Page 103 of Dark Victory

His mouth curved again. “Then come here.”

She sat back. Not in a million years. She lowered her lashes and said, “I need your help.”

“O’ course ye do. Ye need to go back in time to find your sister.”

She jumped to her feet. He’d been reading her mind well before she’d arrived at his home on Loch Awe and that set her off balance, when she was almost never surprised. “I am not asking for a favor, Maclean.”

He laughed at her, approaching, his gait slow and unrushed. “Of course not. Ye think I’m Santa Claus.”

Sam tensed as he touched her bare shoulder, and his touch went through her entire body, causing a thousand tiny pulse points to explode in delight. “Santa wears a red suit and he’s fat and gray. Have no fear, I know you helped Brie only to save your father.”

“Take off the dress.”

She started.

His eyes smoldered now. “Ye don’t have to share my bed tonight. ’Tis yer loss, not mine. But I want to see the goods.”

Sam seethed. He hadn’t even given her the chance to make a deal. “You are an unbelievable bastard.”

He laughed. “I’ve heard it a thousand times. Can’t ye come up with something a bit more original? What’s wrong? Are ye afraid of the bright lights?”

She didn’t have a drop of cellulite on her body. Furious, Sam said, “I never refuse a challenge.”

“Good.”

Sam lifted her spaghetti straps and slid the dress down her otherwise naked and very flushed body. His gaze narrowed and his smile vanished. There was no laughter now. “Take a good long look, because it’s your last one.”

His thick lashes lifted. His stare was gray and sizzling. “’Tis my first one, Samantha, an’ not the last.”

“Delusions are always so sweet.”

His gaze moved down every inch of her body then lifted. “Do ye really wish to prolong the agony?”

Unfortunately, every inch of her body seemed to be expanding and hurting. Sam stepped out of the pile of silk, leaving it at her stiletto-clad feet. “Send me back in time and I’ll think about playing nice with you when I get back.”

His mouth curled. It was a moment before he spoke. “I don’t want ye to play nice,” he said softly. “I want ye to play bad.”

She inhaled. Desire dripped, pooled. It was a huge blow to her gut. “What’s wrong? Miss Goody Two-shoes bore you? Oh, wait, let me guess. She only knows three positions.”

He slid his hand over her breast. “She only knows two positions.”

Sam bit off a gasp, refusing to make a sound of pleasure. Then, with the speed of a striking snake, she reached down, popped a four-inch stiletto from her heel, and pressed it against his jugular. “I so want to spill your blood.”

He smiled. “Go ahead an’ cut me. I don’t care. I like blood. But we both know ye want me deep an’ hard inside ye.”

She was furious. “Drop your hand.”

He did, only to stroke the curve of her cheekbone. “Good luck to yer sister,” he said, turning away from her.

Sam was disbelieving.

Ian Maclean walked out of the room, leaving her standing there naked.

And he left the doors open, too.

MACLEOD DID NOT KNOW if he would ever become accustomed to the leap through time. He straightened, breathing hard, his head still exploding with pain.

“Ye fuckin’ bastard,” Coinneach gasped, moaning as he rolled in pain on the ground. “What kind…o’ torture…have ye devised?”