Read Online Chosen by Desire by Kate Perry - Free Book Online Page B

sit properly in her chair.
    Carrie looked at the sugar longingly, thought about all the hours she was going to be sedentary, and then sipped her tea. Grimacing at the bitter taste, she reached for a piece of whole-grain toast—plain—and tried to ignore the scones, fresh croissants, and apple pastries.
    Pretending her toast was dripping in butter and jam, she sat back down and gestured at Francesca. “So Max said he won’t be joining us.”
    “No,
Mr. Prescott
won’t,” the woman said succinctly. “He has other matters to attend to.”
    What kind of matters? She’d ask, but she instinctively knew Francesca wouldn’t take kindly to it. She seemed very protective of her employer.
    It made Carrie wonder if there was something going on between them. Or if they had history. Sexual history.
    She scowled at her dry toast. The picture of them entwined in each other’s arms, naked, was entirely too easy to imagine.
    And she didn’t like it at all. Surprising in itself, because she wasn’t one given to fits of jealousy. But even a blind person could see Francesca wasn’t thrilled with Carrie’s presence there. Sure, she’d been hospitable, but it’d been the bare minimum and probably mandated by Max.
    Could
she
have made the crank call?
    Carrie studied her, frowning. She didn’t look like a woman who’d just made a threatening call, using an electronic device to mask her voice.
    Picking up her tea, she hoped her tone was nonchalant. “How long have you known Mr. Prescott?”
    “All my life.”
    She waited for something more but decided as the woman began tapping at her Blackberry that nothing more was forthcoming. So Carrie said, “You started really young.”
    Francesca paused, her gaze full of distrust. “My mother was in the ambassador’s employ.”
    “The ambassador?”
    “Mr. Prescott’s father,” she said shortly, pulling out her portfolio.
    Max’s dad was an ambassador? How could an ambassador spawn someone so antisocial? “So you grew up together?”
    She frowned at the papers she sifted through but didn’t look up. “Yes.”
    Then they did have history. And now Francesca worked with him, so she must know him inside out.
    She wanted to ask if Francesca had ever played doctor with Max. Not that she should care. She was here to work. She cleared her throat. “Where did you grow up? If Max’s dad was an ambassador, I assume you guys lived out of the country.”
    “Asia,” was the answer she got. Then the woman stood up, went to a locked drawer, inserted a key (God knows where she pulled that out from—her bra?), and extracted a large, obviously ancient book. She carried it over to the desk closest to the windows overlooking the ocean. “This is what Mr. Prescott wishes to have translated.”
    “The whole thing?” Carrie tried not to gape, but she wasn’t sure she was successful. It’d take the better part of a year—maybe two—to translate the whole thing.
    “No, there’s a specific chapter.” She consulted her papers and nodded as she found the one she was looking for. “Here are the details.”
    Carrie took the proffered page and glanced at it. Then she went to the book and picked it up to move it to the table in the corner. “Not good to have it in direct sunlight,” she explained at Francesca’s puzzled look.
    “I see.”
    She set the book down and carefully flipped through some of the pages. She started to get excited as she touched the crinkled vellum. She loved old texts. “I’m looking forward to this project.”
    Francesca didn’t look like she believed Carrie, but she nodded. “Supplies are in the other desk. Help yourself to anything you need. I’ll have Don bring in a tray for lunch. Is there anything you’d prefer?”
    A bacon cheeseburger. Or fried chicken and mashed potatoes. She sighed as she pulled out a stool to perch on. “Maybe just some cottage cheese and fruit.”
    “The cook is an experienced French chef. You can have anything you like.”
    She shook