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“My father.”
The laboratory lights flicker violently.
He looks down at his imprisoned body, then back at me.
And slowly, that wicked smile returns.
“Well, little mortal.”
I swallow.
“What?”
“It appears we have a problem.”
I glance at the enormous marble body still trapped on its pedestal.
“You think?”
His gaze drops to my hands.
Then rises to meet mine.
“You’ve awakened me, Calla.”
“Apparently.”
“But you haven’t finished.”
My stomach tightens.
“Finished what?”
He leans toward me as far as the stone allows.
His voice drops into a low, seductive rumble.
“Touching me.”
I stare at him.
He smiles.
“And I intend to make that your new favorite occupation.”
Chapter 5
Calla
There are several things they don’t teach you in art conservation school.
How to remove three thousand years of grime from a marble sculpture without damaging the original surface.
How to distinguish authentic Greek craftsmanship from a nineteenth-century reproduction.
And, apparently, what to do when a seven-foot-tall statue opens his eyes and asks you to touch him.
Again.
