Page 16 of Dark Lover

“You haven’t taught me.”

“Then come here.” He patted his lap.

“No deal.” She smiled coolly at him.

He laid his hand on her hard thigh, his fingertips against her sex. Just barely, he waggled them, pressing the steel cuff into her abdomen. “Have ye ever thought to ask me to take ye into the vault again—nicely?”

She struck his hand away, but he’d felt the thick pulse there, beneath the flimsy dress. “I can tell you’re amused by the handcuffs, but we’ll see who has the last laugh.”

“Ye can have the last laugh,” he murmured, staring at her classic profile. “I’ll even give it to ye.”

“This is a business arrangement, but I’ll help you into a cold shower,” she said.

He was finally, thoroughly diverted. “The sooner, the better,” he said swiftly. “Will ye wash my back? Or will ye cuff me to my bed an’ watch me while I…sleep?”

For one moment, their gazes met, and he was certain she knew exactly what he’d be doing while she watched. “Your mind is one track. What a surprise. I’ll be on the other side of the glass when you shower and guess what? I have no interest watching you do anything.”

“Liar,” he taunted.

He thought she flushed.

“We’re handcuffed to one another,” he said softly. “What do ye expect me to think of?”

“Pay the driver,” she said tersely, as the taxi came to a stop in front of his new town house. “By the way, why did you decide on New York City?”

He handed the driver a bill and told him to keep the change. She was on the curb side and he leaned over her to open the door, pressing her back into the seat. “I moved here so I could screw ye.”

“Yeah, right. Good luck,” she said, slipping out of the cab and away from his body. “In case you haven’t noticed, Maclean, you don’t intimidate me one single bit.”

“Then I’ll have to change that.”

The taxi drove off and she said slowly, “I can’t imagine you with a bimbo for more than two minutes, except, of course, for sex.”

She seemed to understand him and he smiled. “Even bimbos have their uses.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t ye use yer boy toys?” he asked softly. It crossed his mind that, when it came to sex, they were alike. It was late enough that no one was on the street as he went to the front door of the turn-of-the-century building and keyed in the door code. Sam stood close behind him, due to the cuffs. He’d left the lights on in the entry foyer, which had double ceilings. As he closed the door he glanced at her bleeding arm, and then at the torn dress. She seemed to be indifferent to the gash on her ribs.

He wondered if she’d even cried out a single time in pain, during the leap she’d endured.

Sam was eyeing the almost microscopic cameras that were angled at the front doors and noting the cameras in the entry hall. She hadn’t missed the cameras outside, either. He waited. She glanced at him and said, “High tech, huh?”

His security system was state-of-the-art. It was not aimed at burglars. But he didn’t owe her any explanations. She was now taking in his furnishings, which were mostly antiques. She put her messenger bag on an Irish library table from the seventeenth century. Even the chandelier above them was from fifteenth-century France. Only the rugs were new—or fairly new. Above the front door was a pair of genuine sixteenth-century swords. “Interesting choice of décor for a modern playboy,” Sam said. Her gaze was sharp. “Come to think of it, your mansion on Loch Awe is as old world.”

“I like old things,” he said. That was true. He hated his time—the sixteenth century—and had chosen not to live there, but he was oddly compulsive about collecting antiques and artifacts, which made no sense. His father had once told him that a part of him yearned for the past. That was bullshit. And he didn’t want to think about Aidan and his wife, Brie, now. “Yer bleedin’ all over my twenty-five-thousand-dollar rug.”

“Sorry. I’ll get you a new one—in the twenty-second century, when I’m rich and famous.”

He tugged on the cuff and she came forward, tripping in the broken sandals. He caught her by her hips, which were hard and muscular beneath his hands. He was already in overdrive. Sex would push the last of his memories away. Why wait? “Do ye want to tend the wound?” he asked softly.

“Not if it means letting you out of my sight.” She seized his wrists but didn’t step back. “What, no butler to wait on us?”

“Gerard is sleeping at this hour.” He pulled her closer, and her eyes calmly met his as she came into contact with his huge arousal. “Afraid to be alone with that?”

She took a breath. “I’m never afraid. Hey, I have a great idea. Call Gerard and have him arrange some evening entertainment for you…before you explode.”

He grinned. “Will ye watch?”