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“Now ye do,” he said flatly. “Yer a Rose. Yer cousin married my father. Of course ye’d hunt Hemmer now.”
Sam stared, finally somewhat diverted from his sexuality and virile appeal. Was he in touch with Brie? “Is the page the real deal?”
“The page?” Both dark brows lifted. “I don’t know. Rupert must think so.”
He sure must, to spend over two hundred million dollars on it, Sam thought.
“Are ye sure ye won’t have a drink with me? We can discuss our mutual interests.” His eyes sparked with amusement.
She looked at the bed behind him. “Really sure.”
“Ye’ll change yer mind.”
“If you say so.” She smiled at him, mocking him now. “Hey, Maclean? I’ll be the first one into the vault—when Rupert offers me a private viewing later this evening.”
He was amused. “Really? An’ what if I offer ye the viewing now?”
She went still. “Are you kidding?”
His long, thick lashes lowered briefly. “I want to make amends.”
For one moment, she almost believed him. She knew he was trying to play her, though, and that was as far as it went. But two could play his game. “Get me in and I might forgive you.”
His lashes lifted and his gray gaze met hers. When he didn’t move or speak, she pushed past him and he followed her into the elevator.
“A word of advice,” he said conversationally as the elevator began its descent. “I always get what I want.”
“Good. That makes two of us—we have so much in common!” The elevator was too small for them both. His big, masculine body was filling up the small space. But he was going to get her into the vault and that was what she needed to focus on. “How are the new digs, by the way?”
“Why don’t ye come by an’ see for yourself?”
She thought that worth a trip uptown. “Any interesting art you can show me? Maybe a stolen masterpiece or two?”
His smile returned. “So ye have been thinking about me.”
“It’s called homework.”
He grinned, pleased. As the elevator door opened, Sam walked past him, annoyed all over again. Maybe the real problem was his looks. He looked almost exactly like his father, Aidan of Awe, and that made him nearly irresistible. If he didn’t have that dark, thick hair, those pale, sizzling gray eyes, the deep dimples when he smiled and the features of an Adonis, his sexuality wouldn’t be so overwhelming. He’d just be a gross horndog.
But he did look like one of the gods he was descended from. She’d be a liar if she didn’t admit that he was one of the most beautiful men she’d ever laid eyes on—and she hadn’t even seen his body in the buff.
Well, she’d seen the one part that counted the most—in her book, anyway. She thought about the silver ring, her insides lurching, breathless all over again. That piercing had to have hurt like holy hell.
“It’s steel,” he said softly. “Not silver.”
Her gaze slammed to his. He’d read her mind—and proved just how telepathic he was.
She led the way to the vault, focusing on the task at hand but terribly aware of him behind her. The back of Hemmer’s penthouse was as empty as before. She paused, gesturing at the steel door facing them. “I can sense evil and good. Right now, I can’t feel a thing.”
He gave her a look she could not decipher, then reached for the heavy door handle. Sam had expected him to leap into the vault, taking her with him. “What are you doing?” she asked sharply, waiting for the alarms to start screaming. But an utter silence remained.
He smiled and turned the lever. The steel door opened.
He turned. “Come.”
“How did you do that?” Sam asked, surprised.
He slowly smiled. “It’s as easy as the leap through time.”
It was clear that Maclean had used his mind to unlock the door and turn off the sensors and alarms. Now that was an incredibly useful trick—especially for a thief.
“So that’s how you got the van Gogh?”
He sent her a modest smile, gesturing politely for her to precede him inside.
Interior lights had come on as the door had opened. Sam walked past him, her gaze wide, scanning the rows of stunning masterpieces on the two walls. The vault was like a long tunnel. “Who would want to keep their art locked up this way?” While she was not an art aficionado, she was damned sure she recognized the work of artists she’d seen at the Met, the Whitby and the Guggenheim. Hemmer had a priceless collection, if she did not miss her guess.
Maclean hadn’t answered and she glanced back at him. He had loosened his tie and was now unbuttoning his collar, as if uncomfortable. The temperature in the vault was carefully controlled. “Hemmer lusts fer art the way demons lust fer sex and death.”
“Is he evil?”
He gave her a look that said, “yes.”
“How much did he pay you for the van Gogh?” she asked casually, not missing a beat. Not that she could trap him into an admission he didn’t care to make.
His response was as immediate. “Thirty million.” He smiled, tugging at his collar again. “I gave him a deal.”
Sam snorted. She looked carefully around again. “Something’s wrong,” she said, uncertain of what she was feeling. She strained to sense what was tugging at her and she felt the faintest wafting of evil, drifting toward them. “Do you feel that?”
He nodded. “It’s within.”
Sam ignored him, trying to isolate the rest of her feelings. She felt a stirring of holy power. It seemed to beckon her. It was to her left. She turned, trying to follow it, and faced a huge landscape of a lush European countryside, probably from the eighteenth century. She started to remove it from the wall.
Instantly Maclean came over to help her. The moment they lifted it up, the page from the Duisean faced them.
It was framed and under glass, but the aged and faded parchment shimmered with power and light. Some of the written words seemed three-dimensional. “It is real,” Sam said harshly, holding up one end of the large landscape. “But the power is distant, somehow.”
“The power is contained,” Maclean said thoughtfully. “I think ye need a spell to unleash it.”
They looked at each other. Sam was thinking about Tabby when Ian said, “Hemmer.”
“Are you sure?” Sam didn’t hear anyone approaching and she didn’t feel danger. As they quickly set the landscape back, Maclean said, “My senses are greater than yours.”
“Then maybe we should hurry.” Sam rushed out of the vault, Ian behind her, aware now of voices farther down the corridor. Maclean pushed the steel door closed and she heard it automatically lock. The voices grew louder, and she could hear their footsteps approaching.
Sam didn’t think twice about what she had to do. She seized Maclean’s tie and used it as a leash to jerk him a few steps down the hall, away from the vault’s door. She shoved him against the wall, still holding his tie tightly in her fist.
He knew what she was about to do and he smiled smugly.
She pushed her entire body against his and their gazes locked. His eyes blazed.
And that massive, pierced erection pushed up between them.
Sam pushed him harder against the wall, impossibly aware of his entire body, which felt like steel. She stood on her toes. In her high heels, they were eye to eye.
He waited, his mouth curling slightly with triumph.
She kissed him.
She opened her mouth, claiming his. The moment their lips fused, her heart slammed and seemed to lodge in her throat. Hemmer and his entourage turned the corner. She kept one part of her mind on them, but the rest of her mind was on Maclean—and he had her body’s full attention.
He tasted so damn good. He felt even better, stiff and hard against her. The desire was so fierce, so consuming, so feral, that she was shocked. And then she couldn’t stand it. Eyes closed, she forgot about Hemmer and she forced his mouth open. He laughed. Sam shoved her tongue deep.
Her body threatened to explode.
And he grabbed her by the hips, turned her around, pinned her to the wall and took over the kiss. He ground against her, pressing one huge thigh between her legs until she rode him.
She seized his broad shoulders, kissing him wildly back. It was too good to stop now.
“I beg your pardon,” Rupert Hemmer said.
As their tongues entwined, as he pushed her even farther up his thigh and into the wall, she knew they had to stop. But no man had ever pinned her down this way, or been as dominant. She kissed him back, tasting blood. He made a triumphant sound, then tore free of her.
Her back still against the wall, Sam opened her eyes as he let her slide down his leg. She looked into his fierce eyes.
Maclean stepped away from her. “I always get what I want,” he murmured.
He was laughing at her. Shock began—what the hell had just happened?
Maclean was facing Rupert, loosening his tie as he did so. Two men and a woman stood behind him, curious.
Sam breathed hard and straightened, stepping away from the wall.
“My home is just that—my home. My guests are restricted to the reception rooms.” Hemmer’s displeasure was obvious.
Sam stepped forward. Hemmer instantly gave her a quick look of male appraisal. He wasn’t immune to her or what she’d been doing. She’d use that. “We’re sorry, Mr. Hemmer. We didn’t realize the rest of the apartment was off-limits.”
Hemmer smiled back, but tightly. He looked at the short hem of her dress again. “Security will escort you back to the party, Ms. Rose.”
Another wealthy, oversexed jerk, Sam thought.
As he spoke, two huge guards in black appeared around the corner. Sam nodded, telling him how sorry she was again, aware of Ian standing beside her. As she followed them back to the main reception, Ian behind her, she began to think rationally again.
She’d been out of control. The kiss had been meant to be a ploy. Her attraction to him was dangerous. No good could come of her being out of control.
She had to find a way to take charge.
Sam walked to the closest waiter, removed a flute of champagne and drank it. Then she took another one.
Maclean reached over her shoulder for his own glass. Then he looked at her and lifted his flute in a triumphant toast.
“You haven’t won yet.”
“If ye let me have my way with ye, ye’ll be the victor, Sam.”
“As I said, you guys all think you’re the best in the sack.”
“As I said, I am the best.”
She drank the second flute and returned it to the tray. “You’re going to steal the page.”
He grinned. “Care to stop me?”
“I can’t wait.” And Sam grinned back.
CHAPTER THREE (#u5497b82a-db68-50f9-980b-8b99e441769e)
“WHAT ARE YOU going to do with this?” Kit asked, keeping her voice low.
It was late. The party was breaking up. Sam had watched Maclean for the past few hours as he drank and eyed several pretty women, keeping mostly to himself. He was clearly a loner, no surprise there. Nick had ordered her to keep him in her sights—and because she knew he was going to steal the page sooner, not later, she intended to do just that. She had just followed him down to the building’s lobby.
Sam took her messenger bag, loaded with her favorite toys, from Kit. “Thanks.”
“I don’t like this,” Kit said, glancing past her at Maclean.
He had a woman on each arm—both tall, young and beautiful—and clearly, he meant to take them home for a very private house party.
Sam didn’t care who he slept with. All she cared about was stopping his offense with her defense. She intended to be on him like glue. He was not going to get into that vault without her.
Sam and Kit still stood beneath the building’s canopy. He glanced over his shoulder at her, clearly offering an invitation. Sam shook her head, smiling coolly. He seemed to sigh and then stepped into the street to hail a cab.
“Are you upset? What happened tonight?”
“Nothing happened. He’s just a jerk, but he’s about to take a big fall. I’ll see you tomorrow. If I’m late, it’s because I’m on Maclean. No pun intended.”
“I think he’s dangerous, even if his power is white.”
Sam actually laughed. “No kidding. What are you going to do?”
“There are a few guests left. I’m going back upstairs. Maybe Hemmer will notice me and show me the vault. I’ll try to chat with him.”
“Hey, Kit? Work it and he’ll notice you.” It never ceased to amaze her how modest Kit was. Sam suspected she was celibate, but they never discussed it. She nodded now as Kit slipped back into the lobby. Then she glanced at Central Park West.
Tons of cabs were heading uptown and every one was full. Nothing was heading downtown. Considering how late it was, that was odd—most should be empty.
As the two girls with Maclean whispered and giggled, both high and drunk, Sam felt a chill slither down her spine. She tensed, instantly searching the area for a sign of impending violence. Maclean must have felt it, too, because he had dropped his arm and was looking past the traffic.
And Sam saw the couple on the park side of the street, running, five cloaked figures in pursuit.
