Dark Lover (3 page)

Sam fought thinking about taking that ring off and touching him where it counted. She'd forgotten the attraction that raged between them, against her judgment and her will. But she had not forgotten their last encounter, oh no, and she never would.

And she knew that inwardly he was laughing at her. He was not repentant at all. “I don't like men coming on to me,” she said flatly. “I call the shots.”

His mouth curled. “Of course. Ye like to be the one seducing yer little boys. Or should I say toys?”

He was right. “Do you have a problem with strong women, Maclean?”

“Aye, I do. I like my women soft an' hot. An' we both know ye have a problem with strong men.”

She slowly smiled. “My problem is I've never met a man as strong as me—especially in the bedroom.”

His smile was wide. “Now who's the arrogant one? When yer ready to take a chance, ye'll find out how wrong ye are.”

Sam had the disturbing notion that he'd give her the ride of her life. “I'm always ready—except when it comes to jet-setting playboys with massive egos like you.”

“Ouch,” he said. “So ye haven't forgiven me fer Loch Awe. Ye were insulted.”

“I can't really recall what happened at Loch Awe,” she snapped.

He laughed. “Ye can recall. I left ye standing naked in my salon, instead of begging fer yer favors like all your boys do. I didn't grovel. I didn't pant or drool. I didn't give ye the favor ye wanted me to. Ye were furious with me. Come, Sam, we both know the kind of woman ye are. Ye never forgive an' ye never forget. An' we both know ye didn't forget me.”

Her temper soared. “Frankly, I haven't given you a thought since last December,” she lied. “Can your huge ego handle it?”

“My huge ego can handle anything—anyway ye want.”

“I'll pass…like last time.”

“So ye do recall last time,” he said softly. “When I didn't give ye the chance to say no.”

She trembled, furious.

“Are ye sure ye don't wish fer a trophy? So there's no danger that ye forget
this
night?”

“No.”
There was no satisfaction in saying “no” now. Even as angry as she was, she knew she wasn't going to forget his screwing Becca, not for a long time. “As far as I'm concerned, you're no prize, Maclean, no matter what you seem to think.”

He shrugged indifferently and murmured, “How will ye know if ye don't try the goods?”

Sam turned to go. “Yeah, of course, you're the best there is. I've never met a man who didn't think he was God's gift in the sack,” she retorted over her shoulder.

He seized her arm. She was forced to halt and their gazes clashed. His stare never wavered. “I'm the best.”

His words made her feel faint for a moment. Sam wanted to retort, but she just stood there, recalling the look on his face a moment ago. Becca had seemed to be having an otherworldly orgasm, while he was hunting his own pleasure—almost as if it were an effort. She'd heard that sex with near-immortals was really different—that the rapture was somehow endless. Frankly, she didn't believe it but she was sure he was damned good—when inspired.

He was never going to have the chance to prove it to her.

“Ye'll never want a boy toy again,” he said softly.

“Your ego,” she said as softly, “is off the charts. Some women might find it attractive—I don't. It
diminishes
any other attributes you might actually have.”

He grinned. “My ego can't diminish what yer thinkin' about.”

She pulled free of his grasp. “You've got the goods. Big deal.”

“Yer salivating.”

It was definitely time to leave before she blew a gasket. She turned to storm out, when she remembered that she wasn't supposed to let him out of her sight. In that instant, she recalled what was in Hemmer's vault—what he wanted, what HCU wanted. She slowly faced him. “Let's talk turkey. How's the vault?”

His brows lifted. “I don't know.”

“Why not?”

He gestured at the bed. “I've been busy. Ye took yer time an' I decided to start the evening off with a bang.”

He
had
been expecting her. “Did you get a peek at the guest list?”

He shrugged. “Our paths were bound to cross, sooner or later.”

“I don't travel in Hemmer's circles.”

“Now ye do,” he said flatly. “Yer a Rose. Yer cousin married my father. Of course ye'd hunt Hemmer now.”

Sam stared, finally somewhat diverted from his sexuality and virile appeal. Was he in touch with Brie? “Is the page the real deal?”

“The page?” Both dark brows lifted. “I don't know. Rupert must think so.”

He sure must, to spend over two hundred million dollars on it, Sam thought.

“Are ye sure ye won't have a drink with me? We can discuss our mutual interests.” His eyes sparked with amusement.

She looked at the bed behind him. “Really sure.”

“Ye'll change yer mind.”

“If you say so.” She smiled at him, mocking him now. “Hey, Maclean? I'll be the first one into the vault—when Rupert offers me a private viewing later this evening.”

He was amused. “Really? An' what if I offer ye the viewing now?”

She went still. “Are you kidding?”

His long, thick lashes lowered briefly. “I want to make amends.”

For one moment, she almost believed him. She knew he was trying to play her, though, and that was as far as it went. But two could play his game. “Get me in and I might forgive you.”

His lashes lifted and his gray gaze met hers. When he didn't move or speak, she pushed past him and he followed her into the elevator.

“A word of advice,” he said conversationally as the elevator began its descent. “I always get what I want.”

“Good. That makes two of us—we have so much in
common!” The elevator was too small for them both. His big, masculine body was filling up the small space. But he was going to get her into the vault and that was what she needed to focus on. “How are the new digs, by the way?”

“Why don't ye come by an' see for yourself?”

She thought that worth a trip uptown. “Any interesting art you can show me? Maybe a stolen masterpiece or two?”

His smile returned. “So ye
have
been thinking about me.”

“It's called homework.”

He grinned, pleased. As the elevator door opened, Sam walked past him, annoyed all over again. Maybe the real problem was his looks. He looked almost exactly like his father, Aidan of Awe, and that made him nearly irresistible. If he didn't have that dark, thick hair, those pale, sizzling gray eyes, the deep dimples when he smiled and the features of an Adonis, his sexuality wouldn't be so overwhelming. He'd just be a gross horndog.

But he did look like one of the gods he was descended from. She'd be a liar if she didn't admit that he was one of the most beautiful men she'd ever laid eyes on—and she hadn't even seen his body in the buff.

Well, she'd seen the one part that counted the most—in her book, anyway. She thought about the silver ring, her insides lurching, breathless all over again. That piercing had to have hurt like holy hell.

“It's steel,” he said softly. “Not silver.”

Her gaze slammed to his. He'd read her mind—and proved just how telepathic he was.

She led the way to the vault, focusing on the task at hand but terribly aware of him behind her. The back of Hemmer's penthouse was as empty as before. She paused, gesturing at the steel door facing them. “I can sense evil and good. Right now, I can't feel a thing.”

He gave her a look she could not decipher, then reached
for the heavy door handle. Sam had expected him to leap into the vault, taking her with him. “What are you doing?” she asked sharply, waiting for the alarms to start screaming. But an utter silence remained.

He smiled and turned the lever. The steel door opened.

He turned. “Come.”

“How did you do that?” Sam asked, surprised.

He slowly smiled. “It's as easy as the leap through time.”

It was clear that Maclean had used his mind to unlock the door and turn off the sensors and alarms. Now that was an incredibly useful trick—especially for a thief.

“So that's how you got the van Gogh?”

He sent her a modest smile, gesturing politely for her to precede him inside.

Interior lights had come on as the door had opened. Sam walked past him, her gaze wide, scanning the rows of stunning masterpieces on the two walls. The vault was like a long tunnel. “Who would want to keep their art locked up this way?” While she was not an art aficionado, she was damned sure she recognized the work of artists she'd seen at the Met, the Whitby and the Guggenheim. Hemmer had a priceless collection, if she did not miss her guess.

Maclean hadn't answered and she glanced back at him. He had loosened his tie and was now unbuttoning his collar, as if uncomfortable. The temperature in the vault was carefully controlled. “Hemmer lusts fer art the way demons lust fer sex and death.”

“Is he evil?”

He gave her a look that said, “yes.”

“How much did he pay you for the van Gogh?” she asked casually, not missing a beat. Not that she could trap him into an admission he didn't care to make.

His response was as immediate. “Thirty million.” He smiled, tugging at his collar again. “I gave him a deal.”

Sam snorted. She looked carefully around again. “Something's wrong,” she said, uncertain of what she was feeling. She strained to sense what was tugging at her and she felt the faintest wafting of evil, drifting toward them. “Do you feel that?”

He nodded. “It's within.”

Sam ignored him, trying to isolate the rest of her feelings. She felt a stirring of holy power. It seemed to beckon her. It was to her left. She turned, trying to follow it, and faced a huge landscape of a lush European countryside, probably from the eighteenth century. She started to remove it from the wall.

Instantly Maclean came over to help her. The moment they lifted it up, the page from the Duisean faced them.

It was framed and under glass, but the aged and faded parchment shimmered with power and light. Some of the written words seemed three-dimensional. “It is real,” Sam said harshly, holding up one end of the large landscape. “But the power is distant, somehow.”

“The power is contained,” Maclean said thoughtfully. “I think ye need a spell to unleash it.”

They looked at each other. Sam was thinking about Tabby when Ian said, “Hemmer.”

“Are you sure?” Sam didn't hear anyone approaching and she didn't feel danger. As they quickly set the landscape back, Maclean said, “My senses are greater than yours.”

“Then maybe we should hurry.” Sam rushed out of the vault, Ian behind her, aware now of voices farther down the corridor. Maclean pushed the steel door closed and she heard it automatically lock. The voices grew louder, and she could hear their footsteps approaching.

Sam didn't think twice about what she had to do. She seized Maclean's tie and used it as a leash to jerk him a few steps down the hall, away from the vault's door. She
shoved him against the wall, still holding his tie tightly in her fist.

He knew what she was about to do and he smiled smugly.

She pushed her entire body against his and their gazes locked. His eyes blazed.

And that massive, pierced erection pushed up between them.

Sam pushed him harder against the wall, impossibly aware of his entire body, which felt like steel. She stood on her toes. In her high heels, they were eye to eye.

He waited, his mouth curling slightly with triumph.

She kissed him.

She opened her mouth, claiming his. The moment their lips fused, her heart slammed and seemed to lodge in her throat. Hemmer and his entourage turned the corner. She kept one part of her mind on them, but the rest of her mind was on Maclean—and he had her body's full attention.

He tasted so damn good. He felt even better, stiff and hard against her. The desire was so fierce, so consuming, so feral, that she was shocked. And then she couldn't stand it. Eyes closed, she forgot about Hemmer and she forced his mouth open. He laughed. Sam shoved her tongue deep.

Her body threatened to explode.

And he grabbed her by the hips, turned her around, pinned her to the wall and took over the kiss. He ground against her, pressing one huge thigh between her legs until she rode him.

She seized his broad shoulders, kissing him wildly back. It was too good to stop now.

“I beg your pardon,” Rupert Hemmer said.