Page 102 of Dark Victory

Sam braked in front of a huge, centuries-old ancestral home. She got out of the car, a short skimpy dress beneath her wool coat. She was wearing stilettos and she had to navigate the stone path leading up to the front door. She felt his power coming from within the house in huge hot waves, and she felt the power of two more men, as well.

A butler greeted her at the front door, his eyes wide with surprise. “I’m afraid I did not realize his lordship was expecting another guest.”

He had a butler. It was so absurdly classic that it was funny. Sam stepped past the man, handing him her coat. “He’s not. I opened the gates with my superpowers. So where’s his lordship?”

The butler paled. “Your name, madam?”

“Madam Butterfly.” Sam smiled. “I’ll find his lordship myself.” She started across the entry hall, acutely aware of the coat of arms on one wall and the multimillion-dollar masterpieces on the other walls. She heard voices and the tinkle of glasses. Great, a party. She loved parties.

“Please wait, madam,” the butler cried, chasing her.

Sam strode to the threshold of a living room, instantly dismissing the two other men and three beautiful women in the elegant, old-world room. Ian stood in front of a massive stone hearth, clad in an impeccably tailored tuxedo, a flute of champagne in one hand. A solid gold watch was exposed, as were sapphire cuff links. His eyes were on her as she paused. He’d felt her, too, and was expecting her.

“It’s all right, Gerard,” he drawled in a heavy Scot brogue. “The more, the merrier.” He tipped his flute at her, his blue gaze gleaming with male interest.

Sam breathed hard. Well, she hadn’t imagined the lust—or how frigging hot he was. He was looking at her long, strong, bare legs, undoubtedly speculating about how it would feel to have them wrapped around his waist. Dream on, she thought silently.

He started.

Great, he thought to read her mind. Two could play this game. “Your lordship, I hope I am not imposing,” Sam mocked. She thought about curtsying but decided that would be overdoing it.

His eyes gleamed even more brightly. “I was wonderin’ how long it would take ye to find me.”

She smiled coldly at him. “In your dreams,” she murmured.

“I’m very fond o’ dreams.”

“I’ll bet.”

A beautiful woman in a long, slinky red dress stood, moving to stand possessively beside him. She had a Playboy center-fold body, a perfect face and endless legs—but so did Sam. She did not have lethal blades concealed in her high heels or a laser-edged DVD in her purse that could sever a man’s head from his body. “I didn’t realize you’d invited another guest to Lord Ross’s.”

Ian didn’t look at her. He sauntered forward and Sam tried not to inhale. His stride was sensual and suggestive, the gait of a man in slow pursuit, a man absolutely certain of the evening’s outcome. “Hello, Rose.” He paused by a dry bar and poured champagne into an untouched flute. He handed it to her. “Welcome to my lair.”

“But your father was the wolf.” Sam batted her lashes at him.

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

The champagne was Cristal, of course. Sam took the flute and knew he meant for their fingers to brush. Her body was very hot and very tight, but it didn’t matter. She was never giving in to him—unless it was on her terms. “In the mood for a proposition?”

His mouth curved. “I’ve been in the mood since Oban.”

“I’m so flattered.” Sam nodded toward a pair of closed doors. Ian took her arm and looked at his guests and obviously expendable date. “We have some unfinished business to conclude. We’ll only be a moment.”

Sam glanced at his guests. The two women were affronted, but the two men seemed amused. She glanced at him carefully. His eyes were almost silver now, and directed at the woman in red. He was mesmerizing her to his will.

She turned and sat down with the other women, an obedient little slave. She even smiled at them.

Ian opened the pair of doors, gesturing, as if a gentleman. Sam slithered past him, very deliberately, brushing her hip against him as she did. She entered a dark room. She heard him close the door; the lights came on. He smiled with relish at her. “I expected more of a hunt, Samantha.”

“No one hunts me. And no one calls me Samantha.”

Ian’s mouth curved. “Ye’ve never had a real man.”

Sam laughed with disdain at him. What a jerk! She sat down, crossing her legs, making sure her short black dress rode up precariously high. He looked. She leaned forward to set her flute down, aware of his focus on her full, mostly exposed breasts. She straightened, pleased. “I like toys,” she said. “Oops, I mean boys.”

“No wonder ye’re so hot an’ bothered around me.” He smiled, hardly perturbed.

Sam bristled inwardly. “I am always ready for a good time.”