Chosen by Desire (20 page)

“I think my hymen’s grown back.”

“Weren’t you the one who told me I should seize the day and have as much fun with Rhys as my body could stand?”

“Yeah, but you were in love with him. You just wouldn’t admit it.” She didn’t know how she felt about Max. Not that it mattered. This was probably a moot point. “My mom offered to send me sex toys to use with him.”

Gabe guffawed. “I have got to meet your mom.”

“And have you guys gang up on me? I don’t think so.” She sighed. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. But you’ll be back soon, and we’ll have tea, and you can tell me how great he was in bed.”

She laughed.

“Love you, babe.” Gabe paused. “If you want this, you should go for it. I don’t know anyone who deserves happiness more than you, even if it’s only for a short time.”

Carrie hung up, not sure she believed happiness was what Max wanted to offer her.

Her phone rang again. She pressed talk. “Hel—”

“The pier was just a warning,” the electronic voice hissed.

The line went dead.

Carrie blinked, holding her phone away from her. Cold dread filled her, but then a crazy rage thawed her. If she got her hand on whoever was terrorizing her, she’d teach them that she was no pushover. She may not have the moves Gabe or Max had, but she could hold her own.

She stood up, hands fisted at her sides, and searched the crowds. He was here—she just knew it. She narrowed her eyes, daring the jerk to come out and face her.

No one rose to her challenge, and slowly the fight drained from her, leaving her feeling vulnerable. Dusk approached, the sun already beyond the horizon, and the dim light cast an eerie shadow on the beach. The lapping of the ocean, which had been so comforting before, began to sound menacing. As if it warned her to move.

“You’re just overreacting,” she muttered to herself, but she snatched up her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and strode quickly toward the car. The sooner she got back to Max, the safer she’d be.

Ironic, given he was pretty dangerous himself.

The parking in front of the fish shack was dim, but the lot was reassuringly full even if there was no one in sight.

It was okay. She was overreacting. The car was right there—a hundred yards away—and soon she’d be inside it, locked securely and on her way home.

Keys in hand, she strode toward it. Thirty feet. Fifteen. Five. She could hear her tense breathing in the unnatural stillness. She fought to find some of the peace she’d felt earlier, sitting on the edge of the surf, but it wasn’t working. The only thing in her head was the dead electronic voice telling her time was up.

Here.
She sighed in relief as she clicked the car door open. She put her hand on the latch and pulled—

Someone pushed her from behind and her forehead hit the side of the car. She felt a tug on her messenger bag and then lightness where it’d hung heavy across her body.

Shaking her head to clear it, she reached out for it, turning around in time to see her assailant run off, her bag clutched in his hands.

Fury coursed through her, and she let out a scream that would make her Celtic ancestors proud.

An answering yell sounded behind her.

She whirled, seeing two guys running toward her. She palmed the house key, ready to defend herself.

But they ran past her, chasing the mugger. Knowing her bag was lost, she exhaled and leaned against the car to regroup. Thank God the scroll was safely tucked under her bed.

The two guys returned a few minutes later, panting.

“That was crazy, man,” one said after he recovered. “You okay? That kind of shit shouldn’t happen here. This is freaking Santa Monica. The worst thing that happens here is paparazzi.”

His friend shook his head. “Dude, you should totally, like, report this to the authorities.”

“Not that it’ll happen again,” the first guy interjected. “What would be the chances of that?”

Menacing phone calls, a sabotaged pier, and now a mugging? She wasn’t going to answer that. “Thanks for the assist, guys.”

“You okay to drive?”

“Yeah.” She smiled as reassuringly as she could. “I had my phone in my pocket, so I’ll call for help if anything happens.”

Her heroes waited until she was securely in the car. She waved to them as she rushed back to Max’s, impatient to get to her room. Although she already had a feeling she knew what she’d find.

Sure enough, there on her bed lay all the documents she’d borrowed from the monastery.

She plopped on her bed, relieved and worried at the same time. It meant Max wasn’t behind the attacks.

Except then, who was?

S
he was testing him.

Max stared at the library door, arms crossed. What other purpose could she have had for leaving the Book of Water in plain sight and sending him a note?

He, of course, hadn’t taken the bait. He wasn’t ready for the game to end. He wished he could believe it was because he hadn’t gotten what he needed to bring down Rhys, but that wasn’t what he wanted from her.

On cue, he remembered the feel of her legs wrapped around him and the touch of her lips.

Damn it. He glared at the door. He couldn’t even claim setting up the videophone was to get Carrie to let her guard down with him. Sure, that was his original excuse, but he’d been lying to himself. He knew it for sure when she gave him that adoring look as he left. His damn heart expanded in his chest.

Worse—he was
worried
about her. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Carrie was in trouble and that she was hiding more than the scroll.

It infuriated him. It infuriated him more that he wanted her confidence.

What the hell was that about?

Ridiculous, the way he hovered outside his own library. Gritting his teeth, he shoved the door open.

She jumped at the intrusion, quickly lowering her head and going back to work. But not before he saw the fear in her eyes and the bruise on her forehead. “What happened to your head?”

“I bumped it.” She angled herself away, giving him a view of her creamy nape and bound hair.

She was lying. Why would she lie about hitting her head? He frowned, torn between wanting to know what she wasn’t telling him and kissing his way down her neck.

“Are you going to say anything, or are you just going to stare at me?” she said without glancing up.

He had the frightening thought he could have stared at her for the rest of his life. He looked around. “Where’s Francesca?”

Her sinful lips twitched as she continued to type into her computer. “Why? Are you checking to make sure she’s still keeping an eye on me?”

“What do you mean?”

With a sigh she dropped her pencil and whirled the chair around to face him, arms crossing in an imitation of him. “We need to get something straight. You aren’t going to intimidate me, so you might as well give it up.”

Her arms pushed her breasts up like an offering. As he wondered if she wore black lace under her tattered sweatshirt, he conceded that Sun Chi had been right. Inviting her into his home was his downfall. “I’m not trying to intimidate you.”

She snorted. “You live to intimidate people. But that’s not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about what happened. Why did you do it? I’d expect it of someone, say, nicer. But I didn’t pin you as the thoughtful type. Especially not the thoughtful type who’d go to the trouble of having equipment sent to my mom so I could see her when I talked to her.”

“You don’t think I’m nice.”

“
Nice
is not an adjective that comes to mind when I think of you, no.”

“What comes to mind?” he asked despite himself.

Her knowing gaze seemed to peel away layers that hadn’t been disturbed in years. “Overbearing, arrogant, and stubborn. Off the top of my head.”

“I’d hate to see what you came up with if you had time to think.”

She shrugged. “You asked. So why’d you do it?”

He’d been asking himself the same question. “Did you enjoy speaking with your mom?”

“You know I loved it. You’re evading the question.” She frowned. “You’re probably going to avoid my next question, too.”

“Which is?”

“Why’d you jump in? You didn’t have to.”

He didn’t have to ask to know that she meant in the Jacuzzi. “You need to ask?”

“I think I do,” she replied, her expression serious.

And he needed to ask about the scroll, why she took it, what Rhys meant to her, and who would want to hurt her enough to sabotage the pier. But with her staring at him so intently, her lips within reach, her body’s scent warping his senses, he couldn’t think of anything but pinning her to the floor and running his mouth over every creamy inch of her.

She stood up and took a step forward.

Prey—that was what he felt like. A unique experience, since he’d always been the hunter.

Reaching out, she cupped his cheek, her guileless eyes unwavering. “Is it that difficult to just say it?”

He held himself still, waiting to see what she would do. He told himself it was to extract information from her, but staring into her eyes he wondered how long he could continue to deceive himself. To hell with Rhys, the scroll, and everything else—he wanted this. She made him feel unbalanced and confused, and he still gravitated toward her like she was his personal lodestone.

“I can’t decide if this is the best idea I’ve ever had or the biggest mistake,” she said, stepping close.

Her innocent scent wrapped around him, and the tension in his body melted. His chi woke, recognizing her. Her body brushed his, and his cock, already alert, went on the offensive.

Carrie felt it, too. Her gaze flickered down. Her eyes widened when they reached his crotch. He thought she’d retreat but instead she lifted her chin with new resolve and stood on her tiptoes.

He looked down at her, the dewy pursing of her lips. He wanted to push her against the wall and have her. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and protect her.

“See?” she whispered.

“See what?”

She glanced at his mouth. “You didn’t combust.”

Not yet, but he was close.

As if she couldn’t help herself, she touched her lips to his once—twice. She swayed against him, and a bolt of desire shot through his body.

His hand gripped her arms, holding her away yet holding her close. Trying to regain his equilibrium. “I haven’t combusted
yet.
”

“Is it a threat?”

“Could be,” he said, his voice hoarse with needing her.

“Hmm.” She lifted her hands, slowly—deliberately—unbuttoning his shirt until it hung open. Her hands stroked inside, around his shoulder, and smoothed over his mark.

A wave of heat crashed over him, rolling heavy through his body. Before he could adjust, she pulled his head down to mash his lips to hers.

This time the kiss was anything but chaste. Wholly unexpected in its unpracticed enthusiasm. Oddly right. Which scared him as much as it excited him.

It made him want more.

Snaking his hand into her gathered hair, he tipped her head for a better angle and showed her how much. He almost wished he would scare her with his need—a last measure of self-preservation. But, moaning softly, she melted against him and he was lost.

He walked her backward until he felt the edge of the desk. He lifted her on top, his mouth never leaving hers, but as he followed her down he kicked something under the desk.

They both looked down.

A FedEx box. He frowned, not aware that anything had been delivered.

She pulled at him. “Come back here.”

Something in her tone made him pause. She was trying to distract him. He shifted off her, studying the box. “What is that?”

“Nothing,” she said too quickly, blushing.

“If it’s nothing, why are you acting guilty?”

“I’m not acting guilty.” She propped herself up on her elbows. “It’s just a private thing.”