Dark Lover (12 page)

“I want to see Nick tomorrow,” he said with warning. He was already at her door.

“Don't worry. I'll bet he wants to see you, too.”

Ian stopped, his hand on the knob. He didn't turn it. “Ye need to be careful of Hemmer. I came here to warn ye.”

Sam started, genuinely surprised. Maclean was warning her of danger? Why would he do that? And how could Hemmer pose a threat? “Why? By now he knows
you
stole his favorite new toy, unless you dismantled his surveillance system.”

“He knows I stole the page. But he mentioned ye, Sam. He thinks to use ye in our little war.” His eyes flashed silver all over again.

Sam wasn't particularly disturbed or convinced. “Maclean, how can he use me?
Why
would he use me? I'm not very easy to use, by the way.” She didn't smile. “You can attest to that.”

His face hardened impossibly. “He'll use ye against me.”

His single statement sent a rush of desire through her. She refused to acknowledge that. She couldn't be used against Maclean—he didn't care what happened to her. “You must have laughed like crazy at him.”

His expression never changed. “Hemmer is evil,” he warned. “He may be human, but he has power an' he has deamhan friends. He'll do whatever he can to have revenge on me. Stay far from him.”

“Like you care,” she said slowly. “Because you just said it—he is after you, not me.”

“I have no wish to see anyone hurt or used,” he said firmly.

“Well, then you've fooled me.” When he didn't speak, she added, “Are you trying to convince me that you're a good guy after all? Because I've seen you in action and we have your file. Even our supercomputer has all kinds of doubts about you.”

He shrugged.

“Is it even remotely possible that you inherited some predisposition toward heroism from your father?”

“I am
nothing
like my father.”

She'd hit a nerve. “Too bad. I liked him—once he was redeemed.”

He stared at her and Sam realized he was trembling. “Why are you pissed? We can't talk about you or your dad? Why is he off-limits? He's a hero. Frankly, I'd love to see some of Aidan's drive to destroy evil emerge in you.”

“I don't care what ye want or hope for! I came to warn ye that Hemmer is evil and he has plans to use ye against me,” Ian snapped.

Another subject he didn't like. “Hemmer doesn't worry me.”

“Of course he doesn't, because you have no fear.”

It was almost an accusation. “There's no point in being afraid. One day I'm going to die. We both know I'll go down in battle. And my death will be Fate.”

His face was so hard now that Sam was surprised it didn't crack. “What are you thinking?” she asked. “What does that livid look mean? I know you don't care if I live or die.”

He took her chin and tilted it up. Sam went still. His grasp was brutal. She didn't flinch; their gazes locked. “Sometimes Fate isn't what ye think it will be.” He dropped his hand abruptly.

Comprehension began to grow in Sam. “You expected to grow up in Castle Awe in the fifteenth century—not in modern day New York City.”

His mouth twisted. “Yer a fool to drive like ye did—to have no fear—to think you'll die on yer terms.”

“So are you! And I'm not the one with a death wish!” She stopped. Full comprehension finally struck her. “Wait. You don't care whether you live or die. That car chase proved it—and I know why.”

He whirled and strode for the door.

Sam didn't follow. “You lived through sixty-six years of hell. And that makes death acceptable,” she cried after him.

He did not look back; he slammed out.

Sam stared at her front door. She had just figured him out. He didn't exactly have a death wish. It was just that death wasn't the worst that could happen to a man—and no one knew it better than Ian Maclean.

 

S
AM HAD JUST STEPPED OUT
of the shower and was towel-drying her hair when her telephone rang. “Hello, Samantha,” Rupert Hemmer said.

Sam went still, dropping the towel. What did Hemmer want? It was ten at night. “Hello, Mr. Hemmer.” She went into a battle-ready mode.

“I'm downstairs,” he said, surprising her yet again. “May I come up?”

Her mind raced. The last time she'd seen Hemmer was that morning, when he was on his way to his office—but he hadn't seen her. Prior to that, she'd been at his wife's birthday party, and he hadn't been happy with her or Maclean. However, before she'd left the party last night, she'd apologized. He'd been suave, displaying some male interest, as if he knew she'd put out sooner or later. She'd come on to him just a bit, as well.

In spite of the mild flirtation, she was almost certain he'd made her, not as CDA, but as a Fed. Now, she intended to find out.

Besides, there was something evil in his vault. She hadn't forgotten—it needed to be checked out.

She slowly smiled. “Sure. Why not?” She couldn't wait to find out what he wanted, and she didn't think sex was on the top of his list. He wanted his artifact back. But why come to her?

“I didn't think you'd be resistant,” he murmured, hanging up.

Bring it on, you rotten sonuvabitch, she thought. She could manage Hemmer and whatever game he meant to play. Sam hung up and leapt into jeans and a sexy jersey top, adding Black Orchid perfume. The buzzer from downstairs rang. Carrying lip gloss and dangerously high heels, she ran through the loft to her intercom and let him into the building. She stepped into the sandals, ignoring her sprain. She put on the gloss, finger combed her hair, and when her door bell rang, she opened it and smiled at him.

Maclean had mentioned that he was human, but evil. Maclean wanted her to fear him. If Hemmer was your average malicious human, hoping misfortunes upon others, his evil would not be detectable to her. Except, he wasn't average—he was a billionaire. Sam decided she should
proceed with the assumption that Maclean knew what he was talking about. “Come on in,” she murmured. “What a pleasant surprise.”

He came in, his gaze moving over her body with real relish. “I'm so glad you're pleased to see me.”

“What woman isn't?” She closed the door.

“You make my wife look like a silly cheerleader,” he said softly.

An interesting opening shot, she thought. “You can't buy experience, can you? Or intelligence.”

“No, you can't.” He handed her a bottle of wine. It was a Rothschild burgundy, which had to have cost hundreds of dollars—if you could ever find it on the shelf. Sam didn't react. Did he know she had a thing for really good red wine? That would mean he'd done some homework, or had some telepathic ability. Both ideas were equally interesting. “Just as you can't buy fortitude.”

Sam's eyes widened. What did that mean?

“It's from my cellar,” he added pleasantly, glancing around her loft as she thanked him. “Another room I would love to personally show you. You'd appreciate it as much as my art collection.”

Okay, he was onto her. “I would love to see it—and anything else you'd like to show me,” Sam said as softly, glancing at his tight midsection. He knew she was after something in his art collection. That was not good.

But hadn't Maclean warned her?

He smiled. “A woman after my own darkest desires,” he said. “I hope.”

That was an interesting choice of words, almost a challenge for her to demand what he meant. Did he mean he was on the dark side? She steeled herself as he reached for her. Revulsion swept through her but he only fingered her short hair. “Dark desires are so much more interesting than pure ones,” she murmured.

He laughed. “Yes, they are. I wasn't sure you'd think so, daring Samantha.”

She smiled, her brain buzzing. “I'm so glad we got past my little faux pas,” she said. “I'm a red-blooded woman and sometimes I get caught up in the moment. Desire is desire.”

“A hot-blooded woman of passion, trysting in my home with one of my guests—how could I truly object?” He murmured. “And I did promise you a private viewing.”

She could feel his lust, dark and thick. She reminded herself to be careful; she didn't want to have to kill him. But she was not sleeping with him, no matter how far this game went. “I promise it won't happen again…not with Maclean.”

His gaze gleamed. “I'm not sure I would mind, Samantha.”

Sam stared, wondering if he meant what she thought he did.

“You arouse so much passion in so many ways. But that is your nature, is it not? To take lovers, to enjoy them, to discard them as callously as a man?”

He was letting her know that he'd investigated her. How much did he know? To test him, she murmured, “You make me sound like a femme fatale, Rupert. A girl just wants to have some fun.”

He smiled. “But you are the definition of femme fatale—and you know it.”

She decided to give up. “Yeah, I know it. And it is fun…”

“Then let the fun begin. You'll have a private viewing…but I need a private show, too.”

Sam kept silent. Now they were getting somewhere.

He touched her cheek. “I didn't mind watching you put your tongue down Maclean's throat, but I look forward to watching you put it elsewhere.”

Sam decided to divert him. “And if I say yes? What do I get out of the show?”

He laughed. “Other than the viewing? Fun.”

She refused to let her smile slip. He knew she wanted into that vault and he meant to make her pay to get in—with her body. “So invite us over, Rupert.”

“You'll bring Maclean and provide the entertainment?”

“Why not? Maybe I'll wind up with a case of the Rothschild if I make you really happy.”

“If you make me really happy, I'll give you a painting.”

He knew she wouldn't sell out for a price. She had no doubts now. This was bait and trap—and she was the prey.

“You seem taken aback. You made yourself clear at Becca's party. I realized instantly that you're an art aficionado, like I am. Surely you prefer a painting to jewels? Although most women love the trinkets I buy them.”

There was no point in trying to get him to think she wanted a Bulgari necklace in return for his using her. “I actually meant it when I said some girls just want to have fun. Hot sex works for me.”

He seemed amused. He touched the underside of her chin with his forefinger, then began sliding it slowly down her neck. Sam tensed, but she did not move. “And does it work for Maclean? I don't think he will be as amenable to our arrangement as you are. How is your boyfriend, by the way?”

Her tension spiraled. “Boyfriends are for teenagers. The word isn't even in my vocabulary.”

“What a clever woman,” he said, drawing an invisible line down her chest with his finger. He paused when his finger was between her breasts. “Clever, sexy and so secretive. I have something for you.”

She knew he wasn't talking about sex, just as she knew that Maclean was right—Hemmer was dangerous. What she didn't know was how dangerous. “Don't you all?” She was wry.

“You're not afraid of me.”

“Should I be?”

“You're one of the most unusually beautiful women I have ever seen—and I have had my share.”

“I'm all for flattery. It turns a girl on.”

“You're hardly a girl, Samantha. You lead a dangerous life. There are cameras in front of my building.” He smiled. “There are cameras everywhere. But you know that, don't you?”

She couldn't help glancing up at her ceiling. It was pristine, but she got his meaning. He'd seen her break up the other night's Rampage and destroy the subs single-handedly. She was briefly surprised and then chilled.

He hadn't made billions by being stupid. Rupert Hemmer undoubtedly knew everything there was to know about her.

She was going to have to play this game out. “Yeah, Big Brother is usually watching.”

His eyes gleamed. “I am going to help you, my
dangerous
Samantha. I've seen how much you need pleasure. And I can give you pleasure, more than you have dreamed of. More than Ian Maclean.”

“That's a helluva statement.” What did he mean now?

“Tomorrow you'll find out exactly what I mean,” he said.

She wanted to step away from him. The instinct was one of self-preservation. He kept his hand between her breasts and, somehow, she did not move. “Then I'm a lucky lady.”

He was amused again and she didn't like it. Then he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, producing a DVD. “I think I'm about to change your life. I truly look forward to our relationship,” he said, handing it to her. “I expect it will be mutually agreeable…very much so.”