Chosen by Desire (12 page)

M
ax stared at his ringing cell phone. The Keeper.

Not answering was only going to put off the inevitable. But he wasn’t looking forward to telling his mentor he still hadn’t made any progress.

Seven days since she arrived, and instead of recovering the documents or figuring out what Rhys’s part in this was, he’d succeeded only in driving himself insane with desire for her.

Every morning he searched her room. He told himself it was for information. But the way he’d greedily seek out her scent—the way he was repeatedly drawn to the drawer housing the black lace—made a liar out of him. And a pervert, damn it.

Grunting in self-disgust, he opened his phone. “
Sifu.
”

“Your progress?”

“None,” he said without preamble.

The long-distance line crackled with the silence.

“There’s more. She and Rhys have a—” What did he call it? He settled on “liaison,” though the thought of it made him go cold with fury.

He could almost hear Sun Chi thinking. Max wasn’t entirely surprised when his mentor said, “Still this enmity with Rhys. Is it not time to let go of past differences?”

Even though he expected this response, it still angered him. The phone cracked in protest of his tightening grip. “What’s between Rhys and me is hardly a difference.”

“Are you certain?”

Hell, yes, he was certain.

Sun Chi sighed. “It’s a shame to lose one’s brother.”

Max gritted his teeth. “A brother wouldn’t lie and betray you. He wouldn’t try to steal your most prized possession.”

“Is that what Rhys did?” Doubt weighed each word.

“Didn’t you call to talk about the stolen documents?”

“Your focus does you discredit at times, Bái H
. Yes, tell me your plans.”

Max settled on a leather chair in the suite attached to his bedroom. “I hired her to do a translation for me so she’d be on my territory, but I haven’t reclaimed the scrolls. She has them with her, however. I felt the Book of Water when she arrived.”

“Is it wise inviting the enemy into your home?”

“It’s the only way. I need to find out what her connection with Rhys is.”

“I see.”

Max frowned at the meaning loaded in those two words. “It’s not like that.”

“If she turns your heart, carrying through on your mission will be difficult.”

“I won’t let that happen.” His heart wasn’t engaged—his body was.

But he wouldn’t let another distraction get in the way of his duty. One Amanda in a lifetime was one too many. He’d get close to Carrie, but only as a means to bring down Rhys.

“Bái H
?”

“Yes.” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know what I have to do.”

There was another one of Sun Chi’s pregnant pauses where he was obviously thinking. But whatever was going through his head, he didn’t reveal it. Instead he said only, “Keep me apprised,” and then he hung up.

Max closed his phone and pressed it to his forehead. He knew what he had to do.

He turned, running his hand along his sword, and strode out of the safe haven of his room. It was Saturday, but he knew his adversary would be downstairs with her head buried in an ancient Chinese text.

As he walked down the stairs, he knew he couldn’t simply take the documents back and get rid of her. Sun Chi may not be concerned, but his mentor had always refused to believe the truth about Rhys, his favorite student. Rhys was relentless—he wouldn’t stop simply because Carrie was no longer a resource to him. He’d find another way to realize his plans, whatever they were.

Carrie was the key to cracking Rhys.

Stopping in front of the closed library door, Max roused
j
n ch’i.
Cool and sharp, it spread from his core out to every corner of his body. The power vibrated under his skin, a steely encasement to fortify him.

Ready, he opened the door.

As he stepped into the library, he felt it—the Book of Water. The room undulated with its power, and his head swam.

He zeroed in on the source. He wasn’t surprised to find it coming from a bag at Carrie’s feet.

She worked, huddled in the darkest corner of the bright room, completely engrossed. Her hair was pulled back into a haphazard mass, revealing the pale nape of her neck.

He shook himself once he realized he was staring at that bit of skin. He quickly took in the rest of her—from her brow furrowed in thought to the loose tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. Sweet.

But treacherous. He glanced at the bag to remind himself just how much. He cleared his throat.

She jumped, jerking around to face him. But the moment she saw him, she smiled. “Good morning.”

He scowled at the flicker of warmth in his chest.

“Actually, you don’t look like you had one,” she said after a moment.

“One what?”

“A good morning.”

“How do I look?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She tilted her head. “Like you’re battling demons. And the demons are winning.”

He made a noncommittal sound and dropped onto a chair facing her. The better to keep an eye on her.

“Not that you want to talk about it with me. After all, I’m only your employee.” She shrugged and returned her attention to her work, albeit writing more slowly than her previous rapid-fire pace.

As chatty as she was, it shouldn’t be hard to get her talking. Only he hadn’t willingly conversed with anyone since—in seven years. Rusty on the art of conversation. He frowned at her bent strawberry-gold head and wondered what he could say to get her going. He cleared his throat. “Are you settled?”

“Yeah.”

He narrowed his eyes. He had the distinct feeling she was being difficult on purpose. “I hope Francesca has been helpful to you.”

“Francesca’s been great,” she replied without looking up. “You’re lucky you have her.”

It bothered the hell out of him that he couldn’t see her eyes. It made it harder to determine if she was lying. At least, that was what he told himself. “Francesca is an asset.”

Carrie dropped her pencil and turned around in her seat. “Francesca is more than an asset. She’s completely devoted to you.”

“I know.” He noticed she was barefoot again, her worn tennis shoes kicked off and forgotten under her chair, and her feet peeked from the legs of her jeans.

Those jeans hid the most gracefully curved legs he’d ever seen. He hardened, thinking how they wrapped around his waist in his fantasies every night.

“No, you don’t know,” she said, distracting him out of his sexual reverie.

He frowned at the bite in her tone. “What is it?”

She opened her mouth but then snapped it shut and shook her head.

She was disappointed in him. He blinked, taken aback. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed. But he was undeniably fascinated, despite himself. No one had ever dared express disappointment in him—except Sun Chi.

Before he could command her to tell him what she was thinking, she relaxed back in her chair and said, “I’ve been taking a walk on the beach every morning. I haven’t seen you practicing with your sword.”

The whiplash of subjects made him pause. “No.”

“Afraid you’d have to talk with me again, huh?”

He glanced at her lips. Talking wasn’t what he was afraid of. “No.”

Her glance called him a liar. “You’re good with the sword. Have you been doing that long?”

He shrugged.

“It was really cool. I couldn’t tell where you started and the sword stopped. It was like you were one.”

Partly his training with Sun Chi, and partly his affinity with metal. It occurred to him she could be fishing for information, but his intuition said no. They didn’t have to research his weaknesses—Rhys knew everything about him.

“I wish I could do that.” She sighed wistfully.

“What?”

“Wield a sword like you do. It’d be so awesome.” She held her hand up. “I know. Not the most useful skill in the modern world, and it must be tough getting your sword through airport security, but it’d still be really cool.”

“Maybe.”

“If you aren’t careful, you’ll talk my head off. I’ve never met a more loquacious man.”

He regarded her implacably. “Are you sassing me?”

“Me? Of course not. I would never sass.” Her eyes sparkled. “Especially you.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“Have no idea.” She crossed her legs Indian style on her seat. “How long have you been studying kung fu?”

“Since I was seventeen.” When he’d received his scroll on the passing of an uncle he didn’t know existed. His parents had been—still were—caught up in their political whirl of entertaining, so he’d left to find a mentor. Just like Rhys had. He felt the metal armrests of the chair meld under his clenched fists and forcibly tried to relax.

“Then you’ve been studying kung fu for some time.”

He heard the caution in her tone and knew she’d picked up on his discomfort. He had the feeling she didn’t miss much. “Fifteen years.”

“No wonder you’re good.” She gazed at him like he was a god. “I want to learn kung fu. My friend Gabe is really good, but she won’t teach me anything. But Rhys, her boyfriend, said he would.”

Rhys has a girlfriend?

Relief swept through him, followed by irritation—with himself. It shouldn’t matter if Carrie was romantically tied to Rhys—same difference if she was working with him.

Strangely, he found that it did matter.

Could he trust that she was telling him the truth?

He wanted to. Badly.

Pushing those renegade feelings aside, he forced himself to relax, hoping she’d continue to talk about Rhys. He needed to know exactly who Rhys was to her.

“Although I don’t think Rhys will risk her wrath. And I can’t afford to take classes. So I’m stuck. I bet I’d be a really good martial artist. I think I was a kung fu princess in a previous lifetime. Maybe you could show me a move or two while I’m here. When I’m not working.”

“
No.
”

She blinked. “That was rather emphatic. Why not?”

He imagined sparring with her, taking her to the ground and covering her with his body. Taking her, period. He clenched his jaw. “You’re not suited.”