What did that even mean?

  Would everyone suffer and die? What about all the plants and animals? The oceans? If Earth disappeared, what else would be left? If she died, then where did she go?

  It was the unknown. It was unpredictable and too terrifying to think about.

  The End.

  She wanted something more.

  As Jillian headed into her bedroom, she remembered what Mr. Smith had asked her to do, and a tingle of excitement raced over her skin. Here was a chance to be spontaneous.

  Crossing her bedroom, she dropped her shoes on the floor in front of the oval antique mirror then undressed down to her panties. She inspected her body in the mirror and wondered what flaws a man might see.

  Jillian wasn’t fat, but she wasn’t skinny. She was just… Jillian. She let down her hair and watched it fall in blonde waves over her shoulders and down to the middle of her back.

  Would she be comfortable getting naked with Mr. Smith? Letting him touch her, put his mouth on her, his wicked tongue. All over.

  Her skin heated, feeling prickly, and she circled an experimental finger around one of her dusky nipples. Her whole body clenched with need.

  A growing need only Mr. Smith could fill.

  Was it wrong to have these feelings?

  The world might be ending, but she was still here. She was still alive.

  It couldn’t be wrong to feel this way. Stupid, maybe, but not wrong.

  She opened her closet and found her black silk nightgown, then pulled it on over her head. With thin straps and a laced hem that dangled well below her knees, it was hardly sexy. Jillian yanked the nightgown off and tossed it in the rubbish bin, then found the white men’s dress shirt she normally wore and headed into the kitchen.

  After she opened a bottle of Chianti, she sat on the couch, put her cell phone on the cushion beside her, and picked up the remote to switch on the television. She tucked her legs up under her, then took a long drink of her wine. Finding nothing good to watch, she picked up her phone and called Denise.

  “Hey, Jilly,” she answered over the roar of noise in the background. “How’s my beautiful best friend?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Nick took me out to see his brother’s band play,” she shouted over a riot of noise. “We’re at a bar in Manhattan.”

  “Hi, Jillian!” Nick shouted next.

  Her friends were out partying, wholly unaware that if she let the ring fall into the wrong hands, they might never go out to party again.

  “You two have fun.”

  “What are you doing tonight?” Denise asked, slurring her words a bit.

  Jillian pictured her friend at a bar, wearing her black leather jacket, a martini in front of her. Extra dirty.

  “I’m trying to find something black and sexy to wear.” Jillian sighed. It had turned out to be more difficult than she’d thought.

  “What did you say? I didn’t hear you.”

  “I don’t have anything sexy to wear,” Jillian raised her voice.

  “I could have told you that.” Denise laughed lowly. “Does this have something to do with your new man friend?”

  Jillian’s call-waiting beeped. She checked the screen.

  Big, black question mark.

  “Oh my God,” she said, in an instant panic. “That’s him calling right now.”

  “Then you’d better answer it,” Denise said with a smile. “Night, night.”

  Jillian took another long drink of her wine before she answered his call.

  “Hello.” She couldn’t help smiling into the phone.

  “Why didn’t you call me to tell me you were home?” His deep voice rumbled.

  “I was going to—”

  “There’s no you were going to, Ms. Whitmore. You do it.”

  Jillian didn’t know what to say. Was he actually worried about her, or did he just want to keep tabs on where she was?

  “What are you wearing?”

  “Is that why you called?”

  “Yes,” he rasped in a gruff voice. “Are you wearing something black?”

  Jillian glanced down at her white shirt. “No.”

  “Good night, Ms. Whitmore.”

  The line went dead.

  “Hello?” She couldn’t believe he’d hung up on her.

  Sitting up, she swung her feet off the couch and set her glass of wine on the coffee table.

  Her phone rang.

  He was calling back.

  “Why did you hang up on me?” she complained, ready to be done with his game.

  “You didn’t do as I asked.”

  Embarrassed, she hated to admit, “I don’t have anything black and sexy.”

  A low rumble came over the phone, almost like a growl. “That’s a problem I’ll soon have to remedy.”

  “It’s just that I don’t usually wear things like that.”

  ***

  No.

  Not practical Jillian.

  Besides, Kyriel liked her tight skirts and blouses better than any fancy lingerie. Those clothes were uniquely her, and he liked everything about her.

  “I’ll just have to think about you naked instead.”

  “I’m not naked.”

  “In my mind you are.” He ran his hand over his bare chest as his heavy erection throbbed at the sound of her smooth, sexy voice.

  The woman had no idea how attractive she was.

  Sitting alone in his big bed upstairs, he wanted nothing more than to have her next to him, helping him ease the lonely nights. He wouldn’t have many more nights if all went as planned.

  “Are you in bed?” she asked.

  “Yes, Ms. Whitmore. I kept up my end of the bargain.”

  “I didn’t know we were taking it so seriously.”

  “This world might be about to end,” he said, as he crossed his legs at the ankles and stretched his toes. “I’d take the chance to enjoy everything before you no longer can.”

  “Are we really the only hope the world has?” Her sweet voice trembled. “Aren’t there more people on our side? People who can help us?”

  Kyriel didn’t blame her for being afraid. He understood how alone she must feel, and how many questions she must have, but she was in the fight now. Nothing he could say would take away her fear. At this point, telling her he was a fallen angel might frighten her even more.

  “Do you think we need more help?” he asked. “We already have one of the rings.”

  “But Jonathon might have the other two rings.”

  “Two is not three, and they need all three.”

  She went quiet on the other end.

  “What are you wearing?” he attempted to lighten the mood, while also fueling his fantasies.

  As long as he didn’t lose the ruby, the other two rings couldn’t do any damage, and he could buy himself a little more time on Earth.

  And a little more time getting to know Jillian.

  “I’m wearing a white shirt.”

  “What color are your panties?”

  When she didn’t say anything, he laughed. “Is that a difficult question for you?”

  “I hardly know you—”

  “You kissed me back, Ms. Whitmore, I think you want to know me.”

  “By telling you what color my panties are?”

  “I’ll find out soon enough.” He laughed, then ended the call.

  Kyriel planned on finding out tomorrow.

  ***

  The phone rang again and Jillian answered it, laughing to herself. “I’m not telling you what color they are.”

  The man was persistent.

  She kind of liked it.

  No one spoke, but she heard a light breathing on the other end.

  “Hello?”

  More breathing.

  “Mr. Smith?”

  Breathing.

  “Who is this?”

  Breathing.

  Jillian hung up and dropped her phone on the coffee table like a live grenade.

  Was it starting again, or was this something new?

  Feeling a twinge of uneasiness, she finished her glass of wine. Her hands were shaking. She prayed her phone wouldn’t ring.

  But it did.

  Unknown number.

  She had to answer. She had to know. “Hello?”

  Silence.

  “Who is this?”

  Nothing but silence.

  Jillian waited, thinking someone might eventually say something. Anything.

  Nothing.

  She ended the call and turned off the television. Going into the kitchen, she washed down two anxiety pills with some wine then checked all the locks on the doors and windows before turning out the lights.

  She went into her bedroom. After placing her phone on the bedside table, she pulled back the blankets on the bed and climbed in. She would go to sleep, and when she woke up tomorrow morning the sun would be shining, and it would be a new day.

  Jillian wanted a new day.

  Her phone rang.

  Goddammit!

  She couldn’t go through this again. She wouldn’t be stalked and harassed anymore. She wouldn’t.

  “What do you want?” she shouted into the phone.

  Silence.

  “Too much of a coward to talk?” Her pulse picked up with her anger.

  She hated feeling so totally helpless, and vulnerable.

  The breathing started up.

  “Be a man and show your face, or I don’t have time for this crap!”

  Jillian turned off her phone and pulled the blankets over her head.

  She didn’t care if it would bring her one step closer to the end, she wanted a new day.

  Chapter 12

  A naturally early riser, by the time she left for the museum that morning Jillian had already done yoga, had her morning coffee while she watched the news, showered and dressed, then grabbed a piece of toast on the way out the door.

  Once she made the drive to the museum she pulled into the parking lot and saw Mr. Smith waiting beside his sporty red Corvette. Jillian parked in the same space at the back of the lot like she always did. As she walked over to greet him, she tried to calm the excitement burning through her veins.

  Dressed in one of his classic suits, navy today, with his hair pulled back and a light dusting of stubble on his face, he was as handsome and tempting as ever, and he had kissed her.

  A really good kiss.

  Now this morning he waited for her in the museum parking lot. Things like this didn’t happen in her life. Lately everything was a struggle, but not so with Mr. Smith.

  Where did men like him come from?

  “Eight-thirty-three, Ms. Whitmore,” he said as she got closer. “You’re late.”

  She stopped a few feet from him and his shiny red car. “Good morning to you as well.”

  “Why are you late?”

  It amazed her how, not only was he full of questions, she felt compelled to always answer them.

  “Traffic.” She regarded him over the rim of her sunglasses. “Why are you early?”

  “I planned for traffic.”

  They had one of their mini-standoffs, where neither of them said anything and they both just stared hard at each other for a couple of seconds, any further argument going silent.

  Jillian always looked away first. She could only handle so much of his raw intensity at one time.

  She noticed he had a gift in his hand. A black box tied with a red satin bow.

  It couldn’t be for her?

  “What’s that?” she asked before she could stop the question from coming out of her mouth.

  “For you.” He held the box out for her to take.

  The box was light, and Jillian wanted to tear it open and see if she would find something black and sexy inside. More to know what he liked, or what turned him on. It shouldn’t matter to her, not when she had the fate of the world in her hands, but it did matter. Another curiosity satisfied where he was concerned, and she had plenty.

  “I’ll open it inside.” She tucked the box under her arm, trying to remain formal and professional.

  How would she if he gave her sexy gifts every time they met? Even with the crisp autumn air, Jillian broke out into a light sweat. Heat flooded her as erotic scenarios flashed through her mind.

  The strange part was, she wanted to try all of them with Mr. Smith, and she hadn’t felt inspired to go beyond anything but a kiss in the last three years. What was so special about him? His old-world charm and inherent grace, or was it the subtle hint of mystery combined with the most handsome man she’d ever seen?

  She cleared her throat. “Are you ready to go inside?”

  “After you.” He made a graceful sweep of his hand, while in his eyes she saw that roguish gleam.

  Jillian’s cheeks were on fire as he followed her up the twenty-five stone steps leading to the museum entrance. She swore she could feel his eyes on her backside, his stare branding her with a funky kind of heat that caused a little flutter in her stomach.

  “You look nice today,” he commented when they reached the top of the stairs. “Did you get all dressed up for me?”

  That playful smiled tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he had the matching twinkle in his blue eyes.

  Jillian pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head. “I’m not dressed up.”

  Because she always wore a short, black skirt and a low-cut blouse to work, along with some lipstick and mascara. She’d taken the extra time to blow-dry and curl her hair, but had wrapped it into her usual chignon at the last minute.

  “I might have to take you out for lunch looking that nice,” he said.

  “I only get thirty minutes for lunch.” She swiped the plastic card on her keychain over the security panel to open the doors.

  What was she saying?

  She didn’t care if she only got five minutes for lunch, she would want to spend every minute with him, talking, kissing.

  The museum doors released with a clicking noise and she opened one to go inside. Mr. Smith held it for her and then followed her into the lobby.

  “Good morning, Jillian,” Phil greeted her from behind the security desk by the elevators.

  Now in his sixties, he’d been a security guard at the museum since the time she was a little girl.

  “Good morning, Phil.” She smiled. “How are you today?”

  “I’d be a lot better if we’d won the lottery last night.”

  “We lost again?”

  “Not even a free ticket this time.”

  “Our day is coming,” she said, then frowned.

  Phil and her grandfather used to play the state lottery every week and it was a tradition she’d kept going after his passing but, if the world was ending, there wouldn’t be any more lottery tickets.

  These things, these small things, they were what was special and sacred about life, and she promised right there never to take them for granted. No matter how little time she might have left, she had to enjoy it to the fullest.

  “You’re back again?” Phil stared hard and long at Mr. Smith. “Can’t get enough of our beautiful treasures?”

  Mr. Smith met his stare with a direct one of his own. “Not nearly enough.”

  “See to it you don’t break anything, or you’re gonna have to deal with me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Mr. Smith exchanged a warm, friendly handshake with Phil, which seemed to assuage the man’s doubt.

  Jillian pushed the button for the elevator. Their male posturing was too much to deal with first thing in the morning. She had bigger things to worry about. Like breaking into Jonathon’s office.

  “Is Jonathon Crawford in this morning?” Mr. Smith asked.

  “Never this early,” Phil gladly informed him, hooking one of his thumbs under his gun belt. “I expect he’ll be in sometime closer to ten o’clock.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You get a gift this morning, Jillian?” Phil pointed to the box under her arm.

  “Oh, yes.” She patted the box. “This.”

  “It’s not your birthday today.”

  “No, no it’s not.”

  She’d die if Phil had any idea what was inside. Or what she imagined was inside.

  “That’s a good way to start your day, getting a gift.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  Beside her, Mr. Smith wore a sly, wholly amused smile. Probably because he knew what was in the box.

  “It’s a good omen, a good sign for the way the rest of your day will turn out.”

  “Thanks, Phil.” Jillian appreciated his cheery optimism.

  She would look for luck down any avenue.

  “Maybe I should buy the next lottery ticket.”

  Phil laughed, nodding his head. “You know, I think we might win with you as a good luck charm.”

  “We’d both have a nice retirement fund.”

  Mr. Smith placed his hand on the small of Jillian’s back and urged her forward just as the elevator doors opened.

  “Have a great morning, Phil.” She gave him a quick wave as she stepped into the elevator.

  Warm tingles spread out from where Mr. Smith’s hand touched her, and her legs turned to rubber as she stood beside him in the elevator. His touches were more like light caresses, meant to look casual, but they were not. The more he touched her, the more she welcomed the feel of his hands on her body. It was all part of that seductive grace he was blessed with.

  She took a deep, calming breath and pushed the button for the second floor. The administrative and clerical offices were on the second floor, along with the Impressionism exhibit. The rest of the exhibits were housed on the main floor, and in the basement was the lab and the research department. Jillian felt more comfortable working in the basement, but with Jonathon trying to take over, she had to maintain a visible presence among the museum’s operational staff.

  Most recently her mornings were spent in staff meetings, checking emails, and making phone calls, when she’d rather get lost in research for hours, making new discoveries.

  “It’s Friday morning already,” Mr. Smith commented as the elevator doors closed. “Am I going to have to invite myself to the opening tomorrow night?”

  Jillian hadn’t even thought about it. The last couple of days had been so busy that she hadn’t spent a lot of time on finalizing all the last details for the gala. But she trusted her work. That was one of the good things about having obsessive-compulsive disorder. Every detail had been planned and confirmed for weeks.