Chosen by Desire (43 page)

A hand wrapped around her forearm. “Darling, you look like you could use a seat.”

Nodding, she let Rhys guide her to the couch. “Thanks.”

“What happened?” Rick asked tightly.

She schooled her face and hoped she looked innocent. “Officially, we went to campus because I needed to pick something up. Unfortunately, we found Leonora, my thesis advisor, dead on the floor in her office, apparently because of some blood-related problem. We called the police, of course, and had to wait for them to take our statements.”

Silence reigned. She heard Max slamming things around and could feel his impatience to be back out there.

Finally, Rick said, “And unofficially?”

She blinked. “What makes you think there’s anything unofficial?”

He looked around the room. “Because I’m not sure anything here is what meets the eye.”

Smart man. But it was hardly her place to reveal other people’s secrets to him, as much as she hated leaving him in the dark, because she knew he’d stew until he learned the truth. He was just that sort of person. “That’s really what happened. I went to get a scroll I’d misplaced”—she shot a look at Gabe and Rhys—“and found Leonora. I was told she had some condition where the blood just solidified in her veins. Her office was trashed, but otherwise there didn’t seem to be any sign of foul play.”

“Interesting,” Gabe said dryly.

“I know.” Carrie tucked her feet under her, huddling for warmth. “They think maybe she suffered an attack and then messed up the room, trying to make noise to attract help.”

Rhys glanced at Max as he walked in with a tray. They exchanged a long look, and she could tell they communicated something in some way. She didn’t know whether that pleased or annoyed her.

“She suffered an attack.”

She looked at Rick. “That’s what it looked like. Don’t you believe me?”

“Yes.” He answered so quickly she knew he meant it. “But I know without a doubt that there are things you aren’t telling me.”

Gabe arched her brows. “Isn’t Berkeley out of your jurisdiction, Detective?”

“Inspector,” he corrected with a flat look.

“Whatever.” Gabe waved her hand. “At least you didn’t bother to deny that you’re sticking your nose into stuff that’s none of your business.”

“Guys.” Carrie shook her head, holding her tea close. “Can we hold off on the animosity just for one night?”

Gabe snorted. “I may have to leave.”

“Good idea.” Max stood to one side, glaring. “Everyone out.”

“Eloquent.” Gabe set her untouched teacup down and held out a hand to Rhys. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Nodding, he walked over to Carrie and squeezed her shoulder, ignoring Max’s death stare. “A bit foolish, darling, but I’m glad it worked out.”

“Me, too. I’m so relieved I managed to resc”—she glanced at Rick—“uh, find the scroll I’d misplaced.”

“Harm to you would have been a greater tragedy.” He slipped an arm around Gabe and walked her past Max, to whom he nodded. “We’ll talk, I’m sure.”

Max just grunted in his usual way. If she weren’t so exhausted, she would have smiled.

Then he turned to Rick. “Are you still here for a reason?”

Rick stopped watching Gabe leave to measure up Max. After a moment of tense silence, he faced her. “I’m guessing I no longer have to worry about your safety.”

She wasn’t sure whether he meant that the threat to her was gone or if he was talking about Max. She figured she’d assume the latter. “I think that’s fair to say.”

“Good.” He gave Max another long look before walking out.

“Thank goodness they’re gone.” She huddled into the couch some more, cuddling her lukewarm tea.

“Are you cold?” Before she could answer, he went to a closet she hadn’t noticed and came back with a throw blanket. Very carefully, he tucked it around her legs.

She frowned at it. She would have rather had his body heat for warmth. “Aren’t you going to sit down?”

He did—two feet away from her. What was that about? Stifling her exasperation, she tried again. “I have something to say.”

He hesitated and then nodded. “Go ahead.”

She heard her mom tell her to stop being afraid. She bit her lip and let it out before she lost her nerve. “I love you. I’m not saying it to pressure you into anything. I just—I just realized maybe there’s room for more than one passion in my life. I don’t have to give myself up to love you.”

He stared at her steadily.

God, this was hard. But she lifted her chin and continued. Even if he walked away, she wanted to know she was brave enough—loving enough—to try.

Easier said than done. She took a deep breath. “So I love you. With all my heart. I probably always will—”

“Probably?” His brow furrowed.

“Well, not probably. Most definitely. I’ve never loved anyone enough to jump in front of a sword for him.” She pursed her lips. “Not that I’ve had to jump in front of many swords before.”

His lips twitched. “I should hope not.”

“And like I said, I’m not saying this with an agenda. I just thought you should know.” She bit her lip again and looked at him. He still gazed back at her, but she couldn’t read anything in his face. Had he changed his mind?

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she took the risk. And she admitted to herself that she loved him.

“Are you finished?” he finally asked.

She thought about it a moment and then nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He closed the distance between them, kneeling next to her as he took her cup and set it on the table. Tangling his hand in her hair, he tugged her hair back and brought his mouth down on hers.

This time, from the moment their lips touched, she felt him—all of him—open and giving, surging heat and strength and metallic tang between them. He breathed into her.

Tingly. And brimming with more than she’d ever imagined possible.

“Wait.” She pushed him back again. “What does this mean?”

He brushed the hair back from her face and held her still, like he was afraid she’d try to run away. “It means I love you.”

She gasped. “Still? After everything I’ve put you through?”

Humor lit his usually solemn eyes. “I do.”

“But—” She shook her head. “I thought—When I said all that and you didn’t react—I just thought—”

He drew a finger across her lips. Blinking at the electric feel of his touch, she closed her mouth. Then she let her tongue peek to lick the tip.

The humor faded, leaving a need that made her weak in the knees. He sat on his haunches. “How could I not love you? You’re everything good and pure in the world.”

“Are you forgetting that I stole? From a
monastery?
And almost got you killed?”

“I didn’t say you were perfect.” Pushing her blanket aside, he pulled her on top of him as he reclined onto his back. “I meant that you’re honest in your feelings, and when you falter you own up to your mistakes. I love that about you.”

“Oh. That’s kind of nice.” She rotated her hips against his, feeling his growing excitement. “Wait. Shouldn’t we take care of your cut?”

“What cut?” he murmured against her lips.

“Oh. Well, then.” She reached for his waistband, trying to pop the stubborn button. “If only there weren’t so many layers between us.”

She thought he’d take the hint and start to undress her, but he laid back, his gaze concentrated on her shirt.

Slash.

Gasping, she looked down to see a long rip dividing her top, right down the middle. She blinked at him.

Another ripping sound and her bra hung loose, slit right at the center between the cups.

“That’s”—Carrie swallowed, majorly turned on—“interesting.”

“I use my powers for good.” He brushed aside the remnants of her clothing, his hands grazing the tips of her breasts. “Remember that.”

She laughed. “I’ll try, but I may need lots of reminders.”

“I think that can be arranged.” Max slid his hand in her hair and brought her mouth down to his. His kiss was a loving whisper against her lips. “Starting now.”

C
arrie frowned at the ends of the bow tie, dangling from the collar of Max’s tuxedo shirt. “Don’t they make these things pretied with clips anymore?”

Sliding his hands around her waist, Max walked her backwards toward the bed. “We could forget dinner and start our honeymoon early.”

“No, we can’t.” She pushed him back and attacked the stupid bow tie again, muttering. “Francesca can probably do this perfectly.”

He leaned down to nibble her lips. “There are a lot of things you do better than Francesca ever could.”

“You better not be speaking from firsthand knowledge.”

He smiled the way he always did when she got jealous—a little surprised and a lot amused. “The only thing my hand knows is your body.”

She hid her own smile by biting her lip. She loved it when he said things like that. She loved the way he worshipped her body—every chance he got.

Adjusting the bow tie one more time, she tipped her head and looked at it. “I think it’s crooked.”

“I could go without,” he offered, easing a finger inside his collar. “I never liked these things. Feels like a noose.”

Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him softly. “I appreciate the sacrifice you’re making for our wedding reception.”

He grunted.

Grinning, she slipped past him and walked to the closet. The surliness was pretense. Mostly. Underneath, he was just as excited to celebrate their marriage as she was. He’d complained at having to wait six months to get married, and since their private ceremony earlier at City Hall, he’d barely left her side. Maybe making him wait six months was overkill, but she’d wanted to deal with everything before embarking on this adventure with him.

Life sometimes turned out so differently than expected. Hers didn’t go in the direction she’d wanted it to, but it all worked out, just like her mom said it would. She left Berkeley, of course—with her PhD in hand, only because Max insisted she complete the process.

And then he not only gave her his love, but he gave her a dream job, too: curating his awesome collection. Her first official job was to arrange for it to be shown at the Asian Art Museum—some of the pieces seen by the public for the first time ever. The gala opening last week had been a smash.

“Do you need help getting dressed?” he asked, coming to stand behind her. Close.

“Like you’d help me put my clothes on.” She’d bought a dress several weeks ago. But when she’d tried it on yesterday, it’d been a little tight around the waist. Maybe she could still squeeze into it.

“I’m good with zippers. And bra clasps.” He nuzzled the nape of her neck, leaving a trail of love bites that gave her goose bumps—the good kind.

Laughing, she turned and pushed him away. “Out. I need to get dressed.”

Grumbling, he left her—reluctantly. She stared after him, knowing she had a goofy grin on her face, before returning to the wardrobe dilemma. She slipped out of her robe, stepped into her dress, and zipped it as far as she could reach. Tight, but not seam-poppingly so.

“Honey?” her mom called. “Can I come up?”

“Of course.”

Max had flown her mom out three times in the past six months. This time, he brought her mom to attend not only the opening night of their collection, but their wedding, too. She and Francesca—sigh—had been the witnesses at the legal ceremony earlier.

“Honey, I have a present for you,” her mom said as she cleared the top of the stairs.

“Mom, you didn’t have to get me anything.” Carrie took the small gift bag and rifled through the tissue paper. She felt something silky at the bottom and pulled it out. The moment she saw what it was, her cheeks flamed and she stuck it back in the bag. “Oh. Um, thanks. You shouldn’t have.”

“Every bride needs a pair of crotchless panties for her wedding night. You should start your marriage how you mean it to continue.”

“Thanks, Mom. For the underwear and the advice.” She tucked the bag aside and gave her mom a hug. Better not to mention she was going naked under the dress.

It was a beautiful dress, too. Long, white, and simple, but she felt like a princess in it. She’d worn a simple dress to City Hall, but it seemed like she should do it up for the reception dinner, even though the invitation list was small—her mom, her boss Johnny, a few people from Berkeley, Francesca, and Gabe and Rhys, of course. Despite Max’s misgivings about them.

He’d come a long way, though. He wasn’t nearly as antagonistic with Rhys. She and Gabe had even left them alone once. Of course, when they returned, Max had a bloody lip and Rhys had a cut along his arm, but it was progress.

She sighed, putting her hand on her stomach. She wanted Gabe and Rhys in their lives—close in their lives—especially during the next phase.

“How is he?” Mom asked.

“Who?”

She pointedly eyed her belly.

Carrie blinked in shock. “How did you guess?”