Chosen by Desire (9 page)

He ducked behind the door when she paused and looked over her shoulder. He saw her shrug and continue down the stairs.

Max glanced right. Her door was open.

He strode into the room and stiffened. Energy from the Book of Water crawled over him, making the mark on his shoulder prickle. His gaze swung to the bag on the floor next to the bed, and he walked toward it.

He didn’t have to open it to know the scroll was in there. He considered taking it, but he needed to figure out what Carrie was up to first.

He glanced at the bed, the covers twisted and rumpled. A hint of strawberries overlaid by musk flirted with his nostrils. Carrie’s scent. It reminded him of summer and sex, and his cock stirred again.

Cursing under his breath, he strode out of her room and downstairs to find out where she went. The thought that she could be meeting someone made his chi flare wildly.

He searched the library, his office, and the living room. He was about to step outside to check the grounds when he noticed a faint light from the kitchen. He crept down the hall and looked around the corner.

She sat on a stool at the counter, her feet swinging as she drank a glass of milk. She wore a thin, oversized shirt that rode up her thighs and showed the outline of her nipples.

The combination of sexiness and innocence grabbed him low. He could see the shadow of her panties underneath, and he wondered if they’d be wet from her earlier arousal.

He breathed deeply to center himself and stepped into the kitchen.

She looked up, and her eyes widened as they roved down his bare chest, to his pajama bottoms, and back up. Her cheeks went up in flames.

He crossed his arms, standing across the counter from her. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Um, no.” She held up the glass. “Warm milk never fails. Want some?”

Milk was not what he wanted. He shook his head.

“My mom used to warm milk for me when I couldn’t sleep as a kid. I think she brainwashed me into believing it worked.” She smiled, cradling her glass.

“Do you have trouble sleeping often?”

“Not at all. I think it’s the change of environment.” She looked out the window. “The water’s been plaguing me all day.”

He frowned. “Excuse me?”

She waved toward the ocean, though it was invisible in the night. “The water. It’s everywhere. I’ve lived in San Francisco all these years and I’ve never been so
viscerally
aware of it. It’s like I can feel the condensation of the mist in the air, even.”

Effects of the scroll, without a doubt. If she were a Guardian, the effects would be magnified. He just wished he knew how much she was being affected. How much had she read? What did she know?

“It’s so weird,” Carrie went on. “I’ve been having these dreams about the water and—” She gasped, gaping at him.

With guilt? No. With embarrassment—mixed with heat? Intrigued despite himself, he took a step closer.

She downed her milk and slid off the stool. Her shirt caught on the seat, revealing creamy thighs and a peek of white panties. She tugged her shirt so forcefully the stool teetered.

He reached to steady it at the same time she did, and his hand brushed the outside of her hip.
J
n ch’i
surged, and he stilled, stunned by its intensity.

With a yelp, she jumped back. “I, um, need to get to bed. I mean, go to sleep. Good night.” She edged backward. At the doorway, she turned and scurried down the hall, holding her shirt down to cover her ass.

Max heard the shrill protest of metal bending. Looking down, he saw the rippled metal, melted by chi. He cursed, shoving it aside.

It teetered unevenly before toppling over. As unexpectedly unbalanced as Carrie had left him.

M
ax stood at the edge of the ocean, his sword held out loosely in front of him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to clear his thoughts. He wiped away last night and his uncontrolled reactions to one woman with big innocent eyes and soft moans.

He reached out with his chi the way Sun Chi had taught him years ago. He let
j
n ch’i
gather at his core, build, and fill his body. He directed the flow out his arm and into his sword.

The metal warmed instantly. He felt the familiar vibrations echo in his body until there was unity—until he and the sword were one. No beginning, no end to either of them.

Usually, that was when he felt the most peace—when he wielded his element. But today restlessness drove him. And frustration. He hadn’t been able to sleep after his encounter with Carrie last night. He’d lain in bed, conscious of her in the next room, wondering if she was touching herself. Picturing her beaded nipples and imagining how they’d feel under his tongue. His chi pulsed in time to his need.

With a low growl, he made a sweeping block followed by a slash—the opening move of his practice form. He methodically went through each movement, decimating imaginary foes at a brisk pace.

When he finished, the energy still pushed him, so he launched into another form. He was just regaining his equilibrium when he felt someone at his back. Whirling, he swung the sword around his head and brought it down in a slashing cut.

And then he saw Carrie, standing there looking like a teenager in her jeans and fitted hoodie, her loose curls dancing with the wind.

It took all his strength to pull back from the strike. His sword’s jarring protest resonated through his body. He managed to stop an inch away from slicing her chest open.

She blinked up at him with her guileless eyes, but her pale face told him he’d scared her. However, all she said was, “That was close.”

“Close?” Anger overrode the horror of almost having cut into that soft flesh. “I almost ran you through.”

“You have too much control not to stop in time,” she said simply. As if she knew him.

Before he could yell at her that her faith in him was misplaced, he saw a bead of blood well on her lip, where she’d obviously bit it. The faint metallic tang hit him, calling to his element. He closed his eyes against it, willing himself to ignore its temptation.

“Are you okay?”

He opened his eyes and stared at her. A moment ago he’d almost killed her, and now he wanted to jump her.
Okay?

Damn it, she didn’t even have shoes on. He glared at her, trying not to notice the way her pink-tipped toenails peeked from the sand.

“You aren’t okay. You’re pissed because I interrupted your practice,” his doe-eyed nemesis said, fidgeting with the zipper on her sweater. “But you have to admit you practically invited me over.”

“How is that?” he asked, knowing he did no such thing.

“Well, it’s not every day you see a guy with his sword out on the beach. And it’s a big one.” Her eyes traveled over his scar, his bare chest, and then lower. Cheeks flushing, she quickly raised her gaze. “Um, your sword, that is.”

His groin stirred at her visual caress, and he tamped the reaction. “What are you doing out here so early?”

“Walking. Despite the milk, I had trouble sleeping after I left you in the kitchen. I just couldn’t help…”

He waited for her to finish, but she just shook her head. For some reason he had to know what she was going to say. “You just couldn’t help what?”

She turned to face the ocean, her forehead lined with a frown. “Coming closer to the ocean. I thought it might soothe me.”

More effects. He studied her profile, trying to find a hint of the treacherous, stealing female he knew her to be. But all he saw was purity. He gripped his sword so hard he could feel the steel protest.

She looked back at him, a rueful smile flirting with her lips. “I’ve never slept so close to the ocean. I didn’t realize how loud the waves would be. I was conscious of them all night.”

He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and pushed away concern. He hefted his sword in front of him, telling himself he didn’t need to feel concern for her.

“Well, I guess I better head back in. I’m not getting paid to walk on the beach, am I?” she asked, pushing her hair from her face.

“No, you aren’t.” He turned around, holding his sword in front of him as he closed his eyes and began to refocus his chi.

Behind him, he felt a shift of energy and heard her gasp softly, close to him. Before he could turn, he felt the faintest brush on his shoulder blade.

Over his birthmark—the broadsword-shaped mark of a Guardian. As fleeting as the touch was, he felt it deep. It cut to his core.

Whirling around, he growled through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?”

Carrie snatched her hand away. “I don’t know what came over me. I—um, that’s cool. Is it a tattoo?”

Narrowing his eyes, he pinned her with his most intimidating look.

She blinked, but—damn it—she held her ground. “Right. It’s a birthmark, then?”

“I thought you were going to work?”

“Yeah. On my way.” She offered him a tentative smile. “Can I expect you to join me—”

“No,” he said curtly. Actually, he’d planned on working with her this first morning to observe her, to get to know her better. But now he needed to regroup. He could still feel the ghost of her fingertips—his mark pulsed with it.

Disconcerting.

“Oh. Okay.” Her smile faded and she took a step back. “I’ll see you later, I guess.”

Max stood there, gripping his sword, watching her walk back to the house. He waited until she’d stepped up all the stairs and disappeared through the door before he gave a warrior’s yell, slashed his sword through the air, and launched into his form all over again. This time he fought Rhys—Rhys, who got to Carrie first.

It took doing it three times before he felt a measure of his previous calm. Grabbing the shirt he’d taken off earlier, he wiped the sweat from his body. Shirt in one hand, sword tucked under his other arm, he strode to the house—with purpose. He needed to find Francesca. Now.

As always when he needed her, she appeared moments after he entered the house.

“Good morning.” Her eyes widened for a second as she looked at his bare chest, but when she lifted her eyes there was nothing in them to betray any hint of emotion. She gave him the cool smile she’d perfected in the years he’d been away.

“Where is she?”

A faint frown lined his assistant’s forehead. “Ms. Woods? She’s waiting for you in the library. I had Don take in a breakfast tray for the two—”