Dark Rival
realize it.
    Now, Allie felt the same magnetic pull. She knew, beyond any doubt, that the small island lay somewhere to the west and that it was not far away.
    She turned back to the room, regarding it closely again. Her warrior had been a medieval Highlander, but she was in the present—except for two antique chests, the room was a modern one. There was a cheetah-print wool nig on the floor, two impressive armchairs before the fireplace and she'd bet a small fortune the bedding was Ralph Lauren. She crossed the room and thrust the bathroom door open.
    It was beige marble from floor to wall, the ceiling mirrored. This was his bathroom. Everything about it, from the sunken marble tub, surrounded by a wall of glass windows, to the plush brown towels, was masculine. She stared at the sink where an electric razor was plugged into the wall, alongside an Oral-B toothbrush.
    Allie could scent him now and she felt dizzy, overcome by his power and masculinity. She opened the mirrored cabinet, beyond curiosity now—compelled. She scanned the contents, noting all the usual items, and saw that he used Boss cologne. She almost smiled at that. She closed the door and then jerked it quickly open again. She couldn't help herself. She looked at every single item inside, but didn't see condoms.
    What are you doing? She asked herself, her mouth dry, her heart pounding. She closed the door and backed out of the bathroom, trying to get her bearings. It was impossible, because she was too consumed with her warrior now.
    She forced her mind to work. Her golden warrior had not been in costume. But she was in a man's bathroom, and that man was as contemporary as she was.
    What did that mean?
    A quick look into the closet confirmed that she was in a modem man's room, and that he had impeccable taste. She riffled through Armani suits, expensive button-down shirts and elegant silk ties; she saw Gucci loafers and Polo Tees. But the jeans were no-nonsense Levi's and he wore tighty whities....
    Her heart exploded at a few very interesting, tempting and graphic mental images far too racy for any Jockey ad. She was off track again. She could not resist walking over to the bedside table and looking in the single drawer. No condoms. Did this guy live like a monk?
    Stop it, she told herself, her heart accelerating impossibly. The real question was, why was she in a modernized castle?   Her warrior was the real deal. He’d had supernatural powers. He'd been able to use energy the way the demons did. He could sense evil the way she did. And he'd used that sword like a medieval knight, making movie action heroes seem inept.
    Had she imagined being hurled across the pastures?
    She walked over to the other bedside table and searched it, with no results. And the photo caught her eye.
    Allie picked it up and saw her warrior and was so relieved she sank onto the bed. It was him. She felt as if she'd just found her long-lost best friend—no, her long-lost lover. He had a buzz cut in the photo, but he was still the hottest hunk she’d ever laid eyes on. And he looked as strong and capable as he was, like a commando who wouldn't think twice about crossing enemy lines to take out a terrorist leader.
    His friends were drop-dead gorgeous, too. The pretty woman was clearly with one of his friends, not that she was really worried about competition.
    She stared more closely and her confusion renewed itself. He looked different.   He was only in his early thirties, but in this photo looked ten years older. He seemed harder, as if he'd lived through so much and had no soul left….
    Damn it, had he been in costume after all?
    The warrior who'd appeared last night had been a genuine überhero, but had he been from the present, in spite of the swords, the tunic, the boots?
    A knock sounded softly on the door. From the light, tentative sound, she knew it was a woman outside the door. “Come in.” She glanced at the photo a third time. That was her warrior; was he medieval or

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