Darkest Desire
Page 13
Still, it had been a success, a surprising success. The torque had proven a marvelous centerpiece for the exhibition, and guests had crowded around it, marveling and asking questions. Compared with other highly ornate pieces, it was simple and spare, but its weight and age were obvious even behind the glass. It exuded a strange mystical pull that had held everyone in its thrall.
The other elements of the exhibition--the legends, the divinities, the heroes and heroines of old--told their stories through ancient manuscripts and artifacts, interpreted by Morgan. She had held her breath, waiting for some strait-laced historian to haul her over the coals for daring to deviate too far from the accepted version. So far, though, all she had received were compliments, with David LeMaire and other leading historians complementing her for her thoughtful and imaginative approach to the exhibition.
The director and the curator had both made speeches introducing the exhibition, and Hunter had been invited to follow them with a few words about the torque. His wry and amusing anecdotes about his experience on digs had amused even the conservative crowd, and he had winked at Morgan during his speech, making her blush and then laugh.
She knew that life with Hunter wouldn’t be all glamorous openings and parties. When Hunter was on a dig, they might be apart for months and they had discussed the possibility of Morgan freelancing at the museum so that she was available to travel with him some of the time. The fluidity of life and work with Hunter would sometimes prove frustrating, Morgan knew, accustomed as she was to a more clear-cut routine, but she felt calmer and more able to deal with changing plans.
"So, you two are the talk of the town now," said Mary, pushing open the door and sinking into the visitor chair in Morgan’s office and running a tired hand through her blond-streaked bob. "Everyone’s tongues are wagging about the handsome archaeologist and his raven-haired beauty."
"Typical." Morgan’s mouth twisted wryly. "They never mention the woman’s professional competence--only her looks."
"Still, can’t hurt to get you noticed. You just have to make sure they don’t try to mark you down because you’ve got where you are based on sex, or because you’re Hunter’s partner. You know what it’s like. The gossips can be as cruel here as anywhere else."
She stood up and hugged Morgan. "Anyway, I’m happy for you, hon. You always were a star even if you didn’t know your own worth half of the time."
"Thanks, Mary. Everyone should have a friend like you."
"So…." Mary drawled the word and Morgan knew she wanted the juice on Hunter. "You never did tell me how you made up with the handsome Hunter."
"Oh, you know," Morgan waved a hand vaguely. "An apology … and a lot of sex did the trick."
Mary chuckled. "Don’t you love men--so simple!" she looked at her watch. "Talking of men, I’d better round mine up before he demolishes everything the caterers have to offer. He’s had the wedding tux fitted so he can’t afford to pile on the pounds. You should go rescue Hunter, too. Last I saw Edwina and Gus had him in their clutches and he had a glazed, rather terrified look in his eyes."
Morgan reluctantly found her shoes and the two women walked into the grand hall, which was emptying fast as guests decided to take to advantage of a break in the rain and make for their cars. Morgan said her good-byes to Mary and other guests that she knew personally, before making her way over to Hunter, Edwina and Gus, who were deep in discussion with Marshall, the curator. Standing close to Hunter, she discreetly reached her hand towards him, her fingers entwining with his.
"Well done, my dear," said Edwina. "I’ve been discussing your work with some of the more eminent names in the field, including Ted Farrell. They were most intrigued by your approach to some elements of the exhibition. In fact, David LeMaire even suggested that you might want to touch base with him about a book he’s working on." Eileen touched her arm. "Between you and me, I think he might want help jazzing up a Celtic history tome he’s been writing for years. But make sure you get due credit--push him for a co-authorship."
Morgan shook her head and started say something but Edwina said, "Nonsense. It would be good for you. Get your name out there."
"Good for the museum, too," Marshall muttered under his breath.
"Well, let’s hope tomorrow’s newspapers publish something about the exhibition itself and the launch isn’t just consigned to the society pages," said Gus shrewishly, glancing at Morgan’s backless red sheath dress.
"Oh, Gus, don’t be so stuffy!" Edwina reprimanded him, while Hunter ran his hand gently down Morgan’s back, making her nerve-endings prickle. "A veneer of glamour is just the thing this musty old place needs.
"In fact, I want to talk to you all in the next few days about where we head next. Even if More than Myths is a success beyond compare, we can’t afford to rest on our laurels. We need always to be thinking one step ahead. I have a few ideas about where we go next, and I want you all to bring some suggestions to the table too."
Edwina excused herself and Hunter told Gus he was ready to take Morgan home unless she was needed. Slightly surly after the put-down from Edwina, Gus wished them goodnight and headed over to admonish the caterers who had accidentally chipped the corner of an exhibition wall with a drinks tray.
Morgan watched him bustle off, knowing she was going to have to work hard to win her boss over to her way of thinking during the next few months. Regardless of Gus’s old-fashioned attitude, she felt for the first time a sense of belonging at the museum, and confidence in the respect her colleagues felt for her expertise and contribution.
"You were wonderful tonight." A large callused hand touched her nape where tendrils escaped from her upswept chignon. Morgan felt a shiver ripple down her spine as the memory of sharp teeth nipping her there rippled through her mind. Then she looked up into the loving visage of her mild Hunter, his warm amber eyes smiling proudly down at her.
"The history and archaeology buffs loved you. Usually they get some moldering, middle-aged professor type with thick glasses and bad teeth--or a scruffy young thing in jeans with thick glasses and bad teeth. They’re not used to sexy young goddesses wearing red silk, and with compellingly radical ideas of her own about Celtic mythology."
Hunter leaned down to her, his lips touching hers. Morgan’s mouth opened for the sweep of his tongue as his lips met with hers. He tasted her for a moment and then pulled her upright into his arms to deepen the kiss. Finally Morgan pulled away, gasping, resting her head against Hunter’s chin.
"I think we’d better continue this later when we have more privacy," she said.
"Is that a promise?"
Morgan reached a finger up to touch his lips.
"Your place or mine?"
Hunter considered the question. "Hmm, mine then. It’s nearer and I don’t think I can wait long to have you in my arms again."
Though they hadn’t formally decided to live together, it was rare that they spent a night apart, unless Hunter was away. They had discussed which house would be their primary residence but hadn’t yet reached a conclusion. Morgan loved her old townhouse, its rooms filled with the furniture she’d inherited from her grandmother or discovered in dusty antique stores and restored with love. It felt like home. But Hunter’s gothic mansion – which he had bought some months before but had barely lived in – was starting to grow on her, too. She knew if they had children, the space that Hunter’s house offered, made it a better option. At the moment, though, they stayed wherever best suited them.
Morgan smoothed the tie at Hunter’s neck. Though the launch was formal he’d flat-out refused to wear a tux, although he had agreed to ditch his old cords for the event, and the beautifully cut charcoal suit and dark red tie gave him a dashing elegance.
They had turned heads when arriving at the launch and the bored press photographers had suddenly swung into action at the first sign of glamour. Morgan knew that Gus and some of the more conservative members of the board wouldn’t be too happy but if she and Hunter helped add a sexy edge to
history that helped bring the exhibition exposure and--more importantly--visitor numbers, they could hardly complain. She was pleased that Edwina evidently concurred.
Morgan and Hunter walked slowly back to her office where she collected her evening bag and wrap from her desk. On Monday, she would have to pack all her research materials on the horned man-beast away and begin working on new ideas. As the turned to leave, she caught her foot against the corner of something sticking out from underneath her desk. It was a book about Celtic mythology that she hadn’t found time to delve into. A silky bookmark was tucked into a page near the end and a phrase caught her eye.
….so the story goes, an apparition of the horned god appears in the dreams of those who act with wild abandon, or people who burn with passionate desire….
She smiled as she remembered Hunter saying something similar in the early days of their relationship.
As they walked down the empty corridor of the museum and out into the damp night, she looked up at her handsome archaeologist and smiled at him.
"What?" he entwined his fingers with hers.
"Oh, nothing really," she smiled up at him. "Just thinking that all my dreams have come true."
THE END