Chosen by Desire (8 page)

She hesitated on the threshold, as if debating turning around and walking away. But then she stepped in and grinned—half innocent, half imp, and wholly fallen angel—and said, “If you’re going to offer me an apple, I’ll have to pass.”

Max crossed his arms, suspicious. “An apple?”

“You know, like Eve in the Garden of Eden.”

He studied her, adding a touch of frost to his gaze. “That can mean only one of two things.”

She tipped her head to the side and studied him right back. “What two things?”

“That you’re likening me to the serpent.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “And the second?”

It didn’t escape his notice that she didn’t deny it. “Or that you think I’m offering you temptation.”

A muffled cough made both of them turn around. For the first time he noticed Francesca standing next to Carrie Woods. He leveled a cool stare at her, not pleased that she interrupted before he got an answer.

Francesca took a small step back, paling under his admonishing look. To her credit, she gathered her composure and, as she closed the door, said, “Sir, this is Carrie Woods, the historian who will be working on the translations. Ms. Woods, this is Maximillian Prescott, also known as Bái H
.”

The little thief swung her wide-eyed gaze back to him. “
You’re
Bái H
?”

If the situation had been any different, he might have been amused. But there was nothing amusing about this situation. He was here to return what she’d stolen to the monastery and exact his revenge from Rhys. Period. “Is that a problem?”

“Of course not.” Her brow furrowed. “I just wasn’t expecting—”

“A white man?”

She grinned again. “Oh, that’s the least of it.”

He would have given anything to know what was going through her head, but then he noticed the bag she clutched onto her shoulder and stilled. A bolt of awareness shot through him—one that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the presence of the scroll. She had it in there. The journal, too, he’d bet.

She must have sensed his scrutiny, because she tightened her hold on the bag.

Too little, too late, he thought.
You’re already in my snare.
“We should get you situated.”

Francesca rushed forward. “I’ve had Don take her bag to the first-floor guest room. I’ll show her—”

“Have her things transferred to the gold room,” he cut in.

Francesca started in shock. “But—”

He simply stared at her.

Ducking her head, she took a step back. “Of course. I’ll see to it right away.”

He turned to find Carrie Woods frowning at him. He gestured to the stairs. “I’ll show you to your room.”

She opened her luscious mouth to say something but, in the end, closed it and nodded. Without a word, she began up the marble steps.

He followed behind, watching the sway of her hips. She was lush there, too—nothing innocent about the way she filled out her jeans.

Was she trying to lure him on purpose? He’d noticed the attraction in her stare—maybe he could use that to his advantage.

She glanced over her shoulder as if she felt his gaze. The slight frown still marred her forehead.

Max strode past her, wondering who was offering whom the apple now. “Your room is this way.”

Without waiting to see if she followed, he stalked down the hall to the gold room and opened its door. He stood in the doorway and inhaled her as she brushed by him. Fresh, like wild strawberries.

“This is fabulous.” She laughed, a golden tinkle that matched the shimmery drapes covering the windows. “It’s bigger than my studio. I’ll be totally spoiled by the time I leave.”

He watched her drift to the window and run her fingers along the silk before pushing it aside to look out. He knew what she saw: the Pacific Ocean lapping at the isolated beach.

“There’s no one down there,” she said so softly he had to step forward to hear her. “If I lived here I’d be on the beach every chance I got.”

“The beach below is private. But you’re welcome to use it in your free time.” It’d give him the opportunity to search her things.

“Thank you.” She turned a brilliant smile on him.

He stared at her lips, caught by the urge to lay claim to them. His body tensed, desires long buried fighting to rise to the surface.

Puzzled by his reaction, Max took a step back. Distance brought clarity, and he needed that—now. “Your bath is through the double doors to the left. I’ll have Francesca send up a tray for your dinner, as I’m sure you’re tired from your travels.”

“It was only an hour-and-a-half flight.”

Ignoring her protest, he headed for the door. “If you need anything, dial zero on the house phone and you’ll reach Francesca or the housekeeper. I’ll leave you to get settled.”

“Where—”

“I’m sure Francesca left you details on the layout of the house. I’ll see you at eight in the library.” He left before she could say anything else… and before he gave in and found out whether her lips tasted as sinful as they looked.

H
e waits for her in the surf.

The gentle waves break around him, on him, but he lies still, propped on his elbows. Stretched on the sand, his naked body glistens in the sun, and he watches her approach with hooded eyes.

He appears unaffected and calm, but she knows he wants her. The hard evidence is right in front of her.

She walks faster, shedding her clothes with each step. She reaches the water’s edge, the waves tickling her feet, encouraging her closer to him. Until she stands over him.

He runs a hand over his hardness, invitation and dare smoldering in his eyes.

She drops to her knees, following the path he blazed with her own hand.

He hisses at her touch, drawing her up until she straddles his head. Her heart beats hard, seeing the intent in his cool gray eyes. She widens her stance in encouragement.

Lifting his head, he thumbs her open. One gentle kiss, and then his tongue lashes at her, firm but languid. She gasps, and she gasps again when he latches on to the most sensitive part of her.

The water laps at her, echoing his sucking rhythm. With his hands, he guides her, encourages her to rub herself on him—over and over until she wants to scream.

The water rises, and a wave engulfs them, pushing them apart. She looks for him, reaching—needing him. But he drifts away, his gaze sharp and wanting.

Carrie woke with a groan, turned on beyond belief. Not another one. She shifted under her covers, blushing when she realized her hand was inside her panties, clutched between her legs. Unable to stop herself, she glided her fingers over her wetness.

She groaned again and let her legs fall open. Imagining Max’s tongue working her, it took only several frenzied strokes before she came, calling out to him wordlessly.

She buried her face in her pillow, her face flaming. How embarrassing. The wet dreams were becoming more and more vivid. It just wasn’t like her. She had to get herself under control. Lusting after the boss was a no-no. Especially when he had the power to ruin her reputation and career.

She rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes she pictured Max lying before her, naked and spread out like a feast.

“This is so not like me,” she murmured, glancing at the clock. Three a.m. Too early to start her day, especially when she’d had only three hours of sleep.

What she needed was warm milk. Her mom used to give it to her when she woke up from nightmares and couldn’t sleep. Plus, there was nothing sexy about milk. It should take the edge off of her libido.

Hopefully.

Shoving the covers aside, she slipped out of bed and pulled her extra-large T-shirt down. For a second she debated putting on pants, but no one would be up at this hour. Besides, her shirt was longer than some women’s dresses.

Just in case, she opened her door and poked her head out to check. Seeing no one, she padded down the dark hall and to the stairs.

Max gritted his teeth as Carrie moaned. Again.

It was her moaning that woke him up. At first he thought she’d sneaked someone in. That Rhys could be in there with her almost had him knocking down the wall between their rooms. But after he’d calmed from the cold haze summoned by that thought, he realized he would have heard someone entering, and he definitely would have sensed Rhys. Guardians felt each other’s presence, and he and Rhys had been especially close.

No, she was alone, and it didn’t take much imagination to know what she was doing.

A faint rustle of her sheets.

He glared at the wall, wanting to block it out, needing to see through. In his mind, he pictured her kicking aside the covers and baring her body to the cool night air. She’d run a hand over her breasts, teasing the pink tips until they were hard, swollen nubs. Her other hand would steal down to bury itself between her legs.

Another groan filtered through the wall.

He fought the urge to palm his hard-on. He wasn’t above using sex to get information from her, but he’d be in control of the situation. Right now, control was beyond him.

She cried out, loud and clear. He imagined her head thrown back, her graceful neck bared, as she stroked herself to orgasm.

His cock surged in reply to her cry, the rasp of the Egyptian cotton sheet unbearable. He pushed the covers aside and paced his room. “Damn it.”

He waited, hoping she’d go to sleep so he could return to bed. He knew he was out of luck when he heard her get out of bed and open her door.

He stilled. Where was she going? To meet someone? He remembered catching Rhys red-handed with Amanda, and his blood went cold. Putting on a pair of pajama pants, he stalked to the door and silently opened it.

Carrie tiptoed down the stairs, her body obscured by the railing.