Chosen by Desire (15 page)

She didn’t think Francesca actually would, but then the woman took a deep breath, peeled off her robe, and crouched at the side of the pool.

Carrie admired the expensive-looking sky blue bikini. She knew it—the woman had a body to die for. With her hair done up in its twist and the jewelry, Francesca looked like she’d stepped off the set of a magazine shoot.

Okay, she officially hated the woman. Francesca was smart, successful, had a great wardrobe, perfect legs, and Max. Plus, she could eat all the pastries she wanted and not agonize over the size of her butt.

Some women had it all. Shaking her head, Carrie went under, paddling for what seemed like ages before coming up to the surface and doing lazy laps. She hadn’t realized it before, but she’d felt parched. It’d been ages since she’d done any swimming, but with each stroke she felt more invigorated. All her worries faded, and she felt peace. She came back to the top and floated on her back.

“Ms.—uh, Carrie, do you get the opportunity to go swimming in San Francisco?”

So much for peace. “No.”

“Of course. It’s fairly chilly year-round, isn’t it?” Pause. “Maybe a friend of yours has an indoor pool?”

“I work all the time.” She rolled onto her stomach and dog-paddled. “I never have time. Playing hooky isn’t a habit.”

“It isn’t?” Francesca asked as if it was hard to believe.

Stopping at the lip of the pool, Carrie rested her head on her folded arms. Maybe if she humored Francesca and answered the questions, the woman would leave her alone. “All I do is research and work. I’ve been here eight days, and instead of taking advantage of the amenities I’ve holed myself up in my room each night reading an obscure Chinese text for my thesis.”

“Do you enjoy your work?”

“I knew the first time I saw an ancient text that I’d found what I was meant to do. Something bigger than myself. So I’m not sacrificing anything with all the work.” At least she didn’t think so, despite what her mom said. “Is that how you feel about working for Max?”

Francesca’s brow furrowed. “Of course.”

She didn’t sound so sure. Carrie almost pointed that out, but then she decided it wasn’t any of her business. If the woman wanted to talk about it, she’d listen, but she didn’t feel like dragging information out of her.

The question seemed to have done the trick. Francesca sat at the edge of the pool, quiet and introspective.

Finally. Carrie lolled onto her back and drifted free. Arms spread out, she felt the water caress her, over and under her suit—all over her body, like a lover’s touch.

She heard footsteps but didn’t bother to look up. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving already, Francesca.”

“She is, in fact,” a masculine voice growled.

Her eyes popped open. Not just any masculine voice—Max’s.

M
ax stepped onto the patio and into a dream. Or a nightmare, depending on how he looked at it.

And he looked. He couldn’t help it. Carrie floated in the pool, her face registering bliss—the kind of bliss that, in the dark of night, he imagined giving her. The only thing wrong with the image was her bikini. In his dreams, she wasn’t covered by anything but his hands and mouth.

“Sir.”

He glanced right.

Francesca stood, as regal and composed as if she were in one of her power suits, and slipped into a robe. Interesting how the sight of her didn’t rouse him. At all. But seeing Carrie’s glistening skin, he craved her—inside and out. In a way he’d never desired anything or anyone.

“Sir,” Francesca said again. Her hands fumbling at her sash were the only things that gave away her agitation. “I didn’t—”

“Leave,” he ordered. “Now.”

Without another word, Francesca gathered her things and strode back into the house.

He heard Carrie mutter, “Traitor,” and turned to look at her. She’d swum to the side of the pool and awkwardly climbed out. He stifled the urge to help her, not trusting himself to touch her. Not with the way her bikini clung to her curves.

“You didn’t have to bark at her,” she said, grabbing a towel from the edge of the pool and rubbing the wetness off herself. “It was my idea to come out here. You shouldn’t treat her that way.”

“You’re hardly in the position to tell me how to treat my employees.” He stepped forward, clenching his hands so he wouldn’t be tempted to shake her.

“There’s no reason to get so worked up.” She held the towel in front of her like a shield. “We were just taking a break. I’m making good time on the translation work, and you never said it was against the rules to take an hour off.”

“I’ve been searching the house for you for the past half hour.” He grabbed her arms and lifted her to her toes. When he couldn’t find her, it’d driven him crazy, first wondering if she was meeting someone, then wondering if she was safe. The only saving grace was that he’d found the Book of Water stashed under her bed in a half-assed hiding job. He didn’t think she’d leave without the scroll. “Didn’t you think that maybe I’d wonder if something happened to you or if you’d run off?”

She blinked, her big dark eyes shining innocence. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave before finishing the work.”

“I couldn’t give a damn about the work,” he growled. He wanted to know what she wanted. He wanted to know who Rhys was to her. He wanted to know why he just wanted to get closer when every bit of common sense told him to run. Damn it.

He hauled her up and crushed his mouth to hers.

Dropping her towel on the ground, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself to his hard, wide body. She melted against him, as if it didn’t occur to her to fight him.

Why not? Damn it, didn’t she understand he was the enemy? He clasped her closer, his kiss savage. Not enough. Reaching around, he palmed her ass before pressing her against his hardness. They both moaned.

For one insane second he toyed with the elastic of her bottoms, his finger just barely under, wondering how she’d feel if he slipped to her center.

Insane was right. He stepped back, withdrawing his hand from her damp skin.

Carrie panted, letting her arms fall from around him to hug her body as if she was chilled. When she spoke, her voice was all sex. “At least now I know.”

“What?”

“That you do kiss like the Viking god you resemble.”

Max stared at her. A bead of water rolled down her neck and into the valley between her breasts. He swallowed, wanting to lick after it. He wanted to untie the strings of her bikini and let his tongue roam free.

Fucking insane.
He shoved his hair back, regulating his breathing. He needed to get it under control. He needed information from her—not mindless passion.

Because mindless it would be. He’d have every intention of kissing the secrets out of her, but if he got her under him, the scroll, Rhys, and everything else would be the last things on his mind. His focus would narrow to the feel of her hands and mouth on him—to see the fire in her eyes—all for him.

He hardened painfully, just thinking about her eyes gazing at him in passion.
Damn pathetic.
With coolness he was far from feeling, he nodded. “Until tomorrow.”

Max caught a glimpse of her incredulous stare before he returned to the house, as if she couldn’t believe he didn’t stay and make good on the promise in his kiss.

Frankly, he couldn’t believe it, either. He didn’t have promises to give. But as he walked away, he found himself wondering
what if.

S
o much for doing my own work tonight.” Carrie shoved the Book of Water aside and sat up on her bed. As much as it drew her, all she could think about was the way Max had kissed her earlier.

She’d felt that kiss all the way to the soles of her feet.

Her mom used to say that the right man could make you weak in the knees with his kisses. She’d humor her mom by nodding politely, but she’d never believed.

Well, she was a believer now.

Only the kiss had left her restless—like she was too big for her skin. She needed more. She needed him to touch her again, to slip his strong fingers over her and finish what he started by the pool.

“Not going to happen.” Even if she wanted it to. A little.

Okay—a lot.

She flopped back on her pillows. It’d be so easy to forget her no-personal-attachment vow with him. God, he was tempting—a once-in-a-lifetime kind of guy.

But, remembering how her mom got derailed by a man, she shook her head. Pleasure was fleeting. Entanglement wasn’t worth years of regret, and she didn’t doubt Max could ensnare her.

Outside the ocean roared, like it agreed with her.

The ocean.
Carrie sat up, staring out the billowy curtains. A walk by the ocean would make her feel better.

She returned the scroll to its hiding place under the bed, grabbed a jacket, and slipped out of her room. The hallway was totally still—no one in sight. Not that anyone would stop her from taking a walk.

At least, she didn’t think anyone would. She thought about yesterday’s phone call again and shuddered. Maybe a walk alone at night wasn’t a good idea.

No—she wasn’t going to let some jerk affect her life. Determined, she tiptoed past the door next to her room—

And stopped. Staring at it, she wondered what was in there. Francesca seemed shocked that she didn’t know. Would it hurt to look?

Carrie pressed her ear to the door. No noise. She put her hand on the doorknob and twisted.

It opened with a soft click.

She paused. If there was something in here she shouldn’t see, it should have been locked. Right?

For some reason, she had a brief flash of herself sneaking into the documents room at the monastery.

“Silly,” she murmured, pushing the door open. “I’m not going to take anything this time.”

It was dark inside, the only light from the moon shining in through the wall-to-ceiling windows along one side. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust.

Then she saw The Bed.

It was the biggest bed she’d ever seen—plush and silky and mysterious. Beckoning her like she was Goldilocks.

It was
his
bed—she knew it without a doubt. This was his room.

Heart pounding, she looked around, expecting Max to be lurking in a dark corner, ready to pounce on her.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t there, lurking or ready to pounce. The stillness in his room was too absolute.

“Bummer.” She trailed a hand along the soft, cool comforter on his bed. She wondered what he’d do if he found her here. Most likely fire her.

Sighing, she turned to leave even though she wanted more than anything to snoop around. But she knew it was better to leave before she found something that’d upset her—like a half-used box of condoms or something.

She turned to head to the door when a gleam caught her eye. Looking left, she saw a sword mounted on the wall.

His
sword.

She grinned, trying to keep all the obvious innuendos out of her mind. Hard, though. No pun intended.

Drawn to it, she lifted her hand to touch it. She shouldn’t—she knew that—but she couldn’t help dragging one finger across its surface. She imagined how Max would react if he saw her touching it.