Chosen by Desire (38 page)

“Good morning.”

She turned her head so quickly it throbbed in protest. Max stood at the top of the spiral stairs, glowering. Before she could say anything, he turned and descended the stairs.

“Do I look that bad?” She wouldn’t doubt it if she did. She felt like her head had been caught in a turbine.

Maybe if she had some coffee, she’d feel more human. She looked around the room—which was more impressive in daylight, by the way—for her clothes. No sign of them. She glanced at what she supposed was a closet to the right and wondered if it’d be weird to wear some of Max’s clothes.

She rolled her eyes. A little late for that kind of modesty.

“Take this.”

With a small yelp, she jerked around to find Max next to her. “I didn’t hear you come up.”

He said nothing, his implacable stare steady, his hands outstretched with a glass of water and what she assumed was more ibuprofen.

Given how achy her head felt, she accepted his offering without question. She downed the entire glass of water before he could tell her to and handed it back. “Do you think I could have a coffee chaser?”

He reached out and brushed her hair back, examining her head. “You don’t want to sleep longer?”

“I’ll only feel more groggy.”

“Then you should have something to eat, too. Do you feel up to coming downstairs?”

“Yeah, but—” She looked around, holding the sheet close to her chest. “Do you know where my clothes are?”

“I threw them away.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“They had bloodstains on them.” He crossed the room to the closet, opened the door, and pulled something white out of it. “I’ve asked Francesca to pick up some clothes for you. Wear this in the meantime.”

She took the silky shirt from him. “Yours?”

He arched his eyebrow. “Who else would it belong to?”

“Right.” She rubbed her fingers on the fabric, knowing it was going to feel like heaven against her skin. “Um, did you throw away my underwear, too?”

“It’ll all be replaced,” was all he said before leaving and going back downstairs.

“That didn’t answer my question,” she called after him. Lounging around in just his shirt—no panties—seemed so Sharon Stone. She held the shirt up to the sunlight. At least it wasn’t see-through.

She pushed the covers aside and eased her legs over the side. Slipping the shirt over her head, she rolled the long sleeves so they didn’t dangle half a foot past her fingertips.

“Bathroom.” She stood up cautiously and headed over to wash her face. She was surprised that it was tidy in there—no evidence of last night’s bath. Carrie washed her face and brushed her teeth with a new toothbrush she found in a cabinet. After a futile attempt to calm her curls, she gave up and followed the scent of coffee downstairs.

Last night she hadn’t appreciated how large the downstairs area was. Huge. And not just because it was sparsely furnished.

Max waited for her in the open kitchen. It was modern and sleek, with shining chrome and polished wood like the rest of the loft. He leaned against the countertop, holding out a mug to her.

The aroma hit her, and she practically lunged for it. Her first sip was heaven. She inhaled its smell, conscious of the way he watched her, and looked at him from over the rim. “You sweetened it for me.”

“You prefer it that way.” He turned around. “Sit. I’ll bring you some food.”

“Do you need help?”

“No. Sit.”

“We’ve got to do something about your bossiness.” But, cradling her cup, she pulled out a chair from the table in the nook and eased herself into it. “Though truthfully I don’t mind having a hot guy serve me.”

Shooting her a narrow glance, he reached for a pan hanging from over the stove.

“I’m kind of curious about what you’ll feed me. Who knew you’d have skills beyond swordplay?”

A grunt.

She smiled as she took another sip. A few minutes later he set a plate in front of her. Pancakes with a pat of butter and fresh fruit. He set down a small pitcher of what smelled like maple syrup. Her stomach growled eagerly at the aroma. “This isn’t the gourmet meal of Fruity Pebbles I expected.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Eat.”

“Yes, sir.” She didn’t think about the carbs or how tight her jeans were going to be as she dug in, it was so delicious. Though she had the sneaking suspicion it tasted even better because he’d made it for her.

While she ate, she was conscious of him watching her. She wanted to tell him to sit down and join her, but she was too busy eating.

Max didn’t say anything until she was done. “More?”

She actually considered it for a minute before she shook her head and rose to wash her plate. “Did you make the pancakes from scratch?”

He lifted his eyebrow. “Hard to believe?”

“Kind of.”

“Let your mind rest—it’s one of the few things I can cook.” He stepped in and took the plate from her. “I’ll do that.”

“If you pull out an apron to wear, you’ll totally shatter my tough-guy image of you.” Staying next to him, she watched his hands. They were as efficiently adept with the dishes as they were with her body last night.

She cleared her throat. “So when do you think Francesca will arrive with clothes?”

“Why?”

“I can’t go out wearing this.” She gestured to his too-big shirt.

He grabbed a towel and faced her head-on as he dried his hands. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

“I think I misheard you.” She put her hands on her hips, realized that hiked the shirt up precariously close to her privates, and fisted her hands straight at her sides. “I’m sure you couldn’t have been ordering me around.”

“I’m not ordering. I’m telling you how it’s going to be.”

She sputtered for several seconds before she shook off her shock. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”

He stepped forward, towering over her, his face stony in his anger. “I’m the man who saved your impertinent hide last night. In case you forgot, someone is out for you. You had your head bashed in, and the night before, your house was set on fire. I won’t let you give this bastard another opportunity to strike at you.”

Yeah, but she had to get that genealogy back before someone used it against Max. Not that she knew where to start, but anything was better than sitting around waiting for the next bad thing to happen.

Trevor. Her cheeks flushed as she thought of his confrontation. He was enough of a creep to attack her. It didn’t explain the woman last night. Maybe he hired someone?

Maybe she was wrong and it wasn’t Trevor. A woman who could fight, scale a wall, and knew where Carrie could be found at all times?

Francesca.

Carrie gasped. She’d wondered about Francesca, but she’d gotten obsessed with Max. And then her suspicions transferred to Trevor.

Max looked at her. “What is it?”

As if she could tell him. The woman was his assistant—someone he grew up with. Carrie had to make sure she had real proof before she accused her. To distract Max, she patted his chest. “I’ll take precautions.”

“Too risky. I won’t allow it.”

“What do you mean, you won’t allow it?”

“Just what I said.”

She threw her hands in the air and stalked upstairs, mumbling to herself. “High-handed, arrogant, obstinate, caring jerk.”

She needed something to wear. She couldn’t go shopping like this.

And she couldn’t wait. She wanted to rule Trevor out, just in case, before dealing with Francesca. She couldn’t bear the thought that Max—or Gabe and Rhys—could be outed because of her. Or worse—hunted.

In the meantime, she’d have to make do with Max’s clothes and then hit the Gap when it opened. She went to his closet and sifted through the clothing.

“What are you doing?”

She looked over her shoulder. Max stood, arms crossed, legs braced, looking like an irritated warrior. She tried not to notice how hot he was in his loose cotton pants and flowy shirt, but she failed. Scowling, she said, “Do you have another pair of pants like that?”

He slowly approached the closet. “Why?”

Her heart beat nervously at the look in his eyes. She backed up until a wall of clothing stopped her. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you from putting yourself in danger.”

His growly voice made her shiver—and not in a bad way. But she lifted her chin and said in her best professorial voice, “How exactly will you accomplish that?”

He stopped in front of her, bracketing her in his arms. “Watch me.”

C
arrie’s heart pounded—in excitement, damn him. “This isn’t a good idea.”

He swooped her into his arms, took her to the bed, and set her down, blanketing her head to toe with his hard body. “It’s an excellent idea.”

One part of him was harder than the rest. She wiggled, trying to break his hold but the only thing she succeeded in doing was fitting that part of him right up against her. “I’m annoyed with you.”

“I know.” His teeth grazed the skin bared by the open collar of her shirt.

“Really annoyed.” She arched her neck, spearing her fingers through his hair. “You’re being heavy-handed.”

“I have to,” he murmured against her neck.

Carrie tugged his head back so his eyes met hers. “No, you don’t. You could trust me to know what I need.”

His jaw tightened, and she could see his struggle to try to give her that. But finally he shook his head. “I can’t accept that.”

She heaved a sigh and let him go. “Why not?”

“Because I care. About you.”

“That’s nice and all, but—”

He leaned down so his stormy eyes filled her entire field of vision. “I care about you.”

“You
care
about me?” Anger filled her chest until she couldn’t feel the hurt his words caused.

“Yes.” His expression became wary. “Do you mind?”

“Yes, I mind.” She tried to wiggle away from him but he held her in place. “Let me go.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going through your head.”

“That’s
it?
” Laying limp in defeat, she glared up at him. “You jerk. Everything that’s happened between us, and you
care?
Next you’ll tell me how you hold me in great esteem.”

“I do.”

Another bit of her heart broke. “
Jerk.
I thought you wanted me.”

“I
do.
”

Something in his voice broke through to her. She frowned, not trusting what she heard. “What does that mean?”

“It means I won’t see you hurt.” His features went all fierce. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to see you safe. You are mine, Carrie.”

“But what does that mean? Do you love—”

Someone cleared her throat from behind them.

Max rolled off the bed and stood ready. Wide-eyed, Carrie leaned up on her elbows. Rhys stood at the foot of the stairs, Gabe peeking from behind him.

Carrie frowned. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We were summoned, and when no one answered the door we let ourselves in.” Gabe smirked. “But I think the real question is, what are
you
guys doing here? And can we watch?”

Summoned? Carrie looked at Max, hoping he’d get the mental message that she had nothing to do with this. He just stared straight ahead, glowering at Rhys, looking like he was ready to lunge at any second.

But that just made Max’s next statement all the more puzzling. “They’re here because I called them.”