Page 84 of Dark Lover

“Downstairs.”

Jan would be waiting for him. “Why don’t you give her what she wants? I mean info.”

He stared and there was no mistaking what he wanted. “I don’t feel like talking with Jan. I need a drink.”

She bet he did. So did she. It had been a long night.

Sam slowly wet her lips, which felt full. She knew what would happen if she stayed. She wanted it to happen. “Okay.”

“Did I ask ye to join me?” He was wry.

“Yeah, you did, with those remarkable gray eyes.”

“Ye just gave me a compliment?”

“You know how hot you are.”

His gaze held hers. “But that’s the point—I’m no boy,” he murmured.

Jan appeared on the dressing room’s threshold and looked back and forth between them. “I need half an hour before you two go at it.”

Ian seemed amused. The facade was back. “In case ye’ve forgotten, I’m not one of your agents. I’m not answering any questions.” He shrugged on a T-shirt.

Jan stiffened. “Sam? You debrief him, then.” She left.

Sam saluted her. She didn’t take orders from Jan, and she never would. She loved that Ian had dismissed her as he had.

They walked out of the dressing room and then his suite. His heat was scalding behind her. There was so much power and so much virility. But she was surprised when he paused at the elevator, clearly intent on using it. He’d avoided it the other night. As the door opened and they stepped inside, she tried not to look at him. From the corner of her eye, she watched his hands. He didn’t toy with the T-shirt collar. He kept both of his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

He was in control, she thought. After everything that had happened, she didn’t know how he’d managed it, but he’d gone from a skid on black ice to all-wheel drive on packed dirt. She was amazed.

He led her into a salon she hadn’t seen before and paused before an intercom. “Gerard, can you bring Ms. Rose and I something light to eat?”

“Yes, sir,” Gerard’s voice replied.

Ian gave her a sexy look and went to a red marble wet bar. “I can open up a fine wine, or would ye prefer something else?”

Sam walked over to the bar, sliding onto a leather bar stool with antique brass legs. “That scotch looks good.”

He smiled. “It is good.”

He never smiled like that, without pain, anger or mocking sarcasm. As if he realized the slip of humanity, he turned away, beginning to pour two drinks. Shaken, Sam said, “I just spoke to Brie. As it turns out, she’s in Edinburgh with your father.”

He handed her a glass. “I know.”

She hesitated. “Do you visit?”

“No.” He sipped, apparently unperturbed.

She hadn’t thought so. She hesitated. This was going to be a damn good night. She didn’t want to blow it. She had so many questions about the monk, but that might set off a firecracker or two. “Tabby’s at Blayde with her soul mate, Macleod—a Master.”

He drained his drink. “Will ye visit?”

“I don’t know. She’s old and gray now.” Sam hesitated. “It would make me sad.”

He started, his gaze slamming to hers.

Sam felt like a fool. Where had that stupid comment come from? She was big bad Sam, not into self-pity parties. “She’s had an incredible life. There are children and grandchildren. She’s happy and I’m happy for her.”