Page 43 of Dark Lover

“Let go,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes, moaning…

Sam hit the Stop button, hard.

She still couldn’t breathe. Worse, she was on fire. Just then, if Maclean walked into her loft, she’d be all over him.

Sam walked over to the kitchen and splashed water on her face. She started to breathe more normally, and she started to think.

How could that be her—and him? They hadn’t slept together—not yet.

If they ever did, the sex would be hot and rough. They would not be two lovers who seemed to have feelings for one another!

Her mind truly came to life. Was the woman a double? She didn’t think so. But with the right makeup, the right haircut, it wouldn’t be so hard to find a good double. Especially as the camera wasn’t in close and never zoomed in, even though the shots had changed. Sam decided that a handful of cameras were in that bedroom, and someone had edited the various tapes.

Her insides vanished all over again. This time, there was a sick dismay.

Damn it, that woman wasn’t a double. That was her face—her voice. And Maclean was obviously the real deal, too.

Her mouth became dry all over again, as she envisioned his gorgeous face and equally gorgeous body—and that gleaming steel ring.

She closed her eyes, shaken now. The hot, sexy images replayed in her mind, again and again. She had to think! Sam finally walked over to the kitchen counter to pour a double shot of vodka. “Good job, Rose,” she said grimly to herself. “He wins—twice over. Jerk!” She was referring to herself.

He’d turned her on when he was with another woman, which was inexplicable enough. But he also turned her on when they were arguing, when he was smug, arrogant and annoying. He’d turned her on during that suicidal car chase, and after she’d seen him crying on his knees. The damned attraction had even been present when he was furious with her for her snooping on his PC and butting into his life. And now, damn it, he turned her on in a sex tape.

“Stay clinical, damn it,” Sam told herself. The tape had to have come from the future, she thought grimly. And Hemmer had been the one to deliver it.

She went very still. That thought almost had the ability to douse the desire throbbing in her. She knew Hemmer had watched them and enjoyed it.

And now, she guessed what he intended. He wanted a partnership with her. Clearly, he meant to use her against Ian. He intended blackmail.

The urgency was under control now. War came first, always.

“Bring it on,” she snarled.

HIS LIFE WAS a war of survival. He had no family, no friends and no allies. Everyone was his enemy—and now his enemies knew his worst secrets.

There was outrage, but mostly, he was horrified.

Gerard met him as he entered the marble foyer of his Park Avenue home, closing the front door behind him. “Sir? Is there anything I can get you?”

Ian barely heard him, he was so sickened. They had a file on him. They knew about the years of captivity.

How much did they know?

Were the cops out there on Park Avenue laughing at him even now?

Was she laughing at him?

He was having difficulty breathing. Did they know what that boy had suffered, exactly? What was in that file?!

“Open the windows and turn on the air,” he said tersely, jerking at the soft cashmere of his sweater. He pulled the V-neck lower, as if it were constricting the passageways to his lungs. He was sweating, as if he’d run uptown.

Gerard hesitated. “Sir, it’s still almost ninety degrees outside.”

He couldn’t get enough air. He couldn’t quite breathe. He was panting like a frightened, trapped animal. “Turn the fans on high,” he snapped.

But Gerard knew. “Yes, sir, and I’ll open the windows, as well.”