urges she’d kept dormant for too long. She closed her eyes, aware of the masculine strength and warmth of his body.

  “This might interest you as well.” He placed a firm hand on the small of her back and guided her towards a glass case.

  Her body tingled where he touched her, and all she could focus on was his closeness.

  When they reached the case, she looked at the large splinter of wood inside. “Are you going to tell me this is a True Cross relic?”

  “Then you feel it.” His voice was laced with excitement.

  She did feel it, but her mind remained skeptical.

  “Impossible,” she whispered.

  “Why is it impossible? Because your mind tells you it is?” He lifted the case and picked up the piece of wood, then took her hand and placed it in her palm, closing his fingers tight around hers. “What do you feel?”

  A powerful sensation flooded her body, alighting all her senses, and it frightened her. She didn’t want to feel too much. Feelings were hard to control.

  What was she even doing there?

  “I won’t trade the ring for anything,” she said in a calm, steady voice. “Even if I had it—”

  “You do have it, Ms. Whitmore, that I know.” He tightened his grip around her hand, the piece of wood biting into her palm, though not painfully. “Someone is going to take it from you. I suggest you let it be me.”

  “I don’t have it,” she insisted, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue as she felt the ring nestled safely between her breasts, tucked in her bra. “I can’t give it to you.”

  “Everyone has a price. What’s yours?”

  “The ring is more valuable than everything you own. There’s a reason I can’t give it to you, or anyone.”

  “I thought you didn’t have it.” He wore a dangerous smile. Predatory and inviting, all at the same time.

  Jillian had to tread carefully. “I’ve hidden it somewhere safe.”

  He gave her body a raking gaze. “Where is it?”

  “Where you’ll never find it,” she said, trying to pull her hands free.

  He let her go and placed the piece of wood back in its case.

  “Very well, Ms. Whitmore.” He inclined his head with a subtle bow.

  It was such a refined move. Not practical, but graceful.

  Jillian caught herself staring at him, utterly captivated. There was something magical about him, an alluring magnetism in the way he moved and the cadence of his voice. It attracted.

  Made her want to touch.

  To kiss.

  She tried to shut the thought down and wipe it from her mind—calm, blue ocean—but it refused to go. In all her life, she’d never been so drawn to a man.

  “Before you turn down my offer, there’s something I want to show you.” He went to the last bookcase full of ancient manuscripts sealed in cases and took one from the middle shelf. He opened the latch on the case and handed her the manuscript. “It’s in French.”

  Jillian knew, without a doubt, that she was holding something ancient, and extremely authentic. She could feel it. Her eyes scanned the elegant scroll of hand-written lines and she looked up at him in shock. “What is this?”

  “It’s the real Gospel of Mary.”

  “Like Mary, the mother of Jesus?”

  “Mary Magdalene, his wife.”

  She looked back at the dark ink set into the aged pages. “This is incredible.”

  “Many have speculated about her life,” he said. “But few have actually read the words written by her own hand.”

  “Was this also a gift?”

  “No.” He chuckled lowly. “This I stole from the basement of the Vatican.”

  Her jaw dropped, her eyes going wide. “You’re either telling the truth, or you’ve gone to a lot of time and expense to come up with all of this stuff.”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you,” he assured. “I’m here to help you. I know about the ring, and I know what you are.”

  Chapter 8

  She arched her brow over the black rim of her glasses. “Just what do you think you know?”

  “There isn’t one ring, there are three. An emerald, a sapphire, and your ruby. Long story short, together they have the power to open the seal of Hell and unleash total death and destruction upon the Earth and all mankind. You’re a Keeper protecting one ring, and someone out there has the other two rings. They’re coming for yours.”

  She gaped at him in astonishment. “Who are you?”

  “I’m someone who wants to help you stay alive.”

  “I want to believe you, I really do.” She gripped the manuscript in her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I do.”

  Kyriel was going to take the low road. Pretend to be in love with her to get his way. He could keep her close, keep her safe, and when it was all over he could go back to Heaven.

  Why not enjoy the little bit of time he had left?

  He grasped her by the arms and dragged her up against his chest, then bent his head and captured her parted lips with his mouth. Once he was fully kissing her, tasting the sweetness of her, he didn’t think he could stop.

  She turned her head aside to break their kiss, panting to catch her breath. “What are you doing?”

  He gently took the manuscript from her and placed it on a shelf off to the side. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  He gathered her up in his arms and held her close while he kissed her, slow and languid.

  ***

  As his drugging kiss sent delightful shivers all through her body, Jillian forgot everything for a moment. Forgot where she was, what she’d come for, or who she was and how she’d gotten there.

  Mr. Smith knew how to kiss.

  His tongue teased her lips and, when she parted them, he slipped inside, sensuously devouring her mouth in the most erotic way. A heavy feeling arose in her belly, deliciously wicked and hot. She could stay there kissing him forever.

  His scent, like spice and sandalwood, surrounded her, and she breathed him in like some heady drug. She let her hands explore his chest, feeling the strong, rippling muscles beneath his shirt. He must have taken that for an invitation because his large hands slid down to grip her bottom, squeezing hard, before lifting her off the floor and holding her tight against him.

  She clung to his shoulders as he walked over to the desk and set her on top, then stepped between her legs. Their bodies were so close she could feel the hardness of his erection pressing against her inner thigh.

  Jillian wasn’t ready for what might be coming next and put on the brakes.

  “Stop.” She pushed against the solid wall of his chest.

  His sensual kiss had the power to make her lose sight of what was important, and she had to concentrate.

  Her cover was blown. Her secret was out. She didn’t know how it happened, but he knew everything.

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “Follow your heart.”

  His mouth fell on hers in a hungry, demanding kiss. The warm pressure of his lips was more persuasive than she cared to admit, and she decided she would trust him. There was no one else to help her—no one who could help her—and she didn’t think she’d survive on her own. To have a strong, confident man protecting her was the best she could hope for.

  Besides, she had to start trusting people again sometime.

  “Do you feel that?” He spoke the words softly against her lips. “Feel me.”

  He descended on her mouth once more, his tongue gliding inside, kissing and teasing her until she felt him in dizzying waves all the way down to her toes. She melted against him, overwhelmed by her attraction to a man she barely knew. She’d never expected to feel this kind of passion and longing and it caught her unaware. Desire consumed her and she kissed him back with a fervor she didn’t know she possessed.

  One of his hands slipped under her sweater and he molded his palm to her breast, gently squeezing. Jillian tensed when his fingers came dangerously close to the ring tucked in her bra, but he kept kissing her and made no move toward it. She felt his lips blaze a path along the sensitive column of her neck and a tiny shudder slid down her spine. A gentle sigh escaped her lips, but then she held her breath. Jillian had to stop him before they had sex, right on top of his nice desk.

  She looked up at the golden shield mounted to the wall above the fireplace. With the image of a rearing horse, one leg held high in the air, it caught the afternoon sunlight from the massive windows and emitted a heavenly glow.