CHAPTER SEVEN #4
He’d made it a point to obtain her numbers earlier. He dialed her at home. The moment she answered, he heard the breathless tension in her voice. His own tension, already impossible, thickened. “Can’t ye sleep?”
“Maclean.”
Her tone was thick, like his. “I can’t sleep, either, Sam.”
She was surprised. “Are we about to have phone sex?”
His mouth curled. “I wouldn’t bother. Why are ye so hot?”
She hesitated. “Hemmer was here. He just left.”
For one moment, he was incredulous. Then he was on his feet, enraged. “An’ he makes ye hot now, too?”
“Hemmer is an evil and dangerous sonuvabitch,” she said. “And you were right about him. He is going to be a problem.”
His mind raced. She hadn’t slept with him, he was certain. He tried to read her mind and only felt her anger. Hemmer had pissed her off. “What did Hemmer want? Other than sex?”
There was another pause. “You know what he wants. Me…the page…and maybe, revenge on you. Have you considered that part of it, Maclean?”
He was still, his gaze narrowed, feeling harder and angrier now. “An’ ye care because?” He was aware of quoting her.
“I care because you have the page and we want it,” she snapped. “Gee, this is great phone sex!”
“Why did ye change yer clothes?”
There was a moment of surprised silence. “How do you know I changed my clothes?”
“Because,’ he snarled, “ye were wearing a white tank top, an’ it’s red now.”
“My place is wired?”
“I don’t need wires or feeds, Sam,” he said softly.
She breathed hard. “Right. Forgot. You have that amazing brain—one that can dismantle security systems and see me across most of Manhattan?”
“I can see ye from Scotland, if I want.”
She was silent.
He smiled, taking that little victory. “I told ye to stay away from him. Ye should have called. Did ye play him, Sam?”
“Here’s a news flash—I don’t take orders from you. And guess what? I did work him, Maclean. Come on! What else would I do?”
Had she listened to a word he’d said? “I’ll take care of Hemmer from now on.” He couldn’t help himself. “Did he kiss ye?”
“Oh, yeah, Hemmer and his bag of tricks make a perfect date. Soo romantic and sexy! I couldn’t wait to have his tongue down my throat.”
He knew then that Hemmer hadn’t touched her. He was relieved—and that was odd.
“You are playing with fire, Maclean. You stole his property. He wants it back. We want it, too. I think you need to consider an exit strategy—like handing over the page.”
He slowly smiled. “In return for two hundred million dollars’ worth of sex?”
She exhaled. “You said no.”
“I’m starting to like the idea.”
She choked. “Are you kidding?”
If he gave her the page, spent a few days with her, he could walk away from all of this. He didn’t need the money, not like this. There was other art he could steal and sell. And he didn’t need evil in his face. Mostly, he didn’t need the growing reminders of his past.
For some damn reason, in the past day or so, he felt like he was on a precipice, about to be shoved back into the past.
And that was unacceptable.
There was one problem. He had nowhere to go, other than his Loch Awe mansion.
“Are you okay?”
He jerked. He’d been lost in thought—and that last thought had been almost dismaying. Of course he had other places to go. He’d sell the Park Avenue place. He’d buy homes in Nice, Sydney, Monaco. “Come over and have some wine with me,” he suddenly said.
“I’m going to bed—alone.”
“Ye only delay the inevitable. Besides, what will ye do when ye dream of me?”
“You said no phone sex.”
He smiled then. “What if I come back over? Ye can go to bed alone—I’ll watch.”
She was silent. He knew she was considering it. Then she said, “I don’t think you could keep your hands to yourself if I did what we both know I want to do.”
“No phone sex,” he chided softly.
“What if I tell you that we’re invited to a party tomorrow—the two of us. It’s a special party…at Hemmer’s.”
He was sharp. “There’s no reason to go back there, Sam.”
“Yes, there is. There’s evil in the vault. If you turn me down, I’ll bring someone from the agency.”
“Is that a threat?” He wasn’t amused. He’d never let her go without him.
“No, it’s a fact. He wants us to provide him with some X-rated entertainment.”
He didn’t have to read her mind now. His interest was immediate and a different tension began. Anxiety hummed. “Did ye agree?”
“Do you care?”
“I’ve never minded an audience,” he lied. He hated audiences. There’d been too many of them.
“I thought you’d be all gung ho—you get to get me in bed! He’s expecting us at seven.”
“I’ll pick ye up at half past six.”
She said seriously, without sarcasm, “What’s wrong with you, Maclean? Really? You sound strange.”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’ve been enjoying my evening. Goodnight, Sam.” Then he stared at his BlackBerry grimly.
Sam Rose was too astute where he was concerned. He knew he should unload the page and get out now, while he could—before every secret he had was out there in the public domain.
And he should unload her, too.
But he knew he wouldn’t, not yet. Not until they’d finished what they’d started that day in Oban, Scotland.