6
"You growled." She inhales sharply, her ample bosom rising and falling dramatically. Jutting out her chin, her defiance is incredibly charming. So endearing. So... adorable. And I need to get her out of here before I ruin my chances of proposing to her.
She crosses her arms over her chest. "If you think you can mark your territory by being possessive—"
"I wasn't being possessive." I stand up tall, straightening my posture, forcing her to look up at me. "This is." I bend down and scoop her up in my arms.
"What the—!?" She starts to struggle against my hold. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Taking you somewhere quieter to talk."
"Let me go." She slaps my chest. "You can’t be this... This..."
"Overbearing?"
"Arrogant," she hisses.
"Don’t you mean controlling?"
"Egotistical." She starts to wriggle in my arms.
"I'm all those things and more."
"You're making a scene," she snaps.
"No, you are. Shh now. Stop struggling, and everyone will assume we’re married and I’m carrying you off to our honeymoon."
She goes still, and when I glance down, I see her face tighten. There's anger and vulnerability in her green eyes. She lowers her chin, her lips downturned, and damn it, I hate seeing her unhappy, defeated like this. I want her to push back against what happened earlier at the church.
I want her to fight me. I want her to show her mettle. I want her to stand up for herself. If I push her, she’ll react. That way, I’ll know what she wants. That way, I can give her what she needs. But she’s got to have fire in her to make it worthwhile for me, and to make it satisfying for her... Because she could be the perfect submissive.
Is this why I’m so drawn to her? Did I sense the hidden need in her to submit to the right master? Did the dominant in me take one look and know she was it? Is that why I proposed to her as soon as I saw the opportunity?
As if she senses my thoughts, she tightens her hold about my shoulders. Instinctively, I cradle her closer. Her weight feels perfect against my chest. I could hold her like this forever.
"I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that," I say in a low voice.
When she doesn’t reply, I blow out a breath. Lawrence may have been the one who stood her up, but I feel responsible for his behavior. I need to make it up to her. Need to put things right with her. "What happened at the church was unpardonable. He shouldn’t have done that."
"And what about what you did?" She scowls at me.
I hesitate. "What if I tell you I don't regret it?"
She frowns, and I sense she’s digesting what I said.
I carry her out of the pub and to my car, then lower her to her feet. A gust of wind blows the tendrils which have come loose from her hair around her face. She sways, and I keep my arm about her.
"I’m not drrr...u-nk." She spoils the effect by slurring her words, then giggles. “Oops." She takes a deep breath and tries again. "Guess, I am drunk, and embarrassed."
"I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to embarrass you, but I want to speak with you in a place where we don’t have an audience."
"And I don’t want to speak with you." She sets her jaw.
"Give me a chance to outline what I have in mind,” I plead.
"And if I don’t care?"
"I think you’ll want to listen to my offer before you decide."
"Offer?" She frowns.
In response, I pull open the car door. “Get in.”