Page 117 of Dark Lover

She became still. This wasn’t the time for jokes. He was being serious. He’d commented on her courage before, and she wasn’t sure where he wanted to go with this now. “There isn’t really another choice.” But, she recalled her sudden memory of her mother’s rape and murder.

“There’s always another choice,” he said. His hand suddenly cupped her jaw. “And yer so beautiful, so hot. I want ye, Sam.”

“Now?” She was disbelieving.

He grunted in pain but he smiled. “I wanted ye in Oban. I decided that day to find ye, have ye. I still want ye, like it was that day.” He hesitated.

“What?”

He shook his head, not answering.

She smiled, trying not to think about the shocking revelation she’d just had about her own past. “Well, it’s mutual.”

His face changed. “I’m a coward,” he said, as he stood up.

Sam stood up, as well. “That is unfair.”

“It’s the truth. I look at a demon, any demon, and I get sick with fear.” He shrugged, avoiding her eyes now. “The monk terrifies me.”

“You may be frightened when you face evil, but you fight it anyway—and that makes you as brave as me, or even braver.”

“Don’t turn me into yer hero,” he said softly.

And Sam had a terrible feeling that he’d heard her silent declaration of love. “Jet-setting playboys who become dirty rich by stealing from their even wealthier friends can’t be heroes, not even on their best day, and not even with white power in their back pockets.”

He smiled. “So we cleared that up.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said.

He was staring. Her heart did a funny flip-flop. He was so intense, so thoughtful. His gaze moved to her mouth.

He’d kissed her last night like there would not be a tomorrow. Hell, maybe he’d seen the future—their future. She was shaken. Did they have a future? He was Ian Maclean, a rich, selfish playboy, and even if he saw the light and joined the good guys, he belonged in the sixteenth century! “Let’s blow this joint.”

He had a funny look on his face. He reached for her chin and winced. But he pushed it up with two forefingers. Sam’s heart exploded in excitement.

As if he knew, he smiled and it was arrogant, satisfied. Then the expression vanished. He leaned close; his mouth brushed hers. She trembled.

She needed to be with him again. This time, it would be different. Because her heart was bursting with love.

He plied her mouth gently, pulled back, and their gazes met.

“Are you two ready to barter?” the monk of Carlisle said.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

IAN’S EXPRESSION HARDENED and his eyes blazed.

Sam stepped closer to him. Three huge thugs stood behind Carlisle, all in polo shirts with poorly fitting, garishly pinstriped jackets. Their soulless eyes told Sam they were subs, but they looked like overweight and oversize Mafia bodyguards. They were even carrying. Based on their fashions, she wondered if they were in the seventies.

“Are you feeling better, Ian?” the monk asked, his smile cruel. “I am so relieved. But I didn’t think you’d die that easily.” He chuckled. “I know you too well.”

Ian exhaled. Sam glanced at him and touched his hand in warning. Now was not the time to engage. But he was so angry, she could feel his rage. It was explosive.

“Ye always were a coward,” Ian said softly. “I was too young to realize it before.”

Carlisle’s face turned ugly. “I am not the one who is afraid. I’m not the one who became a willing and obedient slave.”

Ian shook. “I was a nine-year-old boy left in the hands of a full-blood demon!”