Chosen by Desire (17 page)

She huddled into herself. She wasn’t sure she could walk away if she wanted to—she was still shaking pretty badly. A combination of the adrenaline crash and her soaked clothes. Still, his bedside manner needed some finesse.

His butt needed nothing, though. Even in the loose cotton pants he wore it looked good. She tried to see if he wore those sexy boxer-briefs underneath, but she couldn’t tell.

Now is not the time to ogle him.
Instead, she looked at her hands. They were red, scratched, and starting to get puffy. She could see a few large splinters lodged under the skin. Working today was going to suck—if she could even hold a pencil.

Max returned to her side, setting a large first-aid kit next to her. He opened it and pushed her hands away. “Let me take care of this.”

“I—”

He lifted the torn flap of her shirt, and his hand brushed her bared midriff. She hissed as a shock of pleasure shot through her.

Max must have taken it for pain, because his frown deepened. He looked closer, inspecting the thick vertical scrape from her bra line to her waist.

She stared at the top of his golden head, confused—and worried because, frankly, she didn’t trust herself with him so close.

His cool fingers traced over her ribs, more gently than she would have thought he’d be capable of. “Does it hurt?”

Hardly. Carrie sat rigidly, wondering how far up his hand would go. Her nipples tightened as she imagined his large hand cupping her, and she bit her lip in an effort not to arch up and offer herself to him.

“Not bad. Let’s look at your hands.” He lifted hers, palms up, in his own.

She tried to tug them back. It stung. Worse, it gave her ideas she didn’t need. “I can—”

“
I’m
going to extract the splinters.” His voice brooked no argument. “You’re going to tell me what happened.”

She shrugged, trying not to whimper when he began poking her with a pair of tweezers. “I was out for my morning walk. I usually sit on the end of the pier before I come back. This morning the planks just gave out.”

He looked up at her, his gaze steely and intense. With suspicion?

No, it had to be reproach. “I know it was my fault. I should have known there was a reason the pier wasn’t in use. The wood must have been rotted. You don’t have to worry that I’d blame you or anything.”

He stared at her for another unnerving moment before he returned to tending her hands. She felt a curious zing, followed by soothing coolness. Then he withdrew a ball of gauze from the first-aid kit and gently wrapped the worse of her hands.

“Thanks,” she said, looking at the expertly done job.

“It should be better by tomorrow.” He put the first-aid kit back together. “Don’t use them today.”

“But the translation—”

“Can wait,” he finished for her, facing her with narrowed eyes that dared her to defy him.

Fine. She’d just work on her thesis. She shifted to scoot off the counter, hoping her shaking legs would support her.

He must have noticed, because he cursed and lifted her again.

“Hey. What are you doing?” She steadied herself on his chest. And, okay, she may have done a little gratuitous feeling up, too.

“Taking you to soak in the hot tub.”

“I can just use the whirlpool tub in my room,” she said, trying to squirm free of his hold.

“Your tub will take ten minutes to fill and heat, and the Jacuzzi is ready now. You need warmth immediately.” He set her on her feet at the edge of the whirlpool and bent down to turn it on.

She couldn’t argue with that—she was freezing—but her swimsuit was upstairs, and she wasn’t going to parade around in her underwear. And naked? No way. “But—”

“You’ll need help getting out of your clothes. You shouldn’t get your bandages wet.”

True. Still. “I’ll just wear my jeans into the hot tub.”

He stared at her like she was insane. “Why would you do that?”

Because the thought of him stripping her had her shaking, and she couldn’t blame it on being chilled. She pictured him baring her inch by inch, and it made her breathless. Tingly.

And nervous. She shouldn’t be picturing him undressing her. She shouldn’t picture him at all. She was here to do a job—not get freaky with the boss.

He stepped up to her, challenge in every line of his face. “I’m going to help take your clothes off.”

Gulp.

She tried to come up with a reason to keep them on, but he reached out and undid the top button of her pants before she could say anything. Putting a wrapped hand over his, she said, “My jeans only. The rest stays on.”

He cocked an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He unzipped her pants, slipped his hands into the waistband, and got to his knees. Slowly, he peeled the wet denim from her legs.

Very slowly.

Carrie held her breath. His fingers glided over her skin as he worked the jeans down her legs, and his mouth hovered so close to ground zero that she swore she could feel the heat of his breath through her underwear.

Swallowing a moan, she stepped out of them as soon as they puddled on the ground. She tried to smooth down her too-short, shredded shirt, but it came only to her waist. Her white cotton bikinis glared below the hem. Like a beacon.

She became conscious of the burbling water. The sooner she was in, the sooner she’d be hidden, so she stumbled over to the pool and awkwardly eased herself in.

“Oh, God, that’s good.” The heat seeped into her, and the chill melted away. Propping her hands on the lip so her bandages wouldn’t get wet, she closed her eyes and let her head fall, trying to forget Max was there.

It occurred to her that was like living in the shadow of Kilimanjaro and trying to ignore its constant looming presence.

Then the mountain came to her. Feeling the water rock with the motion of him slipping in, she squeezed her eyes tight. She would not look. She wouldn’t wonder if he got in fully clothed or if he’d stripped down to bare skin dusted by that faint golden trail of hair.

Yeah, right.

She opened her eyes.

M
ax knew without a doubt that the image of Carrie bending down to get into the water, wearing white underwear and a T-shirt, would be forever ingrained in his memory.

The only thing that had kept him from palming her round ass was how much discomfort she was in. She didn’t complain, but her movements were stiff and awkward.

Small wonder.

The burst of emotion in his chest when he saw her dangling from the broken slats on the pier surprised him. He’d run faster than he thought possible and arrived just in time. Any later and he would have had to scoop her bruised body off the rocks below.

Not that she would have been killed. Another several feet out along the pier and it would have been a different story. Where she had fallen, the drop wasn’t far. The worst that would have happened was bruises. Farther out, the water was deeper, the rocks more jagged, and the waves more relentless. She would have fallen, broken her legs, and drowned.

J
n ch’i
flared, echoing the pang he felt at the thought of losing her.

Frowning, he untied his pants, watching her close her eyes and relax. She was remarkably composed for what just happened. He might have thought she’d manufactured the situation, but the terror in her eyes had been real. She also believed the planks had been rotted. He could tell she hadn’t been lying—she truly believed it.

Was someone—Rhys—after her? Max was inclined to think so. He just needed to figure out what part she played in all this.

He stepped out of his pants, his gaze on her. Her T-shirt had gone translucent, showing the plain bra beneath it.

And her small, swollen nipples. He bet if he looked lower, he’d be able to see the shadow of her sex revealed by her wet panties.

Getting in with her wasn’t a good idea, but he couldn’t help himself. He had an inexplicable but driving need to make sure she was okay. Leaving his briefs on, he stepped down into the whirlpool. He knew she was aware of him by the way her body tensed. He wondered what was going through her head.

Her eyes popped open, panic making them wide. “I can’t afford to take time off, even a day. I just made a breakthrough on my dissertation, and I have to pull it together if I’m going to get a professorial position at Berkeley.” She swallowed loudly. “I really want that job. More than anything.”

He frowned, trying to understand what her nervous babble was about.

Shifting uncomfortably, she rushed on. “That’s why I work all the time. I’ve got to focus in order to make it happen. I can’t afford distractions, even if my mom thinks I should be distracted more.”

Was she saying he was a distraction? He took in her blush and found himself hoping so. “You and your mother are close.”

“Yes, she’s one of my best friends. I miss her, living out here. I haven’t seen her in too long. Do your parents live close by?”

“No.”

She blinked. “Where do they live?”

“China, Europe, D.C. My father is a diplomat, so they move around.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip, obviously processing the information. Then she said, “This feels really good. Thank you for making me soak.”

He nodded.

“I can’t believe I fell through the pier.” Her brow furrowed. “I’ve been walking there every day since I got here. It never seemed unsafe.”

“It wasn’t.” He thought of the evidence he’d found and felt cold anger all over again. “Someone cut into the wood so it would break with enough weight.”

She gasped. “Are you kidding? Of course you’re not kidding. You wouldn’t joke about that.”

He watched her closely, assessing her reaction. She was genuinely surprised that someone had rigged the pier. “Who knows you walk along the pier every day?”

“You think someone set me up deliberately. Like to scare or warn me.” Her surprise became contemplative, as if someone wanting to scare her wasn’t shocking. Before he could question her, she said, “I haven’t made a secret of where I walk. Even Francesca made note of it.”

Francesca had no reason to harm Carrie.

Rhys would, though—especially if it meant securing the power of another scroll.

There was the prowler scaling the house, as well. Carrie hadn’t attempted to get away to meet anyone, and no one had tried getting to her since. If that was an aborted assignation, they would have tried again.

Had Rhys sent someone else to do the job, knowing Max would sense him?

Carrie worried her lip, lost in her own thoughts. He waited for her to say what was running through her mind. He willed her to confide in him, not wanting to analyze why that felt so important.

She shook her head, as if physically shaking off her thoughts. “I was lucky you came to my rescue.”

Disappointment stabbed him. He almost asked her about Rhys right there, point-blank, but he couldn’t risk sending her running.

“How can I thank you?”

Despite himself, his gaze fell to her mouth. He should be quizzing her about her agenda and who else knew she had the scroll. But he watched her worry her lip, and the only thing he could think about was nibbling it himself.

Her eyes widened, as if she could read his thought. He also knew from the way her nipples tightened that she liked it. His mouth watered—
watered
—thinking about tonguing those tips.