His words thrill me, as do his eyes, which are darkening the way they do when he’s starting to lose himself to desire.
I don’t have time to dwell on it, though, because he stands, lifts me up, and tosses me over his shoulder, as easily as if I were as light as a feather.
Which, it should be noted, I definitely am not.
My hair hanging down and my eyes level with his magnificent ass—clad in a pair of tight jeans that showcase it to perfection—I pretend to be offended.
“In case you haven’t noticed, sir, I’m not a sack of potatoes.”
Swaggering through the bedroom toward the master bathroom with one big hand squeezed around the back of my thigh, James says, “I don’t get the reference.”
“Because you carry them over your shoulder.”
He scoffs. “Who does? I’ve never once seen anyone carrying
