From Leonora, that was the same as shouting,
Go for it, babe.
“Okay.”
“In the meantime, it’s probably best to keep your findings quiet.”
“I figured that.” She stood. “Thanks, Leonora.”
Her advisor smiled faintly and nodded before returning to her paperwork.
Taking the hint, Carrie quietly shut the door on her way out. As she turned around, she walked straight into a body. She had to bite back her groan when she looked up and saw Trevor Wiggins. She smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I should pay attention to where I’m going.”
“Yes,” he agreed in his stern way.
She resisted rolling her eyes. He was such a wet lump. When she’d first met him in grad school, she’d thought he was smart and cute. With his brown hair and Harry Potter glasses, he looked scholarly—an attractive novelty compared to the country boys she’d grown up with in Iowa.
But two minutes in his presence was enough to kill any temptation to set aside her staunch no-dating policy and go out with him. He wore his self-importance like a well-loved pair of jeans. And it wasn’t enough that he thought he was better than everyone else—especially her. He was vocal about it, too. Annoying.
If he knew what she had in her bag, he’d turn green with jealousy.
She glanced at the door and then back at him. How long had he been standing there? What were the chances he eavesdropped?
Pretty big. She frowned. “Have you been waiting long to speak to Leonora?”
“I was on my way to my office.” His chest puffed up. He took every chance he got to work that in—unlike the other doctoral candidates, he had an office.
But right now she could care less how much he postured. “Were you listening at the door?”
“Of course not.” He recoiled indignantly. “I don’t know how you can accuse me of stooping so low.”
Probably because she’d seen him do it before. “I didn’t mean to sound accusatory.”
He harrumphed and stalked off. She didn’t have to be psychic to hear his unspoken thoughts of superiority.
And she didn’t have to be a genius to know that he was lying through his teeth when he said he hadn’t listened at the door. Question was, how much did he hear?
She didn’t put it past him to rip off her thesis, but she had Wei Lin’s journal. Without it, he had nothing.
With it, he could ruin all her hard work.
Carrie shook the thought out of her head. He wasn’t going to get the journal. She’d never leave it, or her bag, lying around. It—and her thesis—would be safe.
Floating.
Water lilies caress her skin as she drifts in the warm pond on her back.
Naked.
Her breasts lift above the surface. The water laps at them, and the bite of the cool air makes her nipples taut—a sharp tingle that shoots straight between her legs.
A shadow falls over her, and she shivers in anticipation, knowing who’s casting it.
It can be only one person.
His blond hair is every bit as wild as before, looking more wild for the savage gleam in his eyes. His shoulders are broad and muscular, gleaming in the muted sunlight that filters through the weepy trees. The thin trail of hair down his abdomen lights gold, like a path leading to more treasure.
She hears a soft splash. The waves become more frenzied, as if they know what’s coming and anticipate it as much as she does.
Smiling, she looks up. He stands in the water, looking down at her, his gray eyes burning. She feels his gaze travel down her body like a cool blade running along her skin. She gasps, feeling the sharpness of it as it trails over her nipples and down her belly. Between her legs.
Eyes hungry, he leans over her.
She wants him. She wants every promise written on his fierce face. She opens her arms, offering herself to him, but feels herself slip under the water. She surfaces.
He’s gone.
Carrie’s eyes popped open, her breath harsh in the stillness of her apartment. A dream.
How pathetic was she? She buried her burning face in the pillow. She was having wet dreams about a man whose name she didn’t know. A monk, for God’s sake.
She groaned and rolled over to check the time. She’d come home from her meeting with Leonora for a short nap before her shift, but now she’d be late for work.
Fumbling to subdue her hair, she grabbed her things and jogged to the BART station. She got to the platform as a train pulled in and arrived at the Pour House in record time.
Gabe looked up when Carrie walked in, a smile lighting her face. “The world traveler returns.”
“Hey.” Grinning, Carrie ducked behind the counter and grabbed her friend in a hug. Gabe returned it smoothly. Months ago when they’d first started hanging out, Gabe was skittish, especially when it came to affection. She’d relaxed a lot. Carrie knew it was due to not only her friendship but Rhys’s love, too.
Carrie valued that friendship. Gabe was the first real friend she’d had since she moved from Iowa. She was so different than anyone she’d known. Not just physically—though tall Eurasian women with blue streaks in their long black hair weren’t exactly common in her hometown. Gabe was contradictory. Tough, but a sensitive artist. Street-smart and still compassionate.
Gabe eased back, holding her at arm’s length. Lines furrowed her forehead. “Something’s not right.”
Carrie looked around. “Everything looks okay to me.”
“No, just now when you walked in I felt—” Her blue eyes stared so intently Carrie wanted to squirm. Her gaze fell to the messenger bag, and her frown became more pronounced. “Maybe I’m just tired.”
Nerves flaring, Carrie pulled away. Gabe couldn’t possibly know what she had in her bag. Sure, Gabe had a highly attuned intuition, but she didn’t have X-ray vision. Carrie tried to relax as she stowed it under the register. “Were you up late painting again?”
“I was up late.” She grinned wickedly, her earlier unease erased from her face. “So was Rhys.”
Carrie grabbed an apron and tied it around her waist. “I can’t decide if I want all the details or if that’d just make me jealous.”
“You could find yourself a boy toy.” Gabe held up her hands. “I know, I know. I’m talking crazy, but dusty libraries don’t offer orgasmic delights.”
The monk from the monastery came to mind. She remembered her dream, the way he stared at her, all intense, like he wanted to eat her up.
Her cheeks went up in flames. Even if she was interested in dating—which she wasn’t—he was so out of her league. Trevor was more the type that she usually attracted. Unfortunately. “I’m not sure the type of man I attract can offer orgasmic delights.”
“Bullshit,” Gabe said in her succinct way. “You just need to get out more. It’s not like you’re going to meet a sex god among the library stacks.”
“I don’t have time to get out more.” That man’s chiseled face flashed in front of her eyes again, and she knew without a doubt that for someone like him she’d be tempted to make time.
But she could resist temptation—all she had to do was think of her childhood and how her mom struggled. That was enough to deter her, even when temptation came in such an alluring package.
She shook her head to clear it and turned to find Gabe studying her, eyes narrowed in speculation.
“Have you met someone?” her friend asked.
“Yeah, a monk,” she said truthfully but with self-deprecation.
Gabe rolled her eyes. “A match made in heaven, since you live like a nun.”
A couple of construction workers walked in, which stalled any more talk of sex. She and Gabe fell into their usual light banter as they worked, which made the hours fly by quickly.
A few times, she had the distinct impression she was being watched—by the monk. She looked around, knowing she was being silly. No way was he here. It had to be lingering feelings from her dream.
Carrie couldn’t believe it when she looked at the clock and saw it was nine. “Shouldn’t you be going home soon?” she asked Gabe as she pulled out a couple bottles of Budweiser.
“Just waiting for Rhys. He said he’d pick me up.”
As if on cue, Rhys walked in. Tall, dark, and handsome, he was eye candy to the extreme, even with the scar bisecting the corner of his lips.
Carrie paused for a moment to admire his sheer masculinity.
Actually, today he reminded her of the monk. She wrinkled her nose. Strange. By outer appearances they weren’t anything alike. Rhys’s hair was cut to precision, and the monk had a wild mane tangling around his face. Rhys also looked like he’d stepped out of
GQ
—a far cry from a coarsely woven brown robe.
Must be the intensity. Rhys had the same focused look about him. Maybe he’d learned it while he’d been at the monastery.
He walked up to the bar, took Gabe’s hand over the counter, and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Hello, love.”
Carrie sighed. That was so romantic. She wanted someone to kiss her wrist.
“Stop drooling.” Gabe took off her apron, wadded it, and tossed it under the counter. “He’s taken.”
Carrie grinned. “He’s not my type, anyway.”
“You have a type?” Rhys asked as he sat at the bar.
Yeah—brooding and blond, apparently. She looked around. She swore she could feel someone watching her. Maybe she was still jet-lagged. She shrugged. “One who’s not in love with another woman is a good start.”
Rhys frowned, suddenly alert. He looked around and then settled his piercing gaze on Gabe.
They may have been together for only a few months, but they were so attuned to each other it was scary. Gabe frowned in return and asked, “What is it?”
“I sense—” His eyes narrowed. “Did you raid the safe again?”
“What? Of course not. I promised I wouldn’t touch the scr—uh, stuff again without your supervision.” She scowled. “Which bites, by the way. It’s not like I’m wholly untrustworthy.”
“It’s not a matter of trust.” He took her hand and rubbed her palm with his thumb. “I won’t risk you being hurt.”
Carrie sighed again. “Be still my heart.”
Gabe shot her a look of death.
She grinned. “I love the macho thing. You’re so lucky. The last time a man was protective of me was—well, never.”
“It’s damn irritating,” her friend grumbled. But Carrie could see her melt under Rhys’s soothing touch.
“Ready, love?”
“Yeah.” Gabe ducked under the counter. “Just let me get my things.”
Rhys watched her walk away, and Carrie almost had to avert her eyes to stop from witnessing his hot, I-want-her-bad gaze.
“You must come to dinner one of these evenings.” He turned back to her once Gabe disappeared into the back room. “Give your eyes a rest from your dense tomes.”
She groaned as she wiped the counter. “The last time I came to dinner, I swear I gained five pounds.”
“We’ll only serve two desserts instead of five,” Gabe promised, slipping into her sweater as she rejoined them.
“Or maybe I could work out with you guys.” She waved her arms, trying to look like Jet Li. “You can show me some kung fu moves.”
“Dream on, babe.” Gabe reached across the counter to give her a one-armed hug. “You’re a cute bunny, not a killer, and I like you just the way you are. Get used to it.”
“Maybe I can show you a move or two when she’s not looking,” Rhys said with a hint of a smile. He stood up and stretched to kiss Carrie on the cheek. But as he withdrew, his brow furrowed and his hand clamped on her arm.
“Rhys?” she heard Gabe ask distantly.
His eyes honed sharply on Carrie, and she felt something vague roll through her, disquieting and uncomfortable. His grip tightened on her, and confusion twisted his expression.
He wasn’t the only one confused here. Something was going on, but she had no idea what it was. She bit her lip. She only knew instinctively that he needed to let her go—now. But when she spoke, her voice came out thin and wispy. “Don’t.”
“Rhys, what the hell?” Gabe grabbed his hand and pulled one of his fingers back, peeling him off.
“Bloody shite, Gabrielle.” He flexed his fingers as he scowled at her.
“Well, you were being a freak.” She glanced apologetically at Carrie over her shoulder as she escorted him toward the door. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” she replied automatically, totally confused as she watched them leave.
What just happened?
She shook her head. Maybe Gabe would be able to clue her in tomorrow.
Rolling her shoulders, she looked around at the semi-f bar. No one seemed to be aware of the drama that had just taken place. She tried to shake it off, but still she felt like someone had her under a microscope.