He shrugged. “I’m good.” He paced around, trying to rid himself of a sudden rush of adrenaline. The pictures on her desk were of her sisters, parents, and two cats. Obviously, Drusilla and Junior. He strolled past another neat desk and a small, well-organized table of files in the corner. He knew Athena would love the charm of the marble fireplace and had probably chosen the large red sofa in front of it. The room looked like her. Carried her light floral scent with a hint of spice. “Nice, big light room. As a trustee, I’m happy to see the museum provides a healthy work environment.”
“Seen enough?” she asked, clearly confused.
Christ, I’m confused, too!
He needed more time. He looked around for an excuse to prolong this. “Hey, what’s this?” He strolled over and opened a heavy carved door with a brass doorknob. The closet held nothing but one long black dress and a sachet of her perfume, more intense and exotic in the smaller space. “Roomy closet. Pretty dress. Yours?”
She stepped in front of him and closed the door. “I’ve seen your closet. It’s much bigger than mine. Yes, thank you, it is my very special dress. My first vintage piece, which started my passion for all things old.”
Does she have a passion for old relationships? I sure as hell do.
The idea smacked him in the face. Knocked all the other nonsense out of his head. He knew he’d come here tonight for this. To close the door on the past.
Or did I come to open a new one?
The need grew stronger watching Athena move with an unconscious grace across the room. He felt reckless, and the desire to see where this might lead drove him to smile and take her arm when she purposefully walked out into the hall. He felt her tense, but she didn’t ask him to stop touching her. He didn’t want to stop. They weren’t teenagers any longer. He wasn’t her hero, fallen off his pedestal, and she wasn’t the perfect goddess he’d expected her to be.
“We’re going to the Georgian Neoclassical room,” she said quietly.
Still he held her arm, letting her lead him though the dimly lit museum. He knew from being a trustee that by this time the staff would be gone and the lone night guard made his rounds only every two hours.
Her heels clicked on the tile floor as she led him into the part of the museum full of arches and pillars. Even in the diffused light, the display cases of glassware and china gleamed in rich, vibrant colors along the circular walls.
She stopped in front of a long, low case. “This exhibit is the china and crystal that Chicago’s founding families, the Palmers, Fields, and Clayworths, would have used for their lavish black tie dinner parties. These gold chargers and gold-rimmed crystal goblets are from your family.”
He scrutinized the case, trying to appear interested. “Yeah. I remember these. We used them every night.”
“You did not!” She laughed.
Captivated by the catch of happiness he heard in her voice for the first time, he grabbed her hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over the bruise at her wrist. “C’mon. Show me more.”
Her blush made his blood pound.
He allowed her to slip out of his fingers, but he didn’t take his eyes off her as she twirled around the room.
“For history to have social value, it needs to be personal and intimate, revealing the problems, the passions of people in the past. Then it connects with the present. Comes alive. I want you to imagine how this room will look when we get funding. This will be a ballroom. I want everyone to be able to see, feel, what it was like with music and beautiful people dancing. It’s important to appreciate our rich history. It helps to better understand our more sterile world today. Perhaps encourage putting more beauty in our daily lives. Bertha’s dresses will help make that happen.”
The urge to do just that pulled him across the room to her side. “I’ll make sure you get the dresses on two conditions.”
She stared up at him. “There are no conditions. We have a deal.”
God, I want to see your eyes. Need to know how you feel. Here. With me. Tonight.
He laughed, but the sound caught deep in his chest. “Humor me. Take off those glasses. They’re always falling off your nose anyway.” He slid them off her adorable nose before she could stop him.
“What are you doing? Give those back,” she demanded, the words echoing against the high ceiling.
She cringed, looking guilty for not whispering in these hallowed halls.
Her eyes seemed bigger and a deeper aquamarine than they had in the hospital.
He held the glasses up and peered through them. Nothing but plain tinted glass. “You don’t need these to see.”
“What are you up to this time?” She glared and grabbed again for the glasses.
He jammed them into a front trouser pocket. “Come and get them,” he dared.
He saw a nerve throbbing at her throat. His pulse seemed to be matching the beat.
She put her hands behind her back and glared at him.
“Hey, I’m performing a public service. On behalf of the museum, aren’t you interested in my other condition?”
She thrust her chin to the ceiling. “I didn’t ask you here to play games, Drew.”
“You asked me here to prove your point. Fair enough.” He rammed his hands into his pockets, fingering the delicate glass frames. “You get the Bertha gowns for your exhibit if you put on your black dress and help me feel a black tie affair here.”
Her breasts beneath her white, silky blouse rose and fell. “Now you’re hallucinating. I’m not putting my dress on for you.”
Faking indifference, he shrugged. “As a contributor to the museum, all I’m asking is a sample of what the exhibit will look like. Your development department has done it many times before to solicit underwriting for exhibits. Think of it as your bit for historical preservation.”
He saw faint amusement curve her full mouth, and her eyes widened like she’d thought of something exciting.
“All right. I’ll do it. But it will cost you the dresses plus your help with Edna Keene and the board of trustees to gain support for the new scholarship program.”
Exhilaration pumped through him. He sensed the dress had special meaning for her, and he wanted her to wear it for him. “Consider it done.”
She shook her head, her hair looking like swirling liquid gold around her shoulders. “This is utter madness. Wait here,” she ordered. “I’ll be back.”
He watched her walk away. Halfway across the room, she stopped and looked back, like she’d felt him staring at her.
She flashed him a smile that had him drooling like those interns in the ER.
“Since we won’t have any music for our ball, I’ll sing.”
“I should sing. That would teach him a lesson for blackmailing me into putting on this dress.”
In the full-length mirror on the inside of the closet door, Athena watched herself fumble with the tiny buttons on the black gown. “No wonder Bertha needed two people to help her into dresses like this,” she muttered to herself, finally managing to attach the last hook and eye.
Sucking in her stomach, she turned to view the dress. Thank God, it still fit her.
Her waist looked itsy-bitsy, her bosom full, her décolletage creamy against the jet and black velvet, her arms graceful in the long sleeves.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Maybe she didn’t need the glasses. The haunted look in her eyes had faded. Now they looked wide and slightly wild.
“Because I’m scared half out of my wits. And obviously I’ve lost the other half of my mind, or I wouldn’t be playing dress-up for Drew Clayworth. Dresses or no dresses.” She laughed at her reflection. “It’s official. I’ve totally lost my mind. I’m talking to myself.”