Mama will come around once I’ve spoken to her.’
Way to go, Marnie.
Pride swelled in Gina’s chest at the knowledge that a year ago, when Marnie had first arrived at Reese’s house on campus from deepest, darkest Georgia, she never would have had the guts to talk back to the Sainted Carter like that. A man Gina and Reese and Cassie had all suspected was a total douche, hence the nickname they’d given him together, despite the way Marnie gushed about him.
‘Mama doesn’t control the mill’s finances, I do,’ came the low, irritatingly patient reply. ‘So I’d like to know how you’re gonna go on this road trip, if I refuse to pay for it.’
‘Daddy left me a share in the mill, surely I can—’
‘Daddy left your share in trust,’ he interrupted with the same implacable calm. ‘A trust which he left me to administer until you reach your majority—and I’m refusing your request for funds on this occasion.’
‘That’s not fair, Carter.’
Gina’s fingers fisted into tight balls as the argument continued and slowly but surely all the confidence and assurance Marnie had gained in the past year leached away as her brother refused to budge. In fact, Gina was fairly sure from his uninterested replies that he wasn’t even listening.
For that alone, Gina could have throttled him with her bare hands. Why did so many men have to be like her father, judgmental and superior and always, always right?
She pressed back into the alcove as Marnie’s bedroom door closed upstairs and footsteps came down the stairs. She caught a glimpse of a tall figure dressed in a creased chambray shirt and suit trousers as he strolled into the kitchen.
She stayed in the alcove, hearing his heavy sigh, and debated the wisdom of getting involved: with her tendency to be provocative she was liable to make it worse, and it really wasn’t any of her business. But as she walked to the kitchen doorway and spied on him helping himself to one of Reese’s chilled diet colas from the fridge, anger and resentment flared.
He closed the fridge, his broad back to her as he twisted the cap off the bottle and flipped it into the bin, then took a long swallow of the cola. One large hand gripped the edge of the sink but the rigid line of his shoulder blades relaxed.
Why should she respect his privacy when he hadn’t respected Marnie’s—and how could she possibly make things worse?
Leaning insolently against the doorjamb, she gave her voice the soft smoky purr she knew made men putty in her hands. ‘You know, you really ought to take that huge stick out from up your arse. It’s going to ruin the very nice line of those designer trousers.’
He swung round and her lungs seized in astonishment.
It seemed Marnie had failed to mention one fairly crucial bit of information about her big brother during all the gushing this year. Carter Price was a total hottie.
At six foot two or three, with mile-wide shoulders and the tanned skin of a pirate, he was as big and dark as his sister was small and fair, but the relationship was confirmed by the striking eyes that narrowed on her face—and shared the exact same shade of cerulean blue as his sister’s. On Marnie they looked cute and appealing. On her brother they looked cold and intense.
The unblinking gaze drifted down her frame as he took another swig of the stolen cola and Gina felt the prickle of response, everywhere.
She settled back against the doorjamb, but clamped down on the urge to stretch her back—thus displaying what she knew to be an exceptional pair of breasts to their best advantage.
Focus, Gina. You’re not here to flirt with the guy. You’re here to tell him a thing or two about women’s emancipation—and his sister’s emancipation in particular.
‘You’ve got quite a mouth on you, miz.’ The deep drawl was as slow and seductive as molasses but for the steely hint of censure beneath. ‘My daddy would have taken a hickory switch to my backside if I’d used that sort of language in the presence of a lady.’
‘I guess we’re both very fortunate then that you’re not in the presence of a lady,’ she replied tartly.
Carter Price wasn’t just a hottie, he was also a sexist control freak, but no way was he going to control her, with his cool Southern manners and his total contempt for a women’s right to self-determination.
She let her gaze drift over him too. ‘Because I’d really hate to see what I can imagine is an exceptionally cute backside being whipped with a hickory switch—unless I was the one doing it.’
Let’s see how you like being objectified, Buster.
Two dark eyebrows arched, and she felt the wave of satisfaction at the knowledge that she’d shocked him. Gina Carrington was no simpering Southern miss prepared to bow down to the dictates of a man. And the sooner Carter Price got that message, the better. But then his irises darkened and his lips twitched at the edges. And she had the strangest feeling she might have underestimated him, a tad.
‘Why do I get the feeling your daddy didn’t take a hickory switch to...’ he paused to direct his gaze pointedly at her mid-section and she had to resist the urge to tuck in her bottom ‘...what I can see is also an exceptionally cute butt, nearly often enough?’
She wanted to be outraged at the suggestion—and any mention of her father and/or the corporal punishment of a child would ordinarily do that—but unfortunately she wasn’t outraged. Because she was far too distracted by the surge of heat making her nipples tighten against the confines of her bra and the way her cute butt was now sizzling alarmingly.
‘You’re very perceptive, Mr Price. My father never hit me,’ she informed him with as much dignity as she could muster while her behind was still pulsing from the imagined thrashing. ‘Because he knew he would lose an arm if he tried,’ she finished, with the purr still firmly in place, even though it was starting to sound less and less like an affectation—and more and more like an invitation.
‘Seems to me an arm is a small price to pay when it comes to instilling good manners in your child.’
The outrage came without a problem this time as the sizzle fizzled out. The man was serious.
‘If you actually believe that hitting a child—or a woman—is less heinous than bad manners, then an arm isn’t the only thing you deserve to lose.’
She could see she’d done a lot more than shock him this time, when he stiffened and the twitch on those firm sensual lips disappeared. ‘You mistake me, miz?’
‘Carrington. Gina Carrington.’
‘Miz Carrington. I’ve never hit a child, or a woman, in my life, and I never would. I respect women. Absolutely.’
‘Is that something else your daddy taught you with his hickory switch?’ she said, the contempt dripping now.
But instead of the smug affirmative she had expected, something flickered across his face, and she had the feeling she’d crossed a line she hadn’t intended to. He turned away, and braced one hand against the sink. Then fixed her with an unsettling stare. ‘You seem to have a problem with me, Miz Carrington. And as this is the first time I’ve had the pleasure of your company, I’d like to know why!’
