Page 41 of Shatter Me

“Why not?”

“Because you’re Sofia’s brother-in-law. Because you’re on the museum board. Because—” I stop myself from adding “because I can’t trust myself around you.”

“Those sound like excellent reasons to clear the air.” His perfect smile appears, the one that never quite reaches his eyes. “Purely professional, of course.”

I snort. “Nothing about you is purely professional, Dmitri.”

“Is that a no?”

I should say no. Every instinct screams that dining with Dmitri Ivanov is like walking into a tiger’s cage. But the words that come out are: “I’ll think about it.”

His smile widens fractionally. “I’ll take that as a yes. A car will pick you up at seven-thirty.”

“You’re so arrogant.” I can’t muster real annoyance behind the words. “Most people wait for an actual yes before making dinner arrangements.”

“Most people aren’t me.” Dmitri steps closer, his tall frame casting a shadow over me. My heart speeds up as his masculine scent wraps around me.

“That’s exactly what an arrogant person would say.” I mean to sound dismissive but my voice comes out husky.

He moves closer until I tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The temperature in my office seems to spike. His presence overwhelms my senses—the subtle scent of his cologne, the crisp white of his shirt that hides countless tattoos you’d never expect a man like him to have, and how his suit jacket pulls across his broad shoulders.

His fingers dance across my cheek, making my breath catch. “What are you really afraid of, Tash?”

I swallow hard, my heart thundering against my ribs. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“No?” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “Then why are you trembling?”

“I’m not—” The lie dies in my throat as his other hand settles on my waist, drawing me closer. The heat of his palm burns through my silk blouse.

I should step back. Should put distance between us. Instead, I sway toward him, caught in his gravity like a helpless satellite.

His arctic blue eyes darken as they fix on my mouth. The air crackles between us, heavy with possibility. I tilt my face up, pulse racing as he leans down?—

A knock at the door makes me jump. “Ms. Blackwood? Your eight-fifteen is here.”

I stumble back, nearly tripping over my chair. “Just—just a minute, Jenny!”

Dmitri’s expression hardens for a fraction of a second before his perfect mask slides back into place. He straightens his already immaculate tie. “I look forward to seeing you at the board meeting in half an hour, Ms. Blackwood.”

“Yes. The board meeting.” I smooth my skirt, trying to collect myself. “I’ll have the full presentation ready.”

I take several deep breaths to steady myself before opening the door. Jenny stands there with Mr. Patterson, one of our most generous donors. For decades, his Monet has been the centerpiece of his private collection.

“Mr. Patterson, thank you for coming.” I gesture him into my office, hyper-aware of the lingering scent of Dmitri’s cologne. “Please, have a seat.”

“Always a pleasure, my dear.” He settles into the chair across my desk, his bow tie slightly crooked. “Though I must say, you look a bit flushed. Are you feeling alright?”

“Just rushed this morning.” I smooth my hair and take my seat, forcing thoughts of Dmitri from my mind. “Now, about the Monet...”

“Ah, yes.” He leans forward, eyes twinkling. “I hear you’re putting together an Impressionist exhibition for next spring.”

“We are.” I pull out the proposal I’d prepared. “And your ‘Water Lilies’ would be the perfect centerpiece. The lighting in the main gallery would really bring out those twilight purples.”

Mr. Patterson picks up the proposal, adjusting his reading glasses. “My late wife always said that painting belonged in a museum where everyone could enjoy it.”

I hold my breath, not daring to hope it could be this easy. The Monet would transform our exhibition from impressive to extraordinary.

“Tell me more about your security measures,” he says, flipping through the pages. “And the environmental controls. Canvas this old needs precise humidity...”

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