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Jagger nodded, not agreeing obviously. He didn’t know her, and she could be a psychotic man-killer for all he knew, but he nodded in silent encouragement for her to keep talking.
“I volunteer all my spare time at homeless shelters and animal rescues. All the money I make from wearing clothes for big fashion houses, I give to charity, and I support smaller names too, and not just with exposure. Yes, I wear nice clothes,” she began, sweeping a hand over herself before suddenly remembering how she was dressed and why.
“Well, I usually wear nice clothes because I need them,” she said, picking up the scattered threads of her thoughts. “Because I can’t hide from the world, I have to be seen, and I have to be seen looking like a Marsh ought to look! The heiress daughter. Or else everyone will know... it’s a role I play. I’m not some stupid, entitled rich girl, spending all her father’s money, and Giselle knows that better than anyone! But she still gets under my skin. She thinks I’m spoiled and that I get other people to do my work for me, which is why she challenged me to dothis.”
“This?” he prompted with a knowing look.
“We were talking about the McCoy legend, and there’s this old, old photo of, um...”
“I’ve seen it,” he said drily.
“Well, she said you guys, your family, that is... That you probably just shove wood down your pants, and I don’t know why I got so defensive, but I stood up for you and all the other McCoy males. I don’t care whether you have plain dicks or real dickasauruses, but she challenged me to take a picture to prove you were as well-endowed as claimed, and I fell for it...” She gave in and took another breath, then another.
“Giselle just makes me so crazy,” she said softly.
When he moved, she startled, so lost in her despair that she’d almost forgotten he was there.
He closed the distance between them, coming to stand directly before her, towering over her, immovable. “Stop worrying about what she thinks of you.”
“But—”
“Stop it.”
“I—”
“Now.”
The power in that one command magically reignited every single strike he had delivered on her bottom in his bedroom not so long ago. Whatever protest she might have made died on her lips.
“Good Little Kitten,” he said.
This time she allowed herself to blush like a schoolgirl.
Then his eyes narrowed into that stern expression that made her tummy flip, and her pussy clench. “Dickasaurus?”
“Yeah. Dickasaurus. You know, dinosaur-size dicks. So... any chance I can still take a pic?” she asked hopefully. “Not for Giselle, who cares what she thinks. For posterity. That’s as good a reason as ever... Hey, what are you doing?” she squeaked when he slipped his arm under her knees and then easily scooped her up.
“Taking you home.”
“I can walk.”
“You’re barefoot. Your feet are too soft for walking in the woods to get to your car.”
“Oh.”
“But this isn’t my car,” she said when he deposited her into his four-wheel drive.
“I’m driving you home.”
He slid back into the cabin, returned, and then put the brown bag on her lap. She peeked inside apprehensively, only to find it contained her boots and what was left of her clothes.
What was happening?
She took the entire thirty-minute drive to try and decipher his actions and came up with nothing. He didn’t even ask her for directions.
“How did you know where I live?”
“You’re a Marsh.”
