Читать книгу: «Dark Lover»

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

New York City, July 18, 2009

SAM ROSE WAS in a really lousy mood, until she saw the memo on her desk. “Party tonight at seven at Rupert Hemmer’s. Bring stilettos and wear red.”

She slowly smiled. Great, she shot back in an e-mail to her boss. I haven’t been to a good party in ages.

It was three in the afternoon and she had just come into work, but she wasn’t late. Evil played at night, which meant she worked at night, because her job was hunting down the bad guys and doing them in. In fact, she’d been hunting evil since she was twelve years old—since the day her mother had been murdered.

It was ancient history now. Sam could think about Laura as she’d last seen her, even recalling her pale lifeless face, without a pang of sorrow or sadness. She’d learned long ago how to turn off any impending compassion. No Slayer could get the job done if he or she started feeling sorry for evil’s victims. Laura’s death had been Fate. Every Rose woman had a destiny, and hers was to be a Slayer.

That day, the need to vanquish evil had been branded into her soul. Now Sam looked forward to the night. Others feared the shadows—as they should; she thrilled when the moon rose. Others feared the sound of heavy breathing behind them; she relished evil daring to pursue her. Let it try! She hunted with a vengeance—literally.

Nick Forrester had recruited her into the Historical Crimes Unit at CDA almost a year ago, ending her years of cruising as a vigilante. The Center for Demonic Activity was a clandestine government agency founded by Thomas Jefferson, who’d established the agency shortly after his presidency had begun. He’d believed then, as was believed now, that the public couldn’t handle the truth.

Sam agreed. If the public ever knew that evil was a race ruled by the great Satan and intent on destroying humanity, chaos would ensue. It was hard enough saving the day as it was, without everyone running around in a state of abject fear and mass hysteria. It was definitely better that the public thought crime was simply out of control and society in a state of impending anarchy. Sometimes, listening to the news anchors and the accompanying social commentary, Sam would laugh at their politically correct theories.

Now, thinking about her boss’s memo, Sam was thoughtful. Rupert Hemmer was a middle-aged developer who was on his fourth or fifth trophy wife; he was the city’s most notorious billionaire. She recalled reading or hearing something about a big bash for his wife’s birthday. But Nick didn’t travel in those circles, and he did not do parties. This was not a social occasion. And that meant Hemmer’s party had bad vibes attached to it. Hemmer, as rich and powerful as he was, might even be one of the bad guys. In any case, he was not your ordinary guy and his guests wouldn’t be ordinary, either. Sam was gleeful. Tonight promised to be fun.

Sam made the mistake of glancing at the tear-off calendar on her desk and all glee vanished. She smiled grimly at the date. In four more days, it would be her birthday.

Last year, they’d all been together. This year, her sister, Tabby, and her cousin, Brie, were gone.

Abruptly, Sam brought her PC out of sleep mode. She refused to acknowledge the pang that went through her. Of course she missed Tabby and Brie. She missed their best friend, Allie, too. Allie was a Healer and Tabby was a witch, and Brie had her own gifts. They’d fought to protect and defend civilians together for years, because that was what Rose women had been doing for generations. Now she worked alone. And that was just fine. Brie and Tabby had met their destiny in the past, as had Allie. In truth, as smart as Brie had been, she’d been a bit of a klutz, and Tabby’s spells had been erratic. Sam had always had to keep one eye on them while fighting off their enemies, especially after Allie had left them. Now, she could focus on evil and the Innocent. It was so much simpler.

The bottom line was that a Slayer was meant to live alone, fight alone, and eventually, die alone. And that was as it should be.

So she’d spend her birthday alone. Who cared? She’d pick up a hottie and before she even knew it, the day would have passed. Sam flipped the calendar over and Tabby’s photograph faced her. It was Sam’s favorite picture of her sister. Tabby wore her pearls, reminding her of how gentle and classic her sister had been.

Tabby remained gentle and classic, she reminded herself—just in another time.

She turned the photo over and started to do a search within HCU’s immense database on Rupert Hemmer. As she did, someone rapped on her open door. Sam felt his power without seeing who it was and was annoyed as she looked up.

MacGregor grinned. “What happened to you last night? Only one kill and two escapes?”

“Get lost,” she said. He’d brought down five full demons last night.

“Boy toy must have worn you out.”

“He sure did,” she lied. Everyone knew she was a very liberated woman. She used men the way a playboy used women, and why not? She liked and needed sex. Except, she’d been off her game for a few months now. Her sex drive had been lacking. She was almost ready to wonder about it. “And you can’t stand it, can you?”

“You’ll come around,” MacGregor said with his usual arrogance. He’d been coming on to her ever since she’d begun working at HCU. “Sooner or later, you’ll figure out what you’re missing, Sam.”

“You’re too old for me.” She shrugged. He was probably thirty to her almost twenty-eight.

He laughed and walked away as a young, dark-haired woman poked her head into her office. “Got a moment?”

Sam leaned back in her desk chair. “Sure.” She considered Kit Mars somewhat of a friend, now that Tabby, Allie and Brie were gone. Kit was her own age, and as fervent about the war on evil as she was. She’d been recruited out of the NYPD Vice Unit, and even though she was still officially a rookie at the agency, she was tough and sharp and good to have around in the middle of the night. Once in a while, they even had a drink together.

Kit sauntered in, a newspaper in her hand. As usual, she didn’t wear any makeup. She really didn’t have to—she had striking, handsome features. She slapped the New York Times down on Sam’s desk, then glanced at the downturned calendar and photograph. Sam felt as if she’d been caught red-handed in a crime.

Kit hesitated. “It’s okay to miss your sister.”

Sam grimaced and put the photo back in its proper position and place. “What are you, a mind reader now?” She spoke calmly.

“I don’t have to read your mind to know how hard it is to lose a sibling.”

“I didn’t lose a sibling. Tabby’s alive and well, somewhere in medieval Scotland, making magic with her Highlander.” The moment Sam spoke, she was sorry for her sharp words. Kit’s twin sister had died in her arms in Jerusalem when they were only eighteen.

“Yes, she is,” Kit said seriously. “But she’s not here, is she?”

Sam stiffened. “Do you really want to get on my case?”

Kit winced. “No, I don’t, but I know how close you were. I still miss Kelly. I was just trying to be kind.”

Sam inhaled. “Okay. Be kind. But take my advice. Kind and caring won’t get the demons dead. It will get you dead.”

Kit grimaced. “I’m working on it,” she finally said. Sam couldn’t read minds, but she knew Kit was thinking she was a real hard-ass. “Good. That will make Papa Nick proud. So, what’s this?” Sam pulled the newspaper forward. Her eyes widened at the sight of Rupert Hemmer’s photograph on the front page and then she was thoroughly diverted by the accompanying headline. Hemmer Acquires Rare Celtic Manuscript For 212 Million.

Sam dragged the paper forward, her excitement instantaneous. There had been an auction at Sotheby’s the night before, and Hemmer had bought a page from a centuries-old Celtic manuscript, believed to be the oldest written Celtic text ever discovered. Sam cried out as she kept reading. Historians claimed the page was part of an ancient and holy book called the Duisean, which had been enshrined in a monastery on the island of Iona in medieval times. Some historians thought that the shrine had been guarded by a secret brotherhood of pagan warrior knights, and that the book had been the key to their power in the medieval world.

Sam looked up, her pulse racing. She happened to know that the Duisean existed. In fact, parts of it were believed to be floating around the present time. As for the secret warrior society, it existed, too. She was smiling now. “Did you get an invite to Hemmer’s tonight?”

Kit nodded. “Yeah, I did. And I’d already seen this earlier today, but I didn’t read it or notice the bit about the Duisean. Now it’s starting to make sense. Sam, he had the page transported to his penthouse last night in an armored vehicle. He has an extensive art collection there, and apparently he keeps it in an impregnable vault.”

So that was why they were going to the Hemmers’. Locating whatever they could from the ancient book was on HCU’s master agenda. Sam stared at Kit as she sat down in a chair facing the desk.

Nick probably knew more about the secret brotherhood than any other person living in modern times. Last year, Brie had been abducted by a medieval Highlander who had been turned to evil. Brie had also worked at CDA and Nick was notoriously obsessed with not “losing” agents in time. He’d chosen Sam to go back to help him find Brie. When she and Nick had brought her cousin back to New York, Brie had been thoroughly debriefed. The warriors called themselves Masters; at HCU, they’d been dubbed the Masters of Time.

Of course, Brie had gone back to Aidan of Awe anyway, having fallen in love with him even before helping him return to the Brotherhood. But HCU had gained lots of new information to play with—including the possibility that the missing Duisean might be in New York City, and in the hands of a great demon.

Sam’s excitement increased. She believed in the Duisean. The Rose women had their own book, the Book of Roses, which contained all the magic and wisdom entrusted to them by higher powers, and passed down through the generations. The Book was now in Tabby’s keeping—it was always in the keeping of a Rose witch. One of the Highlanders had come for it, to bring it back to her. Why wouldn’t the Masters of Time have a book of power? They were a warrior society sworn to protect Innocence, and they needed warrior powers to do so. It just made sense.

“Is Hemmer evil?” Sam asked flatly. Finding the Duisean—and making sure it did not fall into the wrong hands—was a priority.

“I wondered that myself. I already checked, and there is a file on him. It’s flagged for possible demonic connections.”

“That could make him anything—the real deal, a mixed breed or possessed.” Sam wet her lips. “But it doesn’t matter. He can’t have any part of the Duisean. Shit.” It began to dawn on her how dangerous a demon or a half demon could become, if armed with power meant for the good guys.

“It might not be authentic, Sam,” Kit pointed out.

“Yeah. We need to see it up close and personal.” She was wry. “Where are the near-immortals when you need one?”

Kit ignored that. “Getting into that vault is almost impossible and it won’t happen tonight,” she said. “No one goes into that vault without Hemmer, and he’s very picky about who he invites for a viewing.”

Sam deliberately folded her arms and crossed her long, sculpted legs. Her idea of a great day was competing in a triathlon. She also ran marathons, kick-boxed, biked and skied. She was wearing her usual denim miniskirt, this one gray and frayed, with a studded belt and midcalf, high-heeled tan boots, despite the heat. She wagged her booted foot at Kit.

“I agree,” Kit said, grinning. “You’re the most likely candidate to persuade him to take you into the vault.”

Based on his memo, Nick obviously thought so, too. In spite of his new wife, Hemmer was notorious for his infidelities. Tonight, he’d be toast.

“No one is persuading Hemmer of anything tonight,” Nick Forrester said, walking into their midst. He was a tall, good-looking man and a legend in the agency—for his conquests, both demonic and not, and because of the rumors that he’d been around for decades, although he appeared to be in his late thirties. He was controlling, which was annoying, but damned good at organizing and directing the war on evil—and he’d die for any of his agents. Sam hated to admit it, but she liked him. And she respected him immensely.

He was also impossibly sexist. He glanced at Sam’s legs, but she was used to it. She expected men to look at her. “Tonight is strictly surveillance,” he told them. “I don’t know if the page is the real deal yet and we don’t know just how tainted Hemmer is. I want photos, ladies, lots and lots of photos, so Big Mama can make up architectural and mechanical plans. And while you’re at it, you can bring me a swab of Hemmer’s DNA.” He smiled at Sam. “Just pique Hemmer’s interest—for now.”

“No problem,” Sam said, standing. Sometimes tainted humans had the barest percentage of demonic blood, but it was enough to make their evil frightening. “Are you coming to play, too?”

“Not a good idea. Hemmer and I have never met, so let’s just say the timing isn’t right.”

The easier for Nick to catch Hemmer by surprise, Sam thought.

“I want a word with you,” Nick said to Sam.

Without having to be told, Kit picked up the newspaper and left.

Nick stared, his blue eyes piercing. “Maclean is on the guest list.”

Sam worked really hard to keep her facial muscles frozen.

“Give it up,” he said. “You want Lover Boy, and we both know it.”

NOT ONLY DIDN’T SHE want Maclean, she couldn’t stand him. Sam followed Nick down the hall and into his office, aware of a new tension riddling her body and the fact that her fists were clenched. Instantly she loosened them. The only thing she wanted in regards to Maclean was payback. Because he was a son of a bitch.

“Take off the dress.”

She seethed, standing with him in a fancy salon in his fancy Scottish mansion. “You are an unbelievable bastard.”

He laughed. “I’ve heard it a thousand times. What’s wrong? Are ye afraid of the bright lights?”

She didn’t have a drop of cellulite on her body. Sam lifted the spaghetti straps of her silk dress and let it pool at her feet. “Take a good, long look—because it’s your last one.”

Oh, had he looked.

Last December, she’d gone to Loch Awe to bargain with Ian Maclean. He was Aidan of Awe’s son, and as such, he had all kinds of extraordinary powers—including the power to leap through time. She had needed a way to find her sister, shortly after a Highlander had appeared in New York and taken Tabby back in time with him. But the moment she’d walked into Maclean’s ancient mansion, his every innuendo had been sexual. She had expected it.

The first time she’d met him, she’d been with Brie, who’d needed his help. She’d pegged him then as an arrogant, oversexed playboy. She hadn’t been wrong. He was wealthy, mouthwateringly sexy, and powerful—and he knew it. That day, they’d met for no more than five minutes, but he’d looked at her like he couldn’t wait to rip off her clothes and do just about everything sexual a man could do to a woman.

But he’d left her standing on the street corner, alone, taking Brie back in time without her. Sam did not like being left out of the real action, and she had been furious.

When Tabby had vanished into time with Guy Macleod, she’d been determined to go after her. So she had gone to Scotland prepared to offer Maclean a deal—but not her body. She wasn’t going to be one of a hundred women he used. She’d be the one to say yes or no. But he’d turned the encounter into another sexual contest. When she’d met his challenge and dropped the dress, he’d looked at every inch of her body with an arrogant certainty—as if he knew he’d win one day. As if he could wait. As if she couldn’t. And then he’d walked out on her.

He had walked out on her.

Not only that, he’d left her standing stark naked in his salon, the doors wide open, and all of his guests had seen her.

It was hard not to spit with rage, even now. Men did not walk out on her. Men drooled over her body, most of which was muscle. Men gaped when they saw her face, with her long-lashed blue eyes, her small straight nose, the high cheekbones and strong jaw. But Maclean had been mocking. Who did he think he was?

Sam believed in payback. She held her grudges for life.

This was war—even if he was one of the good guys—and she was going to win.

But although his power was huge and white, and he was Aidan of Awe’s son, his loyalties were not clear. Sam did know one thing. He was most definitely loyal to himself.

She was very doubtful that he was a part of the Brotherhood. He was too selfish.

“Why is he on Hemmer’s guest list?”

Nick shoved a fat file at her. “Happy reading.”

Sam started. “He’s on file.”

“You know Big Mama,” Nick said, referring to the agency’s supercomputer. “Maclean is on the ADR list.”

That was automatic data retrieval. When Big Mama flagged a person deemed corruptible, she automatically began to build a file, retrieving data from all possible sources at a set time every day. Because Ian was Aidan of Awe’s son, and Aidan had turned to evil for decades before being redeemed, he would have been flagged immediately. His status as corruptible could only be changed by an administrator.

“Are you going to admit you’re ready to pull that short, spiky mess out by its roots?” Nick was somewhat amused.

“I don’t pull hair and you know it. I’m thinking of using my Frisbee,” she said. That toy had teeth that could sever a man’s head from his body with a gentle toss, much less anything else she might want to sever.

“You’re not doing a good job of guarding your thoughts,” Nick commented, sitting down on the edge of his desk. “And I hate to tell you, kid, you put your hand between his legs and he isn’t going to quiver with fear.” Nick started laughing.

Sam tensed, hoping he hadn’t had a visual of her standing naked in Maclean’s fancy Highland salon. “If I ever put my hand there, he’s going to be really, really sorry,” Sam snapped.

Nick’s amusement vanished and he folded his arms across his chest. His biceps bulged beneath the sleeves of his dark T-shirt. “I have never seen you so pissed off.”

“Guess I’m mostly human,” she quipped.

He ignored that. “He is not aligned with the good guys. He is not a Master, Sam,” he warned.

“Somehow, I didn’t think so,” she said wryly. But her heart was beating a bit too swiftly, the way it did before battle—or during sex.

“He doesn’t play by the rules. But you know that, don’t you?”

Sam decided that Nick probably knew everything. “I don’t play by the rules, either.”

He smiled. “That’s why I’m so proud of you.” He became serious again. “I have no evidence that he’s turned. I look forward to meeting him and deciding for myself. But you are almost out of control, Sam. Anger will weaken you. He’ll make mincemeat out of you if you don’t get a grip.”

Sam was furious. “I’m not angry—I simply can’t stand the sonuvabitch. He’s an unbelievable jerk. He makes you look like a saint. I did underestimate him, I’ll admit it. I thought he’d be putty in my hands. Well, I won’t underestimate him again and I won’t ever ask him to make a deal.” She added, “And I won’t lose.”

Nick nodded, a gleam in his eyes. “I wonder why he suddenly bought property here.”

She felt herself still. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“He’s living here?”

“Bought an eighteen-million-dollar home, right on Park Avenue.” Nick smiled at her.

Sam was shocked. Why would he come to New York? She walked over to a window and stared down at the pedestrians and traffic on Hudson Street. “When did this happen?”

“Last January. A month or so after your little visit to Loch Awe.”

“His deciding to live here has nothing to do with me,” Sam said without thinking.

“I didn’t say it did.” Nick eyed the folder. “That is interesting reading, by the way.”

Sam folded her arms, her instincts going into overdrive. When she’d arrived at his home on Loch Awe, he’d been expecting her. How was that possible?

“I was wonderin’how long it would take ye to find me.” He was amused.

She smiled coldly. “In your dreams.”

He had poured her champagne, ignoring his other guests and his Playboy centerfold girlfriend. “Welcome to my lair. ”

“Your father was the wolf.”

“Like father, like son,” he murmured, his gaze dipping to her cleavage.

“In the mood for a proposition?”

“I’ve been in the mood since we first met.”

There’s no way he’d come to New York to pursue her. No woman would ever be worth that kind of effort for him and she was sure of it. He’d come to town for other reasons. The Duisean? She wouldn’t put it past him.

“You’re an amazingly striking and terribly seductive woman,” Nick said thoughtfully. “And you know it. Coupled with that is your power as a Slayer.”

Sam stared at her boss. “Keep up the flattery and I might become frightened.”

He grinned. “Nothing scares you, Sam.”

He was right.

Nick added, “I can’t write off his arrival in New York as a coincidence. He’s dangerous and ruthless.” Nick picked up the folder. “But you’re dangerous and ruthless, too.”

Her interest was piqued. “So he’s my objective.”

“If he has the wrong intentions, I’m counting on you to neutralize him.”

“Goody.” She fingered the folder. “What’s in there?”

“Some interesting coincidences.”

“I’m a Rose. According to our Wisdom, there’s no such thing.”

Nick smiled. “I know. He’s been flagged by our agency, but he’s also on Scotland Yard’s watch list. Do you recall the theft of that van Gogh in Milan two years ago?”

“No, I don’t.”

“The painting just vanished into thin air in the middle of a working day. According to a clerk there, no one from the public was inside the gallery that morning and no alarms went off. But Maclean had been a visitor earlier in the week.”

Sam paced thoughtfully, tingling with some excitement. “He leapt into the gallery and leapt out with the painting. Gee, I wonder if it survived traveling at the speed of light.”

“Guess who is rumored to now have it?” Sam waited and Nick said, “Hemmer.”

Sam started. “Okay. So that explains the guest list. He stole the painting, sold it to Hemmer, and now they’re best buds.”

“He’s best buddies with various other wealthy art collectors around the world.” Nick was wry. “And he’s linked to five international art dealers, who have suffered the combined loss of eight masterpieces in the past decade. Several of his other friends are reputed to be in possession of those stolen works of art now.”

Sam stared at Nick. Maclean was using his powers to steal. So this was how he’d acquired his wealth—and his Park Avenue address. And then the comprehension was instant and blazing. “You don’t think he’s here to hold Hemmer’s hand.”

“I don’t think he’s here to hold Hemmer’s hand.”

“He’s going to steal the page,” Sam said softly.

Nick stood. “And I bet you’ll do anything to get in his way, won’t you?”

Sam slowly smiled. “Oh, yeah,” she said, with relish.

His stare hardened. “Do not let him out of your sight tonight.”

Sam saluted.

“There’s nothing like a woman scorned,” Nick suddenly grinned. “I’m sort of glad he pissed you off.”

“I’m not pissed off. And I hate to tell you, I wasn’t scorned. But, Nick? I’m better than the cliché. I don’t get mad, I get even—and then some.”

“I’m counting on it.”

CHAPTER TWO

MACLEAN WAS NOWHERE in sight.

Standing in the marble foyer just outside the brass doors of the elevator, which had taken them to the penthouse, Sam and Kit exchanged glances. Hemmer had built the building in his usual style—Las Vegas glitz meets haughty Fifth Avenue. There were marble floors, gilded mirrors and Corinthian columns. Everything was as costly as possible, screaming money. A handful of guests stood ahead of them, filing forward, and black-clad security agents were everywhere.

Sam wore a strapless red jersey dress, which clung to her every curve, and gold spike sandals. She’d added one of her mother’s gold bracelets to her right wrist, although bracelets tended to get in the way during tight, hand-to-hand combat. Rings were actually useful—they could be annoying for the enemy, inflicting painful little cuts. She wore several. Most women carried a clutch, but she wore a wallet-size bag on a shoulder strap. It was almost weightless, holding only a credit card, her cell phone and her red lipstick, and couldn’t possibly get in the way of anything. And she wore the diamond hoops her sister had given her last year. She only took them off to clean them.

She glimpsed Rupert Hemmer just within the doorway of his home, his blond wife with him, greeting the guests as they came in. The room beyond them was already crowded, but she didn’t see Maclean amongst the glittering partygoers. Her heart was thudding oddly, slow and steady—the way it always did before she leapt into battle. He was present. She was certain of it, and not because Nick had said he was on the guest list. She felt him, somewhere in the penthouse.

Sam could sense white power, and Maclean’s was obvious.

His aura reeked of sexuality, and her own answering tension told her he was nearby.

She couldn’t wait to spoil his good time.

Then she poked Kit and nodded up at the thumbnail-size cameras in the corners of the foyer. Kit followed her gaze. Then she gestured at their hostess. “Is she even legal?”

Sam was amused, and she glanced at their host, who was handsome and tanned in a black tuxedo, his face obviously lifted, his hair that funny shade of medium brown that every older man seemed to sport in order to cover up the gray. While he had to be close to sixty, even if he’d been under the knife and was lean and fit, his wife looked twenty—if that. She wore a bubble-gum pink evening gown that was more of a second skin than a dress. Sam pegged it as Versace. From this distance, Rupert reeked of arrogance and wealth, but not evil. Sam could sense evil as easily as she sensed white power, and she suspected him to be human with a few drops of demonic blood.

It was finally their turn to meet and greet. Rupert looked at her, his eyes widening with obvious male interest. He looked carefully at her lush chest, which was not the obvious boob job his wife was showing off, and then at her long, hard legs. He glanced at Kit, who wore a classic black sheath and had actually put on lip gloss. He smiled slowly at them. “You must be Sam Rose and Kit Mars, from World Media.”

Sam had noted that Becca Hemmer didn’t care about her husband ogling other women—and why should she? Sam had read up on the Hemmers while getting dressed. She was young, gorgeous and smart enough to have signed a pre-nuptial agreement that made her one of the city’s wealthiest women, no matter what happened to her marriage. And apparently, Becca liked to play as much as he did.

Sam dismissed her as irrelevant and smiled back at Hemmer, giving him a come-hither-if-you-dare look. “None other.” She extended her hand. “I’m Sam Rose. I was wondering how long it would take for us to meet, Mr. Hemmer.”

He grasped it warmly. “All my guests are instructed to call me Rupert.”

“Rupert,” Sam murmured. “It’s been a while since I had instruction.”

He smiled slightly as he absorbed the innuendo. “How interesting.” He added, “Had I realized World Media had publicists like you two, I think I would have been persuaded to give you my business much more easily.” His gaze was suddenly hooded.

Sam wondered if they’d been made. “Is the rest of the team here?”

“I believe so,” he murmured. “John Ensign and Charles Dupre were two of the first to arrive.”

She felt Kit’s tension. “Jack Ensign,” she corrected casually. “We all call him Jack.”

“Ah, yes, of course, my mistake. So, do come inside and help yourself to the bubbly. Perhaps we can chat a bit later about the project. I look forward to hearing your ideas.”

“I look forward to sharing them.” Sam smiled pleasantly at Becca as she and Kit moved into a huge living room with gilded crystal chandeliers and modern furniture upholstered in various shades of white. Nick had told her almost two hundred guests would be present, and Sam decided that he’d been right. The men were in tuxedoes, the women sporting lavish jewels, some in long evening gowns, like Becca. White-coated waiters were passing champagne in expensive flutes and hors d’oeuvres on sterling silver trays. It took Sam a second to decide that Maclean was not in the reception area. Was he already in the vault? She shivered. She was more than ready to find out. Her pulse beat a bit more swiftly now.

“Did we pass?” Kit murmured.

“I think he’s suspicious.” But she didn’t give a damn about their host now.

“Did you have time to read up on the project?”

“No, and I intend to avoid Hemmer. With this crowd, I don’t think he can get away for a tête-à-tête anyway. Are you okay? I’m going to explore.”

“I’m fine. Be careful. Hemmer stinks.”

Sam smiled and drifted off into the crowd. As she did, a flash of bright pink caught her eye. She turned and saw Becca making her way alone through the crowd—no easy task, as she was constantly greeted and congratulated. Sam turned to locate Hemmer. She finally saw him, still close to the front door, chatting with the mayor and a famous woman news anchor with sinking ratings. Sam turned back to Becca, just in time to see her slip from the reception room, past two big security guards.

Now what did that mean? Becca did not seem like a party pooper. She managed to find Kit. “I need a diversion so I can canvas the rest of the place.”

“You can create a better diversion in that getup than I ever could.”

“Stop selling yourself short,” Sam said, meaning it.

A moment later, Sam was posed not far from the door Becca had exited, where the two big security guards stood. A woman not far from the doorway cried out, “Someone just stole my purse! Someone just ripped my bag from my hands!”

As the two security guards rushed to her, Sam slipped into the hallway. It was quiet within, the lights lower. An elevator faced her, which would go up to the Hemmers’ private rooms. She walked swiftly past it, her lipstick now in hand. The case was actually a camera. She started taking photos as she passed a library and a media room. She did not think she’d run into Becca—she was pretty certain she’d gone upstairs.

She passed an office and came to the end of the hall. A glass-enclosed, Olympic-size indoor lap pool faced her. On her left was a huge steel door.

She had found the vault.

Maclean’s power beckoned, tangible and hot, but he was not in that vault. Sam took more photographs, aware that she was being videotaped—those thumbnail-size video cameras were everywhere. She was careful not to get too close, setting off motion sensors and alarms.

When she was finished, she put the camera away. Maclean was around, but where? And where was Becca? She’d obviously gone upstairs—but Sam didn’t think she’d gone to change her shoes. “Such a naughty girl,” she murmured. She would be surprised if she didn’t find them together, she decided. Maclean would probably think it amusing to screw his host’s wife.

Sam went quietly back the way she had come, her senses in overdrive. She did not rush—she would find him, sooner or later. Hunting put her at the top of her game. The elevator was set far enough back from the reception that she could easily get to it without being noticed. It was whisper-quiet, too. She stepped inside, her gaze on the backs of the guards, but neither one turned her way. She pressed the single button there. The elevator moved up to the building’s top floor.

She felt the hot sex before she saw it. She felt him. The air was somehow thicker and humid upstairs. Testosterone filled it. Lust thickened her. Most women would drop everything to be with Maclean, and she could hear Becca now, in the throes. Sam paused. The door to a bedroom was ajar. Becca’s cries became deep, uncontrollable sobs. Her own heart was thundering, her body tight. Sam pushed open the door.

She’d forgotten how damn good-looking he was. How unbelievably sexy he was. Becca wept in her climax, sprawled on her belly on the bed, her skirts pushed up to her back. Maclean stood behind her, fully dressed. He was driving hard and deep, steadily, his face strained, at once hard, cold and almost ruthless. He was intent on his own satisfaction.

Becca was out of all control. Ian Maclean was not.

She wet her lips, compelled to watch. How had she forgotten those gorgeous features? Most beautiful men looked effeminate. Not Maclean. In spite of those long-lashed gray eyes and that perfect, almost pretty nose, he had a hard jaw, and high cheekbones. But he was more than that face. She’d never seen him without his clothes, but she knew his body was all long, hard muscle. And mostly, there was his sex drive. Sam had recognized a kindred spirit, in that one way. Maclean was oversexed and probably insatiable.

He’d be hard to please.

Becca’s sobs and moans filled the room. Maclean kept driving, not making a sound. Sam knew Becca had been easy to seduce. She’d bet just about anything that Maclean had never been given a run for his money.

She breathed harder. A terrible tension consumed her now. Well, there was one woman he couldn’t seduce.

Maclean suddenly made a harsh sexual sound, his only one. And he looked up at her.

The moment their gazes locked, Sam realized he wasn’t surprised to see her. In the next second, she saw that he wasn’t blinded by lust. His gaze was gray and clear. As she stared at him, he began to smile, as if he had a secret he really liked.

Sam’s heart turned over, hard.

“Ye took yer time,” he murmured, stepping away from his gasping lover.

Sam was trying to comprehend the fact that, just like at Loch Awe, he’d been expecting her. But her every coherent thought vanished as he reached for his gaping trousers, because her gaze veered to his hands.

Her thundering heart slammed. She forgot to breathe.

He slowly grinned, somehow jerking the zipper entirely up.

He wore a silver ring there.

She’d seen body piercings, of course. Just not there—and not like that.

“Something got yer tongue?” he mocked softly.

She choked and her mind came to life. “Having fun? Because I hate to be the one to ruin your private party.” But she wanted to wipe the perspiration from her cleavage and brow. Her body was rioting. So much for worrying about her sex drive.

“Hot?” His gaze followed her fingers as she wiped the moisture away. “Surely ye’ve seen a cock ring before.”

Sam felt her fake smile vanish. “That was some welcome, Maclean. Too bad I’m not into voyeurism.” She tried to be flippant. “Nice jewelry.”

His brows lifted as he sauntered toward her. “Admit it. I make ye hot, Sam, an’ ye loved watching.”

Sam realized that Becca was scrambling off the bed and racing toward the door. She swallowed, Becca’s exit giving her a much-needed pause. “It was a decent show,” she said, recovering a hair of her composure. “Aren’t you going to go after her?”

“Now why would I do that?” he asked, standing before her. “When yer right here?”

“Oh, I don’t know. To piss off Hemmer? To keep an insider on your next job?” Because walking out on me is a habit of yours?

He laughed. “I don’t care what Hemmer thinks an’ I hardly need Becca. I know ye liked the ring, but did ye like the rest of the goods?”

She inhaled.

Show me the goods.

And she’d dropped her dress…

He was trying to make her recall that moment—his being in control, and the humiliation that had followed. Worse, his image was now engraved on her mind. “I always like eye candy, Maclean.”

“Ye’ve never seen—or had—eye candy like mine.”

Unfortunately she was completely breathless. “Sure of yourself, are you?”

“Very.” His gray eyes remained mocking. He leaned close and murmured, “Ye can take the ring off any time, Sam. Just say when and where.”

He’d walked out on her before, but this time, he was in pursuit. It was hard to think clearly, much less wonder why. And damn it, it was hard to look away from his smoldering gray gaze. His words intensified the currents sizzling in the room. “Gee, a come-on. Last time you weren’t very interested. Why don’t you give that honor to your girlfriend?”

“But I want ye to have the honor.” He seemed amused. “To make up fer my bad behavior at Loch Awe.”

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.

As their tongues entwined, as he pushed her even farther up his thigh and into the wall, she knew they had to stop. But no man had ever pinned her down this way, or been as dominant. She kissed him back, tasting blood. He made a triumphant sound, then tore free of her.

Her back still against the wall, Sam opened her eyes as he let her slide down his leg. She looked into his fierce eyes.

Maclean stepped away from her. “I always get what I want,” he murmured.

He was laughing at her. Shock began—what the hell had just happened?

Maclean was facing Rupert, loosening his tie as he did so. Two men and a woman stood behind him, curious.

Sam breathed hard and straightened, stepping away from the wall.

“My home is just that—my home. My guests are restricted to the reception rooms.” Hemmer’s displeasure was obvious.

Sam stepped forward. Hemmer instantly gave her a quick look of male appraisal. He wasn’t immune to her or what she’d been doing. She’d use that. “We’re sorry, Mr. Hemmer. We didn’t realize the rest of the apartment was off-limits.”

Hemmer smiled back, but tightly. He looked at the short hem of her dress again. “Security will escort you back to the party, Ms. Rose.”

Another wealthy, oversexed jerk, Sam thought.

As he spoke, two huge guards in black appeared around the corner. Sam nodded, telling him how sorry she was again, aware of Ian standing beside her. As she followed them back to the main reception, Ian behind her, she began to think rationally again.

She’d been out of control. The kiss had been meant to be a ploy. Her attraction to him was dangerous. No good could come of her being out of control.

She had to find a way to take charge.

Sam walked to the closest waiter, removed a flute of champagne and drank it. Then she took another one.

Maclean reached over her shoulder for his own glass. Then he looked at her and lifted his flute in a triumphant toast.

“You haven’t won yet.”

“If ye let me have my way with ye, ye’ll be the victor, Sam.”

“As I said, you guys all think you’re the best in the sack.”

“As I said, I am the best.”

She drank the second flute and returned it to the tray. “You’re going to steal the page.”

He grinned. “Care to stop me?”

“I can’t wait.” And Sam grinned back.