Chapter Sixteen

So much for doing my own work tonight.” Carrie shoved the Book of Water aside and sat up on her bed. As much as it drew her, all she could think about was the way Max had kissed her earlier.

She’d felt that kiss all the way to the soles of her feet.

Her mom used to say that the right man could make you weak in the knees with his kisses. She’d humor her mom by nodding politely, but she’d never believed.

Well, she was a believer now.

Only the kiss had left her restless—like she was too big for her skin. She needed more. She needed him to touch her again, to slip his strong fingers over her and finish what he started by the pool.

“Not going to happen.” Even if she wanted it to. A little.

Okay—a lot.

She flopped back on her pillows. It’d be so easy to forget her no-personal-attachment vow with him. God, he was tempting—a once-in-a-lifetime kind of guy.

But, remembering how her mom got derailed by a man, she shook her head. Pleasure was fleeting. Entanglement wasn’t worth years of regret, and she didn’t doubt Max could ensnare her.

Outside the ocean roared, like it agreed with her.

The ocean. Carrie sat up, staring out the billowy curtains. A walk by the ocean would make her feel better.

She returned the scroll to its hiding place under the bed, grabbed a jacket, and slipped out of her room. The hallway was totally still—no one in sight. Not that anyone would stop her from taking a walk.

At least, she didn’t think anyone would. She thought about yesterday’s phone call again and shuddered. Maybe a walk alone at night wasn’t a good idea.

No—she wasn’t going to let some jerk affect her life. Determined, she tiptoed past the door next to her room—

And stopped. Staring at it, she wondered what was in there. Francesca seemed shocked that she didn’t know. Would it hurt to look?

Carrie pressed her ear to the door. No noise. She put her hand on the doorknob and twisted.

It opened with a soft click.

She paused. If there was something in here she shouldn’t see, it should have been locked. Right?

For some reason, she had a brief flash of herself sneaking into the documents room at the monastery.

“Silly,” she murmured, pushing the door open. “I’m not going to take anything this time.”

It was dark inside, the only light from the moon shining in through the wall-to-ceiling windows along one side. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust.

Then she saw The Bed.

It was the biggest bed she’d ever seen—plush and silky and mysterious. Beckoning her like she was Goldilocks.

It was his bed—she knew it without a doubt. This was his room.

Heart pounding, she looked around, expecting Max to be lurking in a dark corner, ready to pounce on her.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t there, lurking or ready to pounce. The stillness in his room was too absolute.

“Bummer.” She trailed a hand along the soft, cool comforter on his bed. She wondered what he’d do if he found her here. Most likely fire her.

Sighing, she turned to leave even though she wanted more than anything to snoop around. But she knew it was better to leave before she found something that’d upset her—like a half-used box of condoms or something.

She turned to head to the door when a gleam caught her eye. Looking left, she saw a sword mounted on the wall.

His sword.

She grinned, trying to keep all the obvious innuendos out of her mind. Hard, though. No pun intended.

Drawn to it, she lifted her hand to touch it. She shouldn’t—she knew that—but she couldn’t help dragging one finger across its surface. She imagined how Max would react if he saw her touching it.

With a shiver, Carrie hurried out of the room and away from temptation.

Tangled in her thoughts, she stole through the house and out the back to the steps that led down to the beach. She walked straight to the edge of the water, letting its coldness lap at her ankles like an eager puppy. She matched her breathing to the tide, a slow in and out until all the tension—sexual and otherwise—melted from her body.

Be not lulled by its beauty, for as it soothes, so does it sting. So is the nature of all things.

“Strange.” She started walking slowly, hands in her pockets. Why did that verse from the scroll come back to her now?

And why did it leave her feeling like something wasn’t right? Huddling in her coat, she tried to pinpoint what was wrong.

Someone was out there.

She lifted her head and looked around. It wasn’t Max. It didn’t feel like his stare—he’d stared at her enough that she’d know if it were him. He always left her feeling a little weak, kind of shaky, and a lot turned on.

That wasn’t what she was feeling now. Not even close.

Go back to the house. The urge was sudden and irrefutable. Picking up the pace, she hurried back to the stairs.

In high school, her friend Marie always dragged her to horror movies. Carrie used to make fun of them—the heroines were so stupid. But suddenly she felt like one of those idiot heroines. She knew that if she didn’t make it to those stairs she was a goner.

So she ran. The sand made her legs feel like lead, and the steps to the house seemed never-ending. She ran through the garden, past the pool, and straight in through the door she’d gone out from.

Shoving it closed, she rammed the deadbolt shut and sagged against it, trying to catch her breath. Only she didn’t feel safe—like whatever was out there followed her inside.

“Is everything okay?”

With a small yelp, she whirled around.

Francesca stood there, that faint disapproving frown lining her widow’s peak.

Pressing a hand to her chest, Carrie wilted back against the door. “You scared the crap out of me.”

The woman looked outside, beyond her, her frown deepening. Lifting her hand, she played with the pearls of her necklace. “Were you out walking?”

“Yeah. I—” She shut her mouth, her gut telling her not to let on about the creepy feeling she’d had out there. Trying to smile, she slipped past the woman. “I’m going back to my room now.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” She waved a hand over her shoulder and practically jogged through the house, up the stairs, and to her room. When she got there, she locked her door, too—the first time she’d bothered since she moved in—and turned on all the lights.

Someone had been in here. She felt it like the residual ripples from an unseen disturbance in a pond.

Something was wrong.

She shimmied out of her jacket and let it drop. Grabbing a figurine from the dresser, she inspected every nook and cranny where someone could be hiding.

Nothing.

The documents. The scroll.

Kneeling by the bed, she pulled out her suitcase and exhaled in relief when she found the texts safe and sound inside. Except were they in a different spot inside her bag, or was she hallucinating?

“You’re being silly,” she told herself. She zipped it up, tucked it back deep under the mattress, and stood up. “It’s just your imagination.”

But she couldn’t make herself believe it. Her imagination wasn’t that active, and she certainly hadn’t imagined the threatening calls. Plus, she knew what she felt. Someone had followed her outside, and someone had been in her room, too.