Chosen by Desire (28 page)

“But—” Confusion lined her face. Max knew she was going to defend Rhys’s position, just like the Keeper had, and he steeled himself, bothered by it more than he cared to admit.

But she just sat quietly, watching, waiting for him to continue.

“I returned to the monastery. To lick my own wounds.” He gazed at her steadily. “Until you came along seven years later.”

“And then I stole from you, too. Kind of.” She blinked at him, horror lining her features. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

“Not just that, but when I discovered you knew Rhys—”

“You assumed I was in cahoots with him,” she finished. “In your situation, I would have done the same.”

In her place, he doubted he would have been as understanding as she was being now. In fact, her softness and sweetness was the last thing he expected.

But that softness turned stern as she withdrew her hand from him. “That, however, doesn’t mean that I’m just going to forgive you for the way you treated me.”

“Of course not. Especially after I tell you the next part, but I don’t want any further secrets between us.”

“Next part?” she asked cautiously.

“I thought you were the key to avenging myself against Rhys.”

She nodded sadly, as if it didn’t surprise her. But she surprised him by asking, “And what about Francesca?”

He blinked. “Francesca? What about her?”

“Do you have something going on with her?”

“
Francesca?
” He shook his head, completely confused. “She’s like a sister to me.”

Carrie snorted. “She doesn’t think of you as a brother. I’m surprised she didn’t throw a party the second I left.”

Leaning forward, he gazed straight into her eyes so she could see his sincerity. “I’m not attracted to Francesca in any way.”

She glanced at his lips and licked her own. When she spoke, her voice was husky. “She’s very beautiful.”

“But not my type.” He tucked one of her escaped curls behind her ear.

“What’s your type?”

“Smart, spirited, soft”—he brushed his fingers down the smooth skin of her cheek—“women from Iowa who speak Chinese and prefer spending their days in dusty libraries rather than salons and designer stores.”

She scowled, her lips pouting. “Women?”

“One woman.” Unable to resist, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. His hand went around to the nape of her neck, holding her because he didn’t believe she wouldn’t move away.

But she didn’t try to break his kiss. She also didn’t do anything to encourage it. She accepted it, open but with reserve. She did, however, put her hand on his shoulder, her fingers curling around to his back, inches away from his mark.

It tingled, as if it anticipated her touch.

He wanted to crawl over her and make her take him. He wanted to strip her, for her to strip him, and feel their bare skin together. He wanted to feel her surround him—to be engulfed by her love.

Startled, he pulled back. He stared at her, taking in her sinful mouth and her glazed look, and he knew. He wanted her love.

Would she give it?

As if she heard him, she retreated, leaning back against the couch’s arm. “It’s time for you to go.”

He nodded, running a finger along her swollen lower lip. “May I call on you?”

“Can I stop you?”

“No.”

She smiled faintly.

He stood and held a hand out for her. She hesitated but accepted his help up, allowing him to hold it until they reached the door.

She withdrew from him and unlocked all the deadbolts.

As if they would keep anyone with malicious intent out. He shook his head. “You shouldn’t live here.”

After a momentary hesitation, she said, “It’s not so bad.”

“A man is passed out on the sidewalk, and there was questionable activity down the block.”

She shrugged. “The rent is affordable enough that I don’t need a roommate. I can put up with the rest.”

He started to tell her what he thought about that but stopped when he saw the mulish set to her mouth. Instead he pulled a card out of his pocket. “My number, in case you need me. Use it.”

She sighed but took it.

“One more thing.” He pulled out the check from his inside jacket pocket and held it out.

“What’s this?” she asked as she took that, too.

“Your salary, for the work you did for me.”

She just stared at it.

He wanted to kiss her pursed lips, but he knew better than to push her. “Lock up after I leave.”

Her frown deepened. “Of course.”

Not really feeling reassured, he inclined his head and walked out. He waited outside her door until he heard every lock slide into place and then placed his hands on them, one by one. He drew on
j
n ch’i,
fortifying the metal of each lock until they were strong enough to withstand the common methods of breaking and entering.

Satisfied, he ran down the stairs. Hopefully his car would still be on the street. With its wheels and windows intact.

Ear pressed to the door, Carrie breathed a sigh of relief when she finally heard Max’s soft footsteps jog down the stairs. He’d lingered outside her door for an awfully long time. For a second she’d thought he was going to come back.

She was afraid he’d realized she still had one of the scrolls. Actually, when he showed up on her doorstep, she figured that had to be the reason. Never in a million years would she have thought he came just for her.

But he had.

And to deliver her check. Looking at it, she counted all the zeroes again. It seemed wrong to accept it after everything that had transpired between them.

Sticking it in her pocket, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She tried to figure out how she felt. Angry still, of course. Stunned, definitely. Hopeful—how could she not? And scared.

No secrets, he’d said. God—she still had one of the scrolls.

Not
the
scroll, but like that was going to make a difference to him when he found out which one she had. She went to her underwear drawer and extracted it. Sitting on her bed, she untied the leather thong and rolled the long parchment open to reveal five columns of neat handwriting.

She ran a finger over the crisp, clerical calligraphy at the very top.
Guardians of the Scrolls of Destiny.
Underneath the header, at the top of each column, was a label: Earth, Fire, Metal, Water, Wood.

It was a family tree of sorts. Actually, a genealogy of the five families over several centuries. Carrie glanced over the listed names, all the way down the columns to the last lines entered under Earth, Fire, and Metal.

Gabrielle Sansouci Chin. Rhys Llewellyn. And Maximillian Prescott.

When she’d discovered this scroll, she’d been totally stunned to read their names. This time, the shock was only slightly less. She still had difficulty believing it.

Gabe never said anything to her, and they were best friends. Carrie had been hurt about that at first, but she realized Gabe couldn’t tell her she was a Guardian—she had to hide her scroll from the world.

But it all made sense. She’d felt some sort of force field around Gabe once. At the time she’d convinced herself she’d imagined it, but she hadn’t been crazy.

She read the names again. Ironic that she was surrounded by them.

And too bad she couldn’t ask them to help her with her dissertation. She was dying to ask about the scrolls and if what the myths said was true. That would have added such great dimension to her thesis. Combined with what she’d studied from the Book of Water and Wei Lin’s journal, it’d give her enough to make her thesis defendable.

“Max is going to be so pissed I have this,” she muttered, rolling up the scroll and putting it away. Because she was lying to him—willfully and in full knowing this time.

As she saw it, she had a choice to make. Keep the scroll and use it to forward her career, or give it back and keep Max.

Her mom would have smacked her upside the head and told her to be smart. But was choosing Max smart? Yeah, she understood where he was coming from, but that didn’t mean anything. He might want her, but he’d been living with his ghosts for a long time. Could he really give them up? Would he really stick with her?

Could she give up
her
ghosts enough to really trust him?

C
arrie stood outside Leonora’s office. The last time she’d been in this spot, she’d been offered the fellowship with Max. Look how well that turned out.

“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself, smoothing the front of her shirt. This would go okay. It had to go okay.

But Leonora wasn’t going to be happy when she told her she was altering her thesis. Again. But she couldn’t very well publish her findings without proof, and she wouldn’t have proof when she returned the genealogy to Max.

As her nerves jangled, she heard a very distant whisper from somewhere behind her.

As turbulent as the sea is, there is always a space of stillness and calm, even if one has to plunge to great depths to find it. Such is life. Delve deep within.

Frowning, Carrie looked over her shoulder even though she knew she wouldn’t find anyone. She recognized the passage—she’d read it last week. And the voice was familiar to her, too, as faint as it was.

“Freaky.” She hugged herself, wondering if this was normal. But even as she thought it, she knew it was in no way normal to hear the voice of a scroll in her head. Although the advice was good. What did she have to lose?

Closing her eyes, she pictured a turbulent sea, the exact match for her emotional state, and imagined herself diving in. At first she was bashed in the waves, battered and bruised. But she let the tide take her down deeper into the still darkness underneath. All her worries faded as she drifted in the surprising warmth, and she relaxed, cocooned and safe.

When she opened her eyes, that feeling of still peace remained. She exhaled, thankful but worried. No wonder Wei Lin had hidden the scrolls from the general populace. She’d barely read one and she was
this
affected. Imagine if she’d really studied it.

She wondered how Gabe managed it. No wonder she acted odd sometimes.

Something tickled her face. She reached up to brush her cheek. Her finger came away wet.

Curious, she touched the drop to her tongue. Salty. Like the sea.

No. She shook her head. That was impossible—it was just a tear.

Shaking off sudden goose bumps, she focused on the matter at hand, knocked on Leonora’s door, and walked in. “Hi, Leonora.”

Leonora and Trevor looked up, their conversation stopping abruptly.

“Oh.” Carrie frowned. What was he doing in here? “I thought my appointment was now.”

“It is,” Leonora said.

She waited for Trevor to move or Leonora to invite her to sit down, but the only thing that greeted her was awkwardness. She took a step back. “Sorry if I interrupted. I’ll wait outside.”

“Stay. Trevor was about to leave.” Her advisor gave him a pointed look.

Trevor’s face flushed a dark red. He looked like he wanted to argue, but he just stormed out with a dirty look at her.