Kitabı oku: «The Masters of Time», sayfa 2

CHAPTER TWO

MACLEAN WAS NOWHERE in sight.

Standing in the marble foyer just outside the brass doors of the elevator, which had taken them to the penthouse, Sam and Kit exchanged glances. Hemmer had built the building in his usual style—Las Vegas glitz meets haughty Fifth Avenue. There were marble floors, gilded mirrors and Corinthian columns. Everything was as costly as possible, screaming money. A handful of guests stood ahead of them, filing forward, and black-clad security agents were everywhere.

Sam wore a strapless red jersey dress, which clung to her every curve, and gold spike sandals. She’d added one of her mother’s gold bracelets to her right wrist, although bracelets tended to get in the way during tight, hand-to-hand combat. Rings were actually useful—they could be annoying for the enemy, inflicting painful little cuts. She wore several. Most women carried a clutch, but she wore a wallet-size bag on a shoulder strap. It was almost weightless, holding only a credit card, her cell phone and her red lipstick, and couldn’t possibly get in the way of anything. And she wore the diamond hoops her sister had given her last year. She only took them off to clean them.

She glimpsed Rupert Hemmer just within the doorway of his home, his blond wife with him, greeting the guests as they came in. The room beyond them was already crowded, but she didn’t see Maclean amongst the glittering partygoers. Her heart was thudding oddly, slow and steady—the way it always did before she leapt into battle. He was present. She was certain of it, and not because Nick had said he was on the guest list. She felt him, somewhere in the penthouse.

Sam could sense white power, and Maclean’s was obvious.

His aura reeked of sexuality, and her own answering tension told her he was nearby.

She couldn’t wait to spoil his good time.

Then she poked Kit and nodded up at the thumbnail-size cameras in the corners of the foyer. Kit followed her gaze. Then she gestured at their hostess. “Is she even legal?”

Sam was amused, and she glanced at their host, who was handsome and tanned in a black tuxedo, his face obviously lifted, his hair that funny shade of medium brown that every older man seemed to sport in order to cover up the gray. While he had to be close to sixty, even if he’d been under the knife and was lean and fit, his wife looked twenty—if that. She wore a bubble-gum pink evening gown that was more of a second skin than a dress. Sam pegged it as Versace. From this distance, Rupert reeked of arrogance and wealth, but not evil. Sam could sense evil as easily as she sensed white power, and she suspected him to be human with a few drops of demonic blood.

It was finally their turn to meet and greet. Rupert looked at her, his eyes widening with obvious male interest. He looked carefully at her lush chest, which was not the obvious boob job his wife was showing off, and then at her long, hard legs. He glanced at Kit, who wore a classic black sheath and had actually put on lip gloss. He smiled slowly at them. “You must be Sam Rose and Kit Mars, from World Media.”

Sam had noted that Becca Hemmer didn’t care about her husband ogling other women—and why should she? Sam had read up on the Hemmers while getting dressed. She was young, gorgeous and smart enough to have signed a pre-nuptial agreement that made her one of the city’s wealthiest women, no matter what happened to her marriage. And apparently, Becca liked to play as much as he did.

Sam dismissed her as irrelevant and smiled back at Hemmer, giving him a come-hither-if-you-dare look. “None other.” She extended her hand. “I’m Sam Rose. I was wondering how long it would take for us to meet, Mr. Hemmer.”

He grasped it warmly. “All my guests are instructed to call me Rupert.”

“Rupert,” Sam murmured. “It’s been a while since I had instruction.”

He smiled slightly as he absorbed the innuendo. “How interesting.” He added, “Had I realized World Media had publicists like you two, I think I would have been persuaded to give you my business much more easily.” His gaze was suddenly hooded.

Sam wondered if they’d been made. “Is the rest of the team here?”

“I believe so,” he murmured. “John Ensign and Charles Dupre were two of the first to arrive.”

She felt Kit’s tension. “Jack Ensign,” she corrected casually. “We all call him Jack.”

“Ah, yes, of course, my mistake. So, do come inside and help yourself to the bubbly. Perhaps we can chat a bit later about the project. I look forward to hearing your ideas.”

“I look forward to sharing them.” Sam smiled pleasantly at Becca as she and Kit moved into a huge living room with gilded crystal chandeliers and modern furniture upholstered in various shades of white. Nick had told her almost two hundred guests would be present, and Sam decided that he’d been right. The men were in tuxedoes, the women sporting lavish jewels, some in long evening gowns, like Becca. White-coated waiters were passing champagne in expensive flutes and hors d’oeuvres on sterling silver trays. It took Sam a second to decide that Maclean was not in the reception area. Was he already in the vault? She shivered. She was more than ready to find out. Her pulse beat a bit more swiftly now.

“Did we pass?” Kit murmured.

“I think he’s suspicious.” But she didn’t give a damn about their host now.

“Did you have time to read up on the project?”

“No, and I intend to avoid Hemmer. With this crowd, I don’t think he can get away for a tête-à-tête anyway. Are you okay? I’m going to explore.”

“I’m fine. Be careful. Hemmer stinks.”

Sam smiled and drifted off into the crowd. As she did, a flash of bright pink caught her eye. She turned and saw Becca making her way alone through the crowd—no easy task, as she was constantly greeted and congratulated. Sam turned to locate Hemmer. She finally saw him, still close to the front door, chatting with the mayor and a famous woman news anchor with sinking ratings. Sam turned back to Becca, just in time to see her slip from the reception room, past two big security guards.

Now what did that mean? Becca did not seem like a party pooper. She managed to find Kit. “I need a diversion so I can canvas the rest of the place.”

“You can create a better diversion in that getup than I ever could.”

“Stop selling yourself short,” Sam said, meaning it.

A moment later, Sam was posed not far from the door Becca had exited, where the two big security guards stood. A woman not far from the doorway cried out, “Someone just stole my purse! Someone just ripped my bag from my hands!”

As the two security guards rushed to her, Sam slipped into the hallway. It was quiet within, the lights lower. An elevator faced her, which would go up to the Hemmers’ private rooms. She walked swiftly past it, her lipstick now in hand. The case was actually a camera. She started taking photos as she passed a library and a media room. She did not think she’d run into Becca—she was pretty certain she’d gone upstairs.

She passed an office and came to the end of the hall. A glass-enclosed, Olympic-size indoor lap pool faced her. On her left was a huge steel door.

She had found the vault.

Maclean’s power beckoned, tangible and hot, but he was not in that vault. Sam took more photographs, aware that she was being videotaped—those thumbnail-size video cameras were everywhere. She was careful not to get too close, setting off motion sensors and alarms.

When she was finished, she put the camera away. Maclean was around, but where? And where was Becca? She’d obviously gone upstairs—but Sam didn’t think she’d gone to change her shoes. “Such a naughty girl,” she murmured. She would be surprised if she didn’t find them together, she decided. Maclean would probably think it amusing to screw his host’s wife.

Sam went quietly back the way she had come, her senses in overdrive. She did not rush—she would find him, sooner or later. Hunting put her at the top of her game. The elevator was set far enough back from the reception that she could easily get to it without being noticed. It was whisper-quiet, too. She stepped inside, her gaze on the backs of the guards, but neither one turned her way. She pressed the single button there. The elevator moved up to the building’s top floor.

She felt the hot sex before she saw it. She felt him. The air was somehow thicker and humid upstairs. Testosterone filled it. Lust thickened her. Most women would drop everything to be with Maclean, and she could hear Becca now, in the throes. Sam paused. The door to a bedroom was ajar. Becca’s cries became deep, uncontrollable sobs. Her own heart was thundering, her body tight. Sam pushed open the door.

She’d forgotten how damn good-looking he was. How unbelievably sexy he was. Becca wept in her climax, sprawled on her belly on the bed, her skirts pushed up to her back. Maclean stood behind her, fully dressed. He was driving hard and deep, steadily, his face strained, at once hard, cold and almost ruthless. He was intent on his own satisfaction.

Becca was out of all control. Ian Maclean was not.

She wet her lips, compelled to watch. How had she forgotten those gorgeous features? Most beautiful men looked effeminate. Not Maclean. In spite of those long-lashed gray eyes and that perfect, almost pretty nose, he had a hard jaw, and high cheekbones. But he was more than that face. She’d never seen him without his clothes, but she knew his body was all long, hard muscle. And mostly, there was his sex drive. Sam had recognized a kindred spirit, in that one way. Maclean was oversexed and probably insatiable.

He’d be hard to please.

Becca’s sobs and moans filled the room. Maclean kept driving, not making a sound. Sam knew Becca had been easy to seduce. She’d bet just about anything that Maclean had never been given a run for his money.

She breathed harder. A terrible tension consumed her now. Well, there was one woman he couldn’t seduce.

Maclean suddenly made a harsh sexual sound, his only one. And he looked up at her.

The moment their gazes locked, Sam realized he wasn’t surprised to see her. In the next second, she saw that he wasn’t blinded by lust. His gaze was gray and clear. As she stared at him, he began to smile, as if he had a secret he really liked.

Sam’s heart turned over, hard.

“Ye took yer time,” he murmured, stepping away from his gasping lover.

Sam was trying to comprehend the fact that, just like at Loch Awe, he’d been expecting her. But her every coherent thought vanished as he reached for his gaping trousers, because her gaze veered to his hands.

Her thundering heart slammed. She forgot to breathe.

He slowly grinned, somehow jerking the zipper entirely up.

He wore a silver ring there.

She’d seen body piercings, of course. Just not there—and not like that.

“Something got yer tongue?” he mocked softly.

She choked and her mind came to life. “Having fun? Because I hate to be the one to ruin your private party.” But she wanted to wipe the perspiration from her cleavage and brow. Her body was rioting. So much for worrying about her sex drive.

“Hot?” His gaze followed her fingers as she wiped the moisture away. “Surely ye’ve seen a cock ring before.”

Sam felt her fake smile vanish. “That was some welcome, Maclean. Too bad I’m not into voyeurism.” She tried to be flippant. “Nice jewelry.”

His brows lifted as he sauntered toward her. “Admit it. I make ye hot, Sam, an’ ye loved watching.”

Sam realized that Becca was scrambling off the bed and racing toward the door. She swallowed, Becca’s exit giving her a much-needed pause. “It was a decent show,” she said, recovering a hair of her composure. “Aren’t you going to go after her?”

“Now why would I do that?” he asked, standing before her. “When yer right here?”

“Oh, I don’t know. To piss off Hemmer? To keep an insider on your next job?” Because walking out on me is a habit of yours?

He laughed. “I don’t care what Hemmer thinks an’ I hardly need Becca. I know ye liked the ring, but did ye like the rest of the goods?”

She inhaled.

Show me the goods.

And she’d dropped her dress…

He was trying to make her recall that moment—his being in control, and the humiliation that had followed. Worse, his image was now engraved on her mind. “I always like eye candy, Maclean.”

“Ye’ve never seen—or had—eye candy like mine.”

Unfortunately she was completely breathless. “Sure of yourself, are you?”

“Very.” His gray eyes remained mocking. He leaned close and murmured, “Ye can take the ring off any time, Sam. Just say when and where.”

He’d walked out on her before, but this time, he was in pursuit. It was hard to think clearly, much less wonder why. And damn it, it was hard to look away from his smoldering gray gaze. His words intensified the currents sizzling in the room. “Gee, a come-on. Last time you weren’t very interested. Why don’t you give that honor to your girlfriend?”

“But I want ye to have the honor.” He seemed amused. “To make up fer my bad behavior at Loch Awe.”

Sam fought thinking about taking that ring off and touching him where it counted. She’d forgotten the attraction that raged between them, against her judgment and her will. But she had not forgotten their last encounter, oh no, and she never would.

And she knew that inwardly he was laughing at her. He was not repentant at all. “I don’t like men coming on to me,” she said flatly. “I call the shots.”

His mouth curled. “Of course. Ye like to be the one seducing yer little boys. Or should I say toys?”

He was right. “Do you have a problem with strong women, Maclean?”

“Aye, I do. I like my women soft an’ hot. An’ we both know ye have a problem with strong men.”

She slowly smiled. “My problem is I’ve never met a man as strong as me—especially in the bedroom.”

His smile was wide. “Now who’s the arrogant one? When yer ready to take a chance, ye’ll find out how wrong ye are.”

Sam had the disturbing notion that he’d give her the ride of her life. “I’m always ready—except when it comes to jet-setting playboys with massive egos like you.”

“Ouch,” he said. “So ye haven’t forgiven me fer Loch Awe. Ye were insulted.”

“I can’t really recall what happened at Loch Awe,” she snapped.

He laughed. “Ye can recall. I left ye standing naked in my salon, instead of begging fer yer favors like all your boys do. I didn’t grovel. I didn’t pant or drool. I didn’t give ye the favor ye wanted me to. Ye were furious with me. Come, Sam, we both know the kind of woman ye are. Ye never forgive an’ ye never forget. An’ we both know ye didn’t forget me.”

Her temper soared. “Frankly, I haven’t given you a thought since last December,” she lied. “Can your huge ego handle it?”

“My huge ego can handle anything—anyway ye want.”

“I’ll pass…like last time.”

“So ye do recall last time,” he said softly. “When I didn’t give ye the chance to say no.”

She trembled, furious.

“Are ye sure ye don’t wish fer a trophy? So there’s no danger that ye forget this night?”

“No.” There was no satisfaction in saying “no” now. Even as angry as she was, she knew she wasn’t going to forget his screwing Becca, not for a long time. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re no prize, Maclean, no matter what you seem to think.”

He shrugged indifferently and murmured, “How will ye know if ye don’t try the goods?”

Sam turned to go. “Yeah, of course, you’re the best there is. I’ve never met a man who didn’t think he was God’s gift in the sack,” she retorted over her shoulder.

He seized her arm. She was forced to halt and their gazes clashed. His stare never wavered. “I’m the best.”

His words made her feel faint for a moment. Sam wanted to retort, but she just stood there, recalling the look on his face a moment ago. Becca had seemed to be having an otherworldly orgasm, while he was hunting his own pleasure—almost as if it were an effort. She’d heard that sex with near-immortals was really different—that the rapture was somehow endless. Frankly, she didn’t believe it but she was sure he was damned good—when inspired.

He was never going to have the chance to prove it to her.

“Ye’ll never want a boy toy again,” he said softly.

“Your ego,” she said as softly, “is off the charts. Some women might find it attractive—I don’t. It diminishes any other attributes you might actually have.”

He grinned. “My ego can’t diminish what yer thinkin’ about.”

She pulled free of his grasp. “You’ve got the goods. Big deal.”

“Yer salivating.”

It was definitely time to leave before she blew a gasket. She turned to storm out, when she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to let him out of her sight. In that instant, she recalled what was in Hemmer’s vault—what he wanted, what HCU wanted. She slowly faced him. “Let’s talk turkey. How’s the vault?”

His brows lifted. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

He gestured at the bed. “I’ve been busy. Ye took yer time an’ I decided to start the evening off with a bang.”

He had been expecting her. “Did you get a peek at the guest list?”

He shrugged. “Our paths were bound to cross, sooner or later.”

“I don’t travel in Hemmer’s circles.”

“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.