her—inside and out. In a way he’d never desired anything or anyone.
“Sir,” Francesca said again. Her hands fumbling at her sash were the only things that gave away her agitation. “I didn’t—”
“Leave,” he ordered. “Now.”
Without another word, Francesca gathered her things and strode back into the house.
He heard Carrie mutter, “Traitor,” and turned to look at her. She’d swum to the side of the pool and awkwardly climbed out. He stifled the urge to help her, not trusting himself to touch her. Not with the way her bikini clung to her curves.
“You didn’t have to bark at her,” she said, grabbing a towel from the edge of the pool and rubbing the wetness off herself. “It was my idea to come out here. You shouldn’t treat her that way.”
“You’re hardly in the position to tell me how to treat my employees.” He stepped forward, clenching his hands so he wouldn’t be tempted to shake her.
“There’s no reason to get so worked up.” She held the towel in front of her like a shield. “We were just taking a break. I’m making good time on the translation work, and you never said it was against the rules to take an hour off.”
“I’ve been searching the house for you for the past half hour.” He grabbed her arms and lifted her to her toes. When he couldn’t find her, it’d driven him crazy, first wondering if she was meeting someone, then wondering if she was safe. The only saving grace was that he’d found the Book of Water stashed under her bed in a half-assed hiding job. He didn’t think she’d leave without the scroll. “Didn’t you think that maybe I’d wonder if something happened to you or if you’d run off?”
She blinked, her big dark eyes shining innocence. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave before finishing the work.”
“I couldn’t give a damn about the work,” he growled. He wanted to know what she wanted. He wanted to know who Rhys was to her. He wanted to know why he just wanted to get closer when every bit of common sense told him to run. Damn it.
He hauled her up and crushed his mouth to hers.
Dropping her towel on the ground, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself to his hard, wide body. She melted against him, as if it didn’t occur to her to fight him.
Why not? Damn it, didn’t she understand he was the enemy? He clasped her closer, his kiss savage. Not enough. Reaching around, he palmed her ass before pressing her against his hardness. They both moaned.
For one insane second he toyed with the elastic of her bottoms, his finger just barely under, wondering how she’d feel if he slipped to her center.
Insane was right. He stepped back, withdrawing his hand from her damp skin.
Carrie panted, letting her arms fall from around him to hug her body as if she was chilled. When she spoke, her voice was all sex. “At least now I know.”
“What?”
“That you do kiss like the Viking god you resemble.”
Max stared at her. A bead of water rolled down her neck and into the valley between her breasts. He swallowed, wanting to lick after it. He wanted to untie the strings of her bikini and let his tongue roam free.
Fucking insane.
He shoved his hair back, regulating his breathing. He needed to get it under control. He needed information from her—not mindless passion.
Because mindless it would be. He’d have every intention of kissing the secrets out of her, but if he got her under him, the scroll, Rhys, and everything else would be the last things on his mind. His focus would narrow to the feel of her hands and mouth on him—to see the fire in her eyes—all for him.
He hardened painfully, just thinking about her eyes gazing at him in passion.
Damn pathetic.
With coolness he was far from feeling, he nodded. “Until tomorrow.”
Max caught a glimpse of her incredulous stare before he returned to the house, as if she couldn’t believe he didn’t stay and make good on the promise in his kiss.
Frankly, he couldn’t
“Sir,” Francesca said again. Her hands fumbling at her sash were the only things that gave away her agitation. “I didn’t—”
“Leave,” he ordered. “Now.”
Without another word, Francesca gathered her things and strode back into the house.
He heard Carrie mutter, “Traitor,” and turned to look at her. She’d swum to the side of the pool and awkwardly climbed out. He stifled the urge to help her, not trusting himself to touch her. Not with the way her bikini clung to her curves.
“You didn’t have to bark at her,” she said, grabbing a towel from the edge of the pool and rubbing the wetness off herself. “It was my idea to come out here. You shouldn’t treat her that way.”
“You’re hardly in the position to tell me how to treat my employees.” He stepped forward, clenching his hands so he wouldn’t be tempted to shake her.
“There’s no reason to get so worked up.” She held the towel in front of her like a shield. “We were just taking a break. I’m making good time on the translation work, and you never said it was against the rules to take an hour off.”
“I’ve been searching the house for you for the past half hour.” He grabbed her arms and lifted her to her toes. When he couldn’t find her, it’d driven him crazy, first wondering if she was meeting someone, then wondering if she was safe. The only saving grace was that he’d found the Book of Water stashed under her bed in a half-assed hiding job. He didn’t think she’d leave without the scroll. “Didn’t you think that maybe I’d wonder if something happened to you or if you’d run off?”
She blinked, her big dark eyes shining innocence. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave before finishing the work.”
“I couldn’t give a damn about the work,” he growled. He wanted to know what she wanted. He wanted to know who Rhys was to her. He wanted to know why he just wanted to get closer when every bit of common sense told him to run. Damn it.
He hauled her up and crushed his mouth to hers.
Dropping her towel on the ground, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself to his hard, wide body. She melted against him, as if it didn’t occur to her to fight him.
Why not? Damn it, didn’t she understand he was the enemy? He clasped her closer, his kiss savage. Not enough. Reaching around, he palmed her ass before pressing her against his hardness. They both moaned.
For one insane second he toyed with the elastic of her bottoms, his finger just barely under, wondering how she’d feel if he slipped to her center.
Insane was right. He stepped back, withdrawing his hand from her damp skin.
Carrie panted, letting her arms fall from around him to hug her body as if she was chilled. When she spoke, her voice was all sex. “At least now I know.”
“What?”
“That you do kiss like the Viking god you resemble.”
Max stared at her. A bead of water rolled down her neck and into the valley between her breasts. He swallowed, wanting to lick after it. He wanted to untie the strings of her bikini and let his tongue roam free.
Fucking insane.
He shoved his hair back, regulating his breathing. He needed to get it under control. He needed information from her—not mindless passion.
Because mindless it would be. He’d have every intention of kissing the secrets out of her, but if he got her under him, the scroll, Rhys, and everything else would be the last things on his mind. His focus would narrow to the feel of her hands and mouth on him—to see the fire in her eyes—all for him.
He hardened painfully, just thinking about her eyes gazing at him in passion.
Damn pathetic.
With coolness he was far from feeling, he nodded. “Until tomorrow.”
Max caught a glimpse of her incredulous stare before he returned to the house, as if she couldn’t believe he didn’t stay and make good on the promise in his kiss.
Frankly, he couldn’t
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