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“Oh.”
"Stay put," he grunted, and climbed out of the vehicle, coming around to the passenger side to open the door for her, which gave Finley not enough time to truly admire the strength and grace in his stride, like that of a stalking panther, before he was there.
He scooped her up and carried her to the massive double-door entrance of the mansion known as the Marsh residence and set her on her feet.
They stared at each other for a few minutes before she broke the hold he seemed to have on her and took a stumbling step back. She needed an ice bath. Maybe two.
“You all right there, little Kitten?” he asked softly.
“Yes, Sir,” she said.
What? What did she just call him?
No. No-no-no, no!
Not wasting a second longer, she jerked open the door, practically falling inside, then slammed the door closed behind her. Leaning against the imported dark wood, she opted to dig her nails into the palm of her hand instead of slapping her hand over her mouth. It was too late for that now, anyway.
What the fuck was wrong with her?
Okay, she knew what was wrong with her. Him. He wasn’t supposed to look like that. Smell like that. Sound like that. Feel like that.
It was a slip of the tongue, a Freudianfaux pas, nothing more.
Still, how could she have been so cringy?
Chapter Eight
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“So let me understandthis,” said Amanda after the third or perhaps the fourth retelling of the disastrous events of the previous day. “He spanked you, then he—”
“The man spanked me, put ointment on my insect bites, fed me a sandwich with a glass of orange juice, gave me pie, put my boots and torn clothing into a brown bag, carried me to his vehicle, drove me home and then this morning I wake up, and it appears he brought my car back to me.” Finley threw up her hands as she paced away her nervous energy. “I don’t even believe it when I hear myself say it that way, and I was there!”
“Don’t forget, and then you called himSiras a thank you!” Jenna sang out.
“Yeah, that I did.”
