He got to his feet abruptly and pulled me to my feet in a single breathless second. “I’ve never hit a woman in my life, but if you even think about kneeing me I’m going to knock you out.”
“I wouldn’t kick you in the crotch.”
“That’s a relief to know.”
“As far as I know, your cock could be the only thing you’ve got going for you.” I pulled free of his hold and would have punched him if he hadn’t backed away. Almost immediately, I missed the heat of his body. That was irritating. I had no business thinking about a criminal that way. “Turn the fucking lights on.”
“Nice language.”
“I can say a lot worse, asshole.” And I probably would. The man had knocked my world off kilter in more ways than one, and I had a lot to say about that.
In the dark, and now from a few feet instead of inches, I could barely keep track of his movements until he picked up the flashlight. I watched the beam of light run across the wall to the left of him until he encountered the light switch.
I blinked against the light as he flipped it on before settling my gaze on him for the very first time. And his dick wasn’t the only thing he had going for him. He looked like sin. Rich, chocolate sin. He was at least six feet, and the dark jeans he wore hugged against a trim, tight waist.
I looked over his face, taking in the smooth lines, full but masculine lips, and the slight slant at the corner of his eyes. He was beautiful and it was irritating. What man needed a face like an angel?
The man was insanely attractive, but even good-looking men can be psychos. I backed up a few steps from him and surveyed my surroundings.
We were in the middle of the second floor where Shamus Montgomery’s latest collection was being displayed. There wasn’t a single thing in the room I could pick up and use for a weapon, except for his flashlight. I glanced toward it; he held it tight in his hand.
“Don’t even think about it.”
I met his gaze and took another step back. “What are you doing in here if you don’t plan to steal anything?”
“I’m doing my job, as I’ve already explained.”
I could’ve laughed. “Who the hell has a job that involves breaking into art galleries?”
“Mercy Rothell hired me to test the security of the gallery. My name, Ms. Tilwell, is Mathias Montgomery,” he said, delivering his news with an understated arrogance that was so irritating and yes, attractive, that I could barely stand to look at him.
Mathias Montgomery.
Great. Just great. Of all the would-be thieves that I had to go attack it just had to be the older brother of my boss’s future husband. It was one of those moments when I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole. How many times had Mercy discussed the security of the building with me in recent weeks? Too many to count, as it had become her favorite subject after she’d become director.
Since James Brooks had put her off repeatedly, she’d been plotting drastic measures. I hadn’t thought it would include a mock break-in. Well, she’d certainly found a way to get his attention.
“I didn’t realize you’d already made the move to Boston.” I grimaced at the weakness I heard in my words.
He pointed one finger at me. “You just can’t go around—”
“Don’t lecture me. I’m a grown-ass woman, and if I wanted to be lectured by a man who thinks he knows what’s good for me I’d have stayed in Savannah under my brother’s thumb. Besides, I thought you were a thief.” Getting my back up about something made me feel better. I straightened my shoulders and glared at him.
“Why? Because all black men are criminals?” he demanded, his tone just a hair from being petulant.
“No, you jackass, because you were skulking around an art gallery dressed in dark clothes with a flashlight.” I crossed my arms over my breasts, disappointed that I would resort to such a defensive gesture, and glared. “What? Do you think all southerners are racist?”
“Of course not.”
I tilted my head and looked him over. He really was quite pretty, for an asshole. “I called the police.”
“Great.”
“It’s your own damn fault.” I turned on my heel and walked away. “You’d better be able to produce identification, Mr. Montgomery, or I’m going to see you handcuffed and charged with criminal trespassing, attempted burglary, and assault.”
“Lady, you assaulted me!”
“That’s not the way I’m going to tell it.” I stalked toward the stairs that led up to the administrative floor.
He’d certainly proved that the gallery’s security was bad. Beyond bad, which put me on edge. I’d honestly never worried about my safety in the gallery. We have six guards during the day and one at night. I turned abruptly and glared at him. “What did you do to Wendell?”
“He’s not here.”
“Excuse me?” I tucked my hands behind my back to keep from putting them on my hips. How dramatic would that have looked?
“Your so-called security guard left the parking lot more than twenty minutes ago and hasn’t been back. I’ve been watching this place for a week, and he’s done the same thing every night.” He glared at me as if it were my fault. “You’re just lucky it was me casing this place and not someone with more sinister motives.”
“Great.” I winced at the sound of sirens. It had taken nearly fifteen minutes for a police response. “Well, I guess I can be fortunate you aren’t a criminal.”
“You’d best call Mercy and the owner.”
Yes, indeed. I was never, ever going to live this down. Miserable, I went up the stairs and headed toward my office. I turned at the stairs and looked toward him. “You’d better not go anywhere.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“So, let me get this straight.”
By this time, I had both hands covering my face. It was the third time I’d had to repeat what had happened, and this time it was for James Brooks—the owner of the gallery and the only man in recent memory that intimidated me. I hated that I had disappointed him.
“You’re working late, again. At some point, you realize that there is a stranger in the building. Instead of tripping the alarm, calling the police, and locking your door—you call the police and then set out to apprehend him on your own.”
“I acted without thinking.” But admitting that I did something stupid wasn’t exactly my strong suit, and I knew that I didn’t sound nearly as contrite as he would have liked.
“You certainly did.”
I dropped my hands and met his gaze. “It was a mistake.”
He glared, but I could tell he was far more disappointed and worried than angry. “It certainly was.”
“Mr. Brooks…”
“Don’t ‘Mr. Brooks’ me, Jane. You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”
“But I didn’t.”
“That’s really beside the point.” He stood from the chair he’d been sitting in like a king and glared pointedly at me. “This place is important to me and it was important to my mother. She dedicated her life to it, and I do in turn to honor her memory. Having said that, I’ll say this. Nothing in this place is more valuable to me than the lives of the people who work for me. If this were to ever happen again I