Page 38 of Dark Lover

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.

SAM 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.”