I had intended to escape, to make a grand exit, but my plans were quite literally swept off their feet. Being carried by George was not an unpleasant experience, I’ll admit. His arms were strong, and the scent of whiskey and sin still lingered as he held me close.
Too close, perhaps, for my pounding heart.
But any protests were forgotten as he clearly announced to the coffee shop, “We’re leaving. Now.” His voice left no room for argument; it was a command, and one I found myself obeying without question.
Not like I had any choice in the matter, anyway.
Outside, the world seemed brighter, sharper. The kiss must have affected my senses, because everything felt more intense. The sun shone with a new vigor, and the cold breeze carried a hint of that familiar, delicious aftershave as George walked down the street. As if lugging me over his shoulder was a familiar sight.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice a mix of mortification, protest, and a bit of curiosity.
His response... a sharp slap on my ass.
“I’m claiming what’s mine.”
Chapter Nine
Josie
A short time later, my world came back into focus, but I kind of wished it hadn’t.
I mean, sure, the blur of nausea was unpleasant, but it was nothing compared to the sight of George, all tall, dark, and terrifying, looming in the doorway. I felt like a sack of potatoes, not just any potatoes, but those giant ones farmers grow, especially for competitions. You know, the ones that could feed a small village for a week? Yeah, that was me, a giant spud, and George, my very own Dr. Feelgood, had hefted me like I weighed nothing.
The click of the door locking echoed like the final bell at a boxing match. I was in the ring with a heavyweight champion, and I knew I was going down. My throat felt like it had a vise around it, and I managed a pathetic, squeaky, “Why... why are we here?”
Oh, the drama!
If only it were for a more pleasant reason, like a secret romantic getaway. But no, George, with his smoldering eyes and lips curled in a half-smile, had to go and ruin it with his words.
“Would you rather I spank your ass in front of the entire town?”
My hand flew to my poor, aching backside, still smarting from his enthusiastic vigor during last night’s misadventures. I took a stumbling step back, my eyes wide as saucers.
“Spank?” I squeaked.
George, all tall, dark, and brooding, took a step forward, his coat falling to the floor with a dramatic flourish. “You left me alone in bed this morning, babe,” he rumbled, and I swore the floor vibrated with his voice.
I mean, the man could give Thor a run for his money with that thunderous tone.
The air was so thick, I felt like I was swimming in it, and not in a good way.
Like, imagine trying to do a breaststroke through molasses while being chased by a grizzly bear—that’s how I pictured my graceful escape if this situation went south. Fear had my skin feeling like a porcupine’s back, and my voice had taken up permanent residency in squeak territory. I managed a feeble, “I... I had to get the kids to school.”
George, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding, took another step toward me, and I swore again that the floorboards groaned in protest under his intense gaze. His tie, a sleek silk number, slithered to the floor, joining the discarded coat.
“Liar.” He growled again, and I felt it in my bones this time. My composure was in tatters, and I knew I should run, but my feet had other plans, choosing that moment to turn to lead weights. “You ran from me,” he accused, each word a hammer blow.
As he advanced, the air became heavy with the scent of his cologne, a heady mix that made my head spin. It was like being trapped in a cloud of musk and mystery. The dust motes danced in the sunlight, taunting me with their freedom, as I stood there, rooted to the spot.
With each step, the soft scrape of his shoes on the floor was like a countdown to my impending doom... or something far more intriguing. His shirt fell away, revealing a chest that belonged on a Greek statue, all sharp angles and corded muscles adorned with intricate ink.
My breath hitched, and I felt like a deer caught in the headlights—or rather, a spud about to be mashed.
“George, please,” I whispered, my voice cracking with a mixture of want and desire.
I felt like a mouse in the clutches of a very sexy, very determined cat.
“I’m sorry.” My words tumbled out in a rush, like a river breaking free of its icy winter shackles.
