In retrospect, it occurred to her that she should have seen it coming.
She was, after all, a fan of history, a studier of mankind, a ponderer of ancient civilizations. She knew what life had been like a thousand years ago for women.
Men had been Men.
And women had been Property.
And somehow, she still managed to be utterly unprepared when he ducked that sexy, dark head of his and charged her.
“Oomph!” Jessi grunted, as his shoulder made contact with her stomach.
Her feet left the ground, her world tilted precariously, and the next thing she knew, she was hanging upside down over his shoulder.
One of his muscle-bound arms banded her waist, pinning her to his shoulder. The other hand splayed firmly on her bottom.
She parted her lips and was just about to let loose a screech that would do a banshee proud, when his hand moved.
Possessively. Intimately. Dipping right between her legs.
He pressed strong fingers against the opening of her vulva through her jeans, his thumb expertly finding her clitoris at the same time.
Fire exploded red-hot inside her. Her mouth, open on an intended shriek of rage, released a soft, stunned exhalation of air instead.
His big warm hand rested there a moment, applying a firm but gentle, relentless pressure. Enough to bring every nerve ending brutally to life and awaken an aching hunger deep within her womb.
He said nothing. She said nothing, either, mostly because, at the moment, all she could think of to say was: Excuse me, but your hand seems to have slipped between my legs and if you’ll move it just the tiniest bit, I bet I could come.
His hand was gone.
It returned, lower, banding her to him by the backs of her knees.
Reason returned also, accompanied by fury. The sad part was that what he’d just done had made her so instantly, incredibly horny that she wasn’t sure if she was more furious at him for doing it in the first place, or for stopping when he had.
And that made her even more furious still.
“Put me down,” she managed to hiss. So maybe it came out a bit more breathy than sibilant, but it was the best she could do upside down with her boobs in her face.
“Haud yer wheesht, woman.”
“Hold my what?”
“It means ‘hush,’ Jessica. Just hush. Would it kill you to hush?”
“Probably,” she snapped. “Put me down. I can walk.”
“Nay. I’ve no desire for you to be master of your destiny in any manner, however small. You are too unpredictable.”
“I’m unpredictable?”
“Aye.”
She was speechless a moment. Then she pinched his butt, hard.
“Ow!” He smacked her bottom.
“Ow!” she yelped.
“Behave,” he growled. “Tit for tat, lass. Remember that.” The arm banding her waist relaxed, he repositioned her on his shoulder, then tightened his grip again, making her realize she probably couldn’t get off his shoulder if her life depended on it. That single muscle-bound arm was as unyielding as reinforced steel.
The abruptness with which he shifted her jostled her backpack, still looped over her shoulders. Crammed with purse, laptop, assorted notepads, pens, pencils, and a four-inch-thick Ancient Civilizations textbook, it yielded to gravity, slid down, and thumped her in the back of the head.
Hard.
“Ow!” she yelled again. “Shit! Put me down this instant, you brute!”
“Unbelievable,” she thought she heard him mutter.
“Oh—you think so?” she snarled. “I’m the one flung over a primate’s shoulder. You’re the primate. I’m the one entitled to be saying ‘unbelievable.’ Not you.”
“Unbelievable,” he muttered again. He spun about so quickly that she nearly puked the five extra cups of coffee she hadn’t really wanted but had drunk anyway in the café earlier, all over that magnificent butt she’d just pinched, and yes, like his arm, the man had buns of steel.
Plucking up the massive mirror, he tucked it beneath the arm he’d freed by shifting her, and turned for the door. Woman on one side, artifact on the other. Not even straining.
And she knew how heavy that mirror was. The two deliverymen had wrestled with its weight.
Stalking out into the corridor, he demanded, “Which way?”
She raised her head for as much clearance as she could gain with thirty-eight pounds of backpack—she’d weighed it once so she could factor the toting about of it into her daily caloric intake; it had earned her two Krispy Kremes every other morning—resting against her skull. “Why should I tell you?” she said snottily.