by Brenda Joyce
Ian liked going it alone. He’d hate working alongside his father, but he would have to deal, Sam thought. “A little extra white power never hurts.” She thought about the savage Macleod. “I’d sure love to sic Macleod on Carlisle.”
“The more, the safer,” Brie said. She was sober now. “Masters have died facing off against the monk. We need to know what we’re going up against. I’d like to know which powers he has, exactly.”
“No one is going to die,” Sam said firmly, looking at Tabby. She didn’t seem worried about Guy. “We can do this. A bit of vision, a bit of slaying and lots of magic…it’s a shoo-in.” Just then, it felt like it would be that easy, with them all together again.
Suddenly they all clasped hands. “Like old times,” Brie whispered.
“Yeah,” Sam said, smiling. “Like old times.”
A MAID WHO DID NOT speak English showed Sam to Ian’s chamber, but when she got there, the room was vacant. A small fire burned in the stone hearth. The bed hadn’t been slept in. But a bottle of wine and two cups had been left on the table, which was beneath a window with glass panes. Outside, the night was blue-black and brilliant with stars.
Sam went back downstairs. As she approached the great room where she’d spent the past hours with her sister and Brie, she heard a man speaking. For one moment, she thought it Ian, but quickly realized it was his father.
She was about to walk in when she saw that Ian was there. Sensing the tension between them, she faltered on the threshold.
Aidan was holding out a glass of wine to his son, his expression so somber he might have been at someone’s deathbed. Ian looked ready to explode in anger. He shook his head abruptly. “No thanks. I’d rather drink alone.” He walked away from his father to stand before the hearth.
Sam saw Brie, sitting on the bench at the end of the table, looking distressed and unhappy. She got up and went over to Aidan, touching him, the gesture meant to be consoling.
Aidan was visibly trembling. He put the glass down and walked over to his son. “I dinna see ye fer twenty-five years. Can ye sit down with me, at least?”
“Why?” Ian snapped. “What do we have to talk about? My memories of the years I spent in captivity?”
Aidan inhaled. “If ye want to speak about the past, then that is what I will do.”
“I have nothing to talk about,” Ian snarled.
“Ye came back to Awe, not once but twice,” Aidan tried.
“I came here to ask ye to help me rescue Sam,” he said harshly. “Not because I needed a favor, but because ye owe me more than ye can ever repay.”
Sam inhaled, shaken by his cruelty.
“I owe ye an entire childhood, many times over,” Aidan whispered, his eyes tearing. “An’ we both ken there be no way fer me to ever give it back to ye. So ye’ll punish me instead, until I die.”
Ian shrugged indifferently.
“He grieved for you for sixty-six years,” Brie cried shrilly. “Ian, he loves you so much! He hated himself for sixty-six years for failing you! He still hates himself sometimes, for that failure!”
“Good, then that makes two of us,” Ian said sharply. He turned, saw Sam and stiffened. “Are ye ready fer bed?”
Sam nodded, overcome with pity for him.
Brie put her arm around Aidan, who never took his moist gaze from his son. “We love you, Ian,” Brie whispered.
Ian stormed out. Sam quickly followed. When they were on the third floor, in the chamber she meant to share with him, she debated whether to butt into his life or not. She knew any comment she might make about his relationship with his father would not be welcome.
He slammed the door closed and threw the bolt. “Don’t start.”
“Someone needs to start in on you.”
He glared at her.
She hesitated. “Ian, he’s your father and he loves you.”
“I have no father.” He tore off his T-shirt and flung it across the room.
“I get why you’re so angry. He never came to rescue you. That sucks. But he thought you were dead. Moray made sure he believed that, Ian. Have you ever tried to lay the blame on Moray, instead of Aidan?”
He stared at her, all attention now. “I hate them both.”
Sam shook her head. “Aidan is a good man, Ian. And he’s your father. You can’t mean it.”
“I was just a little boy! An’ did he save me?” he raged. Sam knew he didn’t expect an answer and she didn’t try to speak. “I waited, I wept, I begged, I prayed, I hoped! An’ then one day, the hope was gone. One day, I knew I’d live there like that forever!”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I don’t care! Do ye know that the gods have charged him with the duty of protecting children? He spends his days saving innocent children, when he couldn’t save his own son!”
“It sucks,” she said. “It really does. But life is goddamned unfair.”
“Unfair?” he choked, incredulous. “I was the sacrifice, so he could learn a great lesson and take on his damned destiny!”
“Thank God, you survived.”
He gave her a look which said he was sorry he hadn’t died.
She trembled. “Ian, you survived. You lived. And now you need to move on, because you have a lot to live for.”
He started to laugh at her. “Ah, yes, my fine homes, my fancy cars, the money, the art, the sex…”
“You might like your life a whole lot more if you had a family in it.”
“Well, I don’t and I never will.” Sweat beaded on his temples.
“I hate to argue with you, but guess what? Brie’s your stepmother, Aidan’s your father, and any kids they have will be your brothers and sisters.” He started. “So you do have a family, one dying to be given permission to care about you.”
Ian stalked to the chamber’s window, pushed open the glass pane, and stared at the starry sky outside.
Sam breathed in the scent of the Highland night. She could smell the loch and pine. She went over to him. “I didn’t come up here to fight.”
He kept staring outside. A shadow crossed the moon. When he didn’t speak, Sam took a moment to look at his perfect profile. Then she looked at his broad and bare shoulders, his chest. She was acutely aware of his heat.
He slowly said, “I shouldn’t have come here, not even to ask fer their help.”
“That is what family is for,” Sam said, laying her hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm and smooth. Her skin was turning hot, everywhere.
He glanced at her, his eyes beginning to lose some of their anger, taking on the light of sexual interest instead. “That’s what yer family is for.”
Sam didn’t quite smile. It had been an insane day, but they’d survived.
The night was only just beginning now.
“Did ye enjoy seeing yer sister and Brianna?” he asked softly.
Sam slid her hand down his bulging bicep, his muscular forearm. The muscles tightened beneath her caress. “Yeah. It was great. So you were worried about me, huh?”
His gaze was unwavering. “Ye can take care of yerself.”
“That’s why you leapt through time to save me. Brie said you were beside yourself,” she prompted, teasing now. But she was breathless.
He gave her an incredulous look. “Brie imagined it…an’ ye escaped.”
“With a little out of the ordinary help.” She couldn’t look away. “I saw you. When they had me in that surgical chamber, I saw you.”
His eyes hardened. “Did they touch ye at all?”
“No.” She almost smiled. “You do have great timing, Ian.”
His mouth curved. “An’ ye want to test it again.”
“I sure do. Maybe my memory doesn’t serve me correctly. Maybe your timing isn’t what I think it is.”
The curve of his lips increased. So did the gleam in his eyes. “Ye know ye recall correctly.”
“And then there’s that debt I owe you. The one you have yet to collect,” she whispered, smiling. He
r heart was thundering.
Why even try to resist? Sam laid a finger on the waistband just above his fly, pressing down. “Come and get it, Maclean,” she whispered.
His smile vanished. He leaned toward her, his eyes blazing.
It crossed her mind that they still hadn’t kissed, not since that first time at Hemmer’s party, in spite of all the sex.
He looked at her mouth.
Sam almost forgot about the throbbing heat beneath the pad of her finger. She stared at his mouth.
It shifted, curved. Then he slid his hand into her short hair, on the back of her head. Their eyes met. His smile faded.
It felt like an eternity was passing, as she stood there, her heart slamming, waiting for the feeling of his mouth.
He leaned closer and touched his mouth to hers. Sam’s heart erupted as their lips finally made contact. It was a bare, tentative, virginal brushing.
He froze, their lips still touching, as if surprised or uncertain.
Oddly, she was as uncertain, as surprised. “It’s okay,” she whispered, curling her hands around his shoulders.
He trembled. His other arm went around her. Then his mouth brushed hers, this time more firmly.
Sam opened.
And Ian finally kissed her. Hot and hard, with shocking hunger, a kiss worth waiting for. Sam kissed him back, stunned by the turbulence in her chest. There was so much joy and so much excitement…
His tongue went deep. She hit the wall, their lips locked. No one had ever kissed her this way before.
She’d never wanted to kiss anyone back this way, either.
She threaded her fingers through his hair. He grunted, turning her to the bed. Somehow she went down on it, on her back. He pushed between her spread thighs, the scrap of miniskirt lifting out of the way. Their lips still locked—she didn’t think she ever wanted to break the kiss—she reached for his zipper. He tore at her mouth, now frenzied.
Their tongues twisted, tasted, entwined.
His teeth grated.
Sam thought she tasted blood.
He tore his mouth from hers, panting hard. Their gazes clashed, locked. Staring at her, his eyes blinding, he reached down between them. She heard the zipper as he jerked it down.
“Can ye wait?” he demanded.
In answer, she wrapped her calves around his waist and pushed against his massive arousal, already wet and slick. He smiled, bent, licked her lips again and again, throbbing against her. Sam gave up. She caught his hips, anchored him and impaled herself.
He cried out.
It was the best damn orgasm—or series of them—ever.
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, he launched himself off her, panting harshly and rolling onto his back. Still swimming in a sea of ecstasy, Sam just lay there and let the pleasure flow.
It was a while before the waves finally subsided. When she was somewhat coherent, she touched her mouth, which was swollen and bruised. No one had ever kissed her as Ian had that night. It was as if it were the last kiss he’d ever have—or it was as if it were the first kiss for him, a kiss he couldn’t get enough of.
She realized he was watching her closely.
Sam turned slightly so their gazes met. His face wasn’t mocking; it was carefully neutral. His gaze was lazy, but watchful.
She wet her lips. “Hey.”
“Did I hurt ye?”
She was amused. “No, Ian. I’m a big, bad girl and I can handle the rough stuff.”
He didn’t smile back. He lay fully on his back and stared up at the timbered ceiling.
Sam felt her smile fade. A moment ago he hadn’t been able to get enough of her—and it had been mutual. Now, two inches separated their bodies and shockingly, she wanted to close that gap. She actually wanted to lie in his arms and maybe rub her mouth on his chest.
She flushed. If she made the attempt, he might think her involved. He might push her away, reject her.
She’d never worried about rejection before. She’d never cared whether a guy wanted more or not. And she’d never wanted to cuddle before, either.
She was not going to turn into a mushy female. She ran her nails down his arm. “You okay, dark lover?”
He turned to stare at her. “Are ye?”
She stopped the phony smile. “That was amazing, actually.”
His expression finally softened. “Yeah.” His gaze moved to her mouth. “I was too rough.”
“It’s called passion, baby,” she said lightly, hoping to hide how stunned and oddly happy she was feeling. She laid her hand on one large pectoral muscle and stroked it casually, because she had to touch him.
His eyes widened in surprise. She felt the muscle beneath her hand tense. She expected him to pull away and she was sorry she’d reached out, even casually.
But he lay very still, closing his eyes instead.
He was going to let her caress him. Opportunist that she was, she stroked his chest, going from large circles to smaller ones, closing in on his nipple. She wouldn’t mind spending hours touching him, she thought. What was happening to her?
He was such a mess and she was worried about him.
But now he sighed in pleasure and enjoyment. Her body tightened, warmed. Then she sighed and let her hand drop between them. Her palm lay flat against his hard hipbone.
And he didn’t call her out on the gesture of affection. “Do ye want to sleep?”
Sam blinked at what had risen between them. She hid a smile. To answer…or just act? She moved against him, kissed his navel. He grunted in satisfaction, and grunted again when she touched the steel ring.
AT FIRST, she thought she was dreaming, as she heard the harsh, heavy, frightened breathing behind her. No, beside her. Someone was chasing her, she thought groggily, but it was a dream, wasn’t it? She was aware of the comfortable mattress beneath her body and the warm man beside her in the bed. No, not any man, she thought, starting to smile. She was in bed with Maclean and they’d had a fantastic night.
He screamed.
The sound was bloodcurdling. It was a sound of pain and fear. Sam shot upright. It took her one instant to realize that Ian lay beside her, tossing and turning, in the throes of a nightmare. Moonlight spilled over his twisted face, his bare torso. The covers were tangled around his hips and he was covered in sweat. He screamed again.
She seized his shoulders. “Ian, wake up!”
His hands went around her throat and he started to strangle her, his expression now a mask of murderous fury. His eyes opened and their gazes met. Sam grabbed his wrists, choking.
Lucidity returned. He released her, leaping from the bed.
Sam inhaled, sucking down air.
Ian staggered across the chamber, then straightened. Slowly, he turned. “Are ye all right?” he demanded.
Sam sat back against the headboard, nodding. “I’m fine.” She had not a doubt he was dreaming about the past. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he said swiftly, but he was still shaking, his words clearly false. He picked up his jeans, which had been on the floor, and stepped into them. Sam thought she saw his hands shaking.
She watched him walk over to the table and pour a cup of wine. “That was quite a dream,” she tried.
He drank, not answering.
She was certain that wasn’t his first nightmare. Just like she was certain he had flashbacks from time to time. “What did they do to you?” she finally asked.
He turned and stared at her.
Sam didn’t think he would answer, and he didn’t have to. She knew.
But he did answer. “Everything.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SAM STARED at him, shocked. He turned away, reaching for his T-shirt. He shrugged it on.
Her brain buzzed. He was actually discussing the past. “I hate what happened to you. I want the monk to pay, too.”
He didn’t answer. He turned back to the window. Outside, the sun was rising and the morning was pale gray.
She’d probably used up all of her spare lu
ck, but she said, “Do you dream about it a lot?”
He gave her a dark, are-you-kidding look.
She’d thought so. Sam slid from the bed. She shivered, but decided not to bother with a blanket—she wanted a bit of female power. Naked, she might hold his interest a bit longer. He might answer a question or two. She walked up to him. “Are the dreams always that bad?”
“What is this, an interrogation?”
“No, Ian, it’s not an interrogation. It’s a friend being concerned.” She’d been right not to put on her clothes. He watched her now.
Sam poured herself a glass of water, and took a sip as his gaze moved down her body. “Yer freezing.”
She smiled and put the cup down, then laid her hand on his shoulder. “It’s a bit chilly in here.”
He didn’t pull away. “Get dressed. Not that I mind the show.”
She was offering comfort in the tiniest, most discreet way possible, and he was allowing it. She was exultant. “Aren’t you going to deny it, Ian? Aren’t you going to laugh at me, mock me, for calling myself a friend?”
His stare became impossible to read. His mouth curled, but Sam didn’t know if it was with scorn and derision or simple amusement. It didn’t matter. This was all his big cover-up. He shrugged. “If ye want to call yerself my friend, why would I stop ye? Ye can call yerself whatever ye like.”
“Thanks,” she said.
He looked from her eyes to her mouth to her breasts, then lower. He slowly looked up. “Ye can’t play me, Sam. Ye can’t work me the way ye work other men.”
Sam slid her hand to his nape. She felt him tense and knew he was going to pull away.
Sam glanced around, saw her thong and T-shirt, and picked them up. She slid the clothes on and said, “When my mother was murdered, I was twelve. I didn’t see the demon do it. But I saw him get up and leave her there, dead and drained of her life and power.”
Ian started. “I didn’t know.”
“My mother was like Tabby. She was a powerful witch with a heart of gold. No one was kinder.” To her surprise, Sam felt herself becoming upset. Her gaze felt moist. What the hell was that about?