Page 57 of Damaged Mogul
My humiliation clutching for something to grab onto, I snap at him.“You’re walking too fast.”
Gage stops.
Unprepared, I practically bump into him.
He turns around, his eyes dropping to my strappy high heels.
Narrowed green eyes meet mine.
A foreign surge of fear, anticipation, and excitement swirl within me.
With a growl, he sweeps me off my feet, throws me over his shoulder, firefighter-style, and Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, kidnaps me.
I screech.
Is someone going to stop this madman?
To my shock, the inner circle wolf whistles and catcalls, fists pumping in encouragement.
Ugh.
Struggling with the beast is pointless. I stand zero chance against this gladiator.
With my head dangling near Gage’s fine ass, he resumes his mission.
I lift my head long enough to scour the room.
Judging by Mikki’s stunned expression and that of many members of the sisterhood, Gage is stealing the show. And I am an unwilling participant. The men on the other end, are pumping their fists in the air.
Figures.
Given the difference in size, I can’t fight him off. I’m pretty sure drumming my fists against his back in outrage would only tickle him.
I only have one recourse.
“You better?—”
My protest fades on my lips when his hand tightens around my calves, while the other rests around my thigh, right below my ass. The intimate touch sends a ripple of sensation coursing through my body.
Good God.
I don’t have time to linger in that blissful state for too long.
Gage walks us out of the private room and down a corridor.
In this position, I can’t tell where we’re going.
Another turn, and he comes to a stop.
He slides me down his body until my feet touch the ground.
I hook my fist at my waist. “What’s your problem?”
His eyes roam over my face before his gaze lingers on my mouth. His nostrils flare like a bull ready to charge and the wide expanse of his chesthitches.
“Your heels aren’t made for walking,” he says.
He’s so distracting that for a moment, I forgot my question.
