Page 1

Chapter 1

Calla

I’ve spent the better part of my adult life staring at naked men.

Unfortunately, they’re all made of stone.

And not one of them has ever bought me dinner.

It’s a tragedy, really. Especially considering the impressive collection of male anatomy I’ve handled over the years. Greek gods, Roman emperors, the occasional well-endowed gladiator. I’ve seen enough marble dicks to qualify for some sort of honorary doctorate.

Which is probably why my last boyfriend accused me of having an unhealthy obsession with dead men.

In my defense, the dead men were considerably better-looking.

And they never complained when I spent too long at work.

“Calla! Your boyfriend’s here!”

I glance up from the fractured marble hand I’ve been painstakingly restoring for the past three hours.

My assistant, Jules, stands in the doorway of the conservation laboratory, grinning like she’s just won the lottery.

“Unless he’s six-foot-four, emotionally available, and carrying takeout, I’m not interested.”

“Oh, honey.” She presses a hand to her chest. “He’s so much better than that.”

I set down my brush. “Does he have a pulse?”

“Debatable.”

“Then we’ve already established a problem.”

“Just come look.”

I peel off my gloves and follow her through the double doors into the receiving gallery of the Saint Street Museum of Antiquities.

Outside, a sudden New Orleans thunderstorm rattles the tall windows. Rain streaks the glass, blurring the wrought-iron balconies across Saint Street. Somewhere beyond the courtyard, a trumpet wails from one of the jazz bars that never seems to close.

It’s nearly nine on a Friday night, and instead of drinking something fruity in the French Quarter, I’m working overtime in a museum full of dead people.

My mother would be thrilled.

Actually, she’d probably ask whether any of the dead people had single grandsons.

“Okay,” Jules says, stopping beside a massive wooden shipping crate. “Prepare yourself.”

“For what?”

She gestures toward the two deliverymen removing the final protective panels.

“For the reason women invented religion.”

I open my mouth to make a smart remark.

Then I see him.

Holy.