Chosen by Desire (18 page)

“I don’t do this,” she blurted. “This isn’t like me.”

“This?”

“This.” Swallowing audibly, she waved a hand between them. “I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I haven’t been with a guy like this in, um, forever.”

“Forever?” He waded across the Jacuzzi to her side.

“I mean, it’s not that I don’t like sex. In theory. It’s just I don’t usually feel compelled.”

He faced her, gently bracketing her wrists, elevating her hands to keep them from getting wet. “Are you feeling compelled now?”

“I’m feeling something,” she whispered as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Eyes open, their lips glanced—once, twice. Then, with a low moan, she opened to him. Her leg hooked on his hip, and he groaned into her as his cock, hard and ready, pressed against her thigh.

He felt her—warm and soft and so alive—and every broken and worn instinct told him to keep her in his arms.

And he would have, if she hadn’t pushed on his shoulders. Easing up without letting her go completely, Max stared down at her.

Her chest heaved with each breath. “This is
not
a good idea.”

It seemed like the best idea he’d had in a long time. “Why not?”

“I work for you.”

He was tempted to fire her.

“And I just had a traumatic experience. We’re both probably still experiencing heightened emotions from it. Near-death experiences make people come together like this, right?”

He looked at her dampened curls and wide eyes.
This,
whatever it was, was not the result of an accident. A cosmic joke? Maybe. But definitely not a fleeting, adrenaline-induced reaction.

She licked her lips, gently kissed him one last time—an angel’s kiss—and wiggled out from his arms. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

He doubted that, especially as he watched her climb out of the hot tub, her underwear clinging sexily to her curves. He had to force himself not to follow the glittering trail of water she left as she picked up her jeans and padded into the house.

Like a trail of crumbs, leading to paradise.

Max hauled himself out of the Jacuzzi and into the pool. Laps would help him cool off. He cut through the water with a vigorous stroke. Hopefully the trail would be dry by the time he finished. That was one path he needed to avoid.

C
arrie glanced at the library door for the thousandth time since she started working that morning. No sign of him. She hadn’t seen him since he’d pulled her to safety on Saturday. Two full days. She didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed.

She shouldn’t be either. She should be freaked because of the pier incident. The phone calls weren’t cranks. Someone was out to get her—or at least to scare her. She had no clue who it could be, either. Disconcerting, that. It was hard protecting yourself against an unknown predator.

Her skin broke out in goose bumps every time she remembered how close she’d come to falling. Thank God Max had come to the rescue.

Max.
How did he happen to show up there just in time to save her? She tapped her pencil against the notepad. He was the only person who could know what she’d done—he’d caught her right after she left the monastery’s documents room. Did he suspect? Was he the one terrorizing her?

If he was, then why didn’t he say anything? And why did he kiss her like he wanted to eat her up?

What did he want? In the Jacuzzi on Saturday it sure didn’t seem like some old Chinese texts were on his mind. He’d seemed especially concerned, too. Was he faking it?

One thing he hadn’t been faking: the enormous erection. It was a supreme act of willpower not to explore that territory.

Francesca cleared her throat.

Carrie looked up, saw Max’s assistant eyeing the pencil pointedly, and stopped the nervous drumming. “Sorry.”

The woman placidly went back to answering her e-mails, or whatever she did on her Blackberry.

Carrie stared at the work she hadn’t done. She was a couple of days behind. If she buckled down she could catch up, but with Max on her mind getting any work done seemed like an impossible goal.

Sighing, she lowered her head and tried to concentrate.

The door opened and she looked up, expecting to find Don bearing more food. If there was a perfect time for an apple pastry, it was now.

But it wasn’t Don. Instead, Max stood in the doorway, fixing her with his unyielding gaze.

Her breath caught in her chest. He looked feral, his hair wilder than usual. And masterful. She remembered the way he’d slid across the hot tub to her on Saturday and felt her body swell and moisten.

“Come with me,” he ordered.

She should have said no, but curiosity got the better of her. She stood up without a question.

At the door, she caught Francesca watching, her expression closed. Bitter? Before Carrie could reflect on that any further, Max placed his hand on the small of her back.

A current shot through her, and she held her breath. Was he going to keep it there? Would he hold her hand?

She mentally chastised herself as he removed his hand as soon as she stepped out of the library.
Grow up, Carrie.
She had to stop acting like a teenager.

He closed the door behind them and headed down the hall.

Whatever he was up to had to be indoors, given he was barefoot. She admired the way his loose linen pants showcased his butt. Too bad he had a top on—a bare torso would have completed his beachcomber look nicely.

Grinning, she hurried to follow him. Maybe he wanted to give her some other work. Maybe he wanted to ask her to return what she took from the monastery. Maybe he wanted privacy so he could chastise her for her behavior and tell her what happened Saturday would never happen again. Maybe he wanted to take her to a private alcove and ravish her until she was a puddle of goo on the floor.

The fourth option appealed the most.

He glanced behind at her and scowled. “Keep up.”

She rolled her eyes. He interrupted her work for some reason and then he barked at
her.
Typical.

He jogged down a set of stairs and disappeared through a door.

Curiosity totally piqued, she hurried after him. “I’ve never been down here. I’m not sure I realized there was a lower level.” She paused in the doorway and looked around.

“Media room,” he muttered, walking around to a fancy-looking desk and computer setup in the back.

She glanced at the huge screen in front and the cushy seats with cup holders. Needing to try one out, she sat down and leaned back. The seat reclined and a footrest popped open underneath. “I knew it would recline. If my uncle Bob could see this he’d die. I don’t think he realizes his La-Z-Boy is actually a low-end model.”

Max grumbled something indistinct.

Lolling back, she propped her head on her folded arms and stared at the screen. The chair was big enough to accommodate two people, but no way would she imagine him sprawled next to her, feeling her up as they watched a film. “This room is bigger than some movie theaters I’ve been to. I didn’t picture you as the type to like movies. What do you watch?”

She listened to the rapid tap of his fingers against what she supposed was a keyboard. She wasn’t sure why, but she hadn’t associated him with being computer savvy. Maybe it was his caveman-esque demeanor. “I bet you watch classic Chinese movies with lots of action and fighting.”

When he didn’t reply, she flopped onto her stomach and watched him over the top of the chair. He was entirely focused on whatever he was doing at the computer. His brow furrowed and his eyes looked all intense, and she was overcome with the most inappropriate desire to kiss him on the forehead. “And romance,” she added. “I bet you like your action tempered with a touch of love.”

Scowling, he looked up. “Are you done?”

“I’m just waiting to see why you interrupted the work you’re paying me to do.”

Adorably irritated, he motioned her over.

Carrie rolled off the recliner and headed to him, drawn by his magnetism. Knowing it wasn’t a good idea to get too close—harder to keep her hands from trailing over his impressive shoulders—she stopped just short of the desk. “What are you doing?”

He pressed a button and she heard a dial tone. Something clicked, and she heard a tinny voice call through the computer speakers. “I’m here,” said a voice that sounded an awful lot like—

“Mom?” she exclaimed, rushing close and trying to edge in front of Max.

“Wait,” he said in his usual commanding way. He pushed a few keys and suddenly her mom’s face lit up the huge screen. “Are you still there, Irene?”

“Yes, thank you, Max.”

Carrie frowned at him. “Since when do you two know each other?”

He, of course, didn’t answer her. He stood up and gently pushed her into the plush leather seat he just vacated. The heat of him still lingered there, and she couldn’t help burrowing into it.

Gruffly, he pointed at a small camera on the desk. “Stay in view or your mother can’t see you.” Obviously disgruntled, he cursed, raked his hair back, and stalked out of the room.

She stared after him. What was going on?

“Honey, you’re gaping.”

Shaking her head, she returned her attention to the big screen. Surreal seeing her mom larger than life. And amazing. “I can’t believe this. How is this possible? Did you buy a webcam specially?”

“Max set it up. He had a webcam delivered and installed this morning, and then the nice delivery boy walked me through using it. Isn’t it neat?” Her mom laughed.

The familiar sight and sound of that laughter untwisted a knot Carrie hadn’t realized she’d had. “Yeah, it’s neat.”

“You’re thinking, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

“I just don’t understand why he’d bother doing such a thing.”

“Don’t you?” Her mom’s eyes twinkled.

“It’s not like that, Mom.”

“He’s a fine specimen of a man.” Her mom leaned closer to the camera and whispered. “If I were a few years younger, I might be tempted—”

“
Mom.
” She glanced to make sure Max wasn’t lurking in the doorway. “I work for him.”

“Men like that always fall for their assistants.”

She wasn’t his assistant—Francesca was. And the woman already had feelings for him.

“How do you explain the webcam? He wouldn’t have gone through the trouble so we could talk face-to-face if he wasn’t interested in you. Think about it, honey. He’s a wealthy man. Why would he bother unless he cares?”

Exactly. “Maybe he has ulterior motives. What if he’s just doing this to get my body?”

“All the better.” Her mom nodded. “I’ll send you a sampling of my favorite little toys and a box of condoms.”

“No toys, Mom,” she said quickly. That was all she needed—for him to discover her importing sex toys into his home. She shuddered, thinking of Francesca sorting the mail.

“You’re so repressed, honey. I can’t believe you’re a product of my loins.” She held a hand out. “I know. I’ll drop this now. Tell me how you are. Are you eating enough? You look skinny.”

Carrie smiled. “I’m not skinny, and I’m eating like a horse. Max’s chef makes these apple pastry things that melt like heaven in your mouth.”

Her mom’s eyes lit. “Tell me more about
Max.
”

Crap. “No.”

“He looks like a strapping lad. Certainly not the decrepit old man you led me to picture.” Her mom leaned close again. “Is the camera lying?”

No, the camera wasn’t lying. But she also wasn’t going to tell her mom that she’d gotten intimate with Max’s muscles forty-eight hours ago. The woman didn’t need that kind of encouragement. “How’s work? Any interesting new patients come into your clinic?”

“You can’t distract me. You know I have the tenacity of a bulldog.”

“I’m making great progress on my paper. I think I might pull it together yet.”

Her mom leaned in. “Have you kissed Max yet?”

“
Mom.
”

She shrugged. “You’ve been there for how long, alone with a red-blooded man, and you haven’t kissed him? Are you sure you aren’t lesbian?”