Read Online The Duke Takes a Bride (Entitled Book 2) by Suzette de Borja - Free Book Online
Authors: Suzette de Borja
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and efficient. “Just look for a bag and pack everything that can fit inside.”
“Don’t forget my phone,” she croaked. “And my laptop.”
“Make sure you pack the chargers, too,” Julian added pointedly.
“Right away, sir.”
“Imogen,” Julian’s voice was a sexy baritone. “We’re leaving now. Can you walk?”
She nodded.
“Good girl.”
“Umm, just not right now.”
He gritted his teeth, not that he made any sound that she could hear since she was keeping her eyes closed. It felt like the sort of reaction one would make at this point after she made that little clarification.
“I’ll have to carry you then.” This was said with much aggravation.
Before she could give a token protest that she was too heavy – maybe she had lost a kilo or two since Tuesday, one could hope, right? – she was being swept off her feet, or rather off from the bed, and up into his strong, firmly muscled arms. Her head lolled to one side, bumping into a firm chest. He smelled heavenly, whereas she hadn’t managed to shower since God knows when. She shrank from the contact.
“Stop squirming,” he warned, his bobbing motion indicating they were going down the stairs. She would not puke on his shirt.
“What’s going on here?” she heard a man blustering. She guessed it was the new apartment manager, Manny or Andy, she couldn’t remember which.
Her rescuer stilled and turned a bit, presumably locating Manny or Andy, but he didn’t speak.
The voice became belligerent. “You can’t just come barging in here and kidnap a tenant just like that!”
“Miss Adams-Chudley is very ill. She needs medical attention.” Each word was delivered in a precise, commanding tone. “If your establishment had bothered to answer the telephone the several times my secretary tried to call, there wouldn’t have been this need for haste and dramatics.”
Good luck with finding anything that actually worked in the building, Imogen thought, and that included the management. Imogen had grown tired of complaining about her broken intercom, her broken AC unit, and the broken lift. As they said, you got what you pay for. The rent was the cheapest along properties surrounding UCLA and hey, if the services sucked, it was only to be expected.
Her rescuer continued in a voice that brooked no argument. “As of today, Miss Adams-Chudley is no longer a tenant of this establishment.”
She wasn’t? She wanted to open her mouth and make a token protest, but it felt so good to be cocooned in his arms that Imogen didn’t want to move. She hadn’t felt so content in a long time. She wanted to savor this surreal dream a bit longer before waking up and confronting some harsh realities that were waiting for her.
“She has overdue rent! Your−your hulk of a bodyguard−” Andy or Manny sounded in imminent danger of bursting a vein, “is not allowed to take any of her stuff out of the unit unless she settles the balance and admin goes over a checklist,” he finished with a crow of triumph.
Imogen felt herself going hot with mortification, not the fever. Surely the whole building had heard the broadcast about her financial status by now. And she had been this close to freedom. Now her rescuer would have to turn back and return her to her unit.
“Carter?”
“Yes, sir.”
Another voice. Goodness. How many bodyguards did this man have?
“Call the office and tell Miss Lamb to settle the account at once with Mr.−”
“Garcia,” the new manager supplied. “Joey Garcia.” Not Andy nor Manny.
“That’s settled then,” His Grace pronounced. Imogen felt him pivoting with a fluid motion to continue his deed of rescuing germ-ridden, unwashed, and broke damsels in distress.
“Hey, wait a minute−” Joey Garcia protested.
“For the love of God,” His Grace uttered, “this is getting to be so tedious! Carter,” he bit out, “deal with it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hey−” Joey Garcia’s protest was drowned out by the
“Don’t forget my phone,” she croaked. “And my laptop.”
“Make sure you pack the chargers, too,” Julian added pointedly.
“Right away, sir.”
“Imogen,” Julian’s voice was a sexy baritone. “We’re leaving now. Can you walk?”
She nodded.
“Good girl.”
“Umm, just not right now.”
He gritted his teeth, not that he made any sound that she could hear since she was keeping her eyes closed. It felt like the sort of reaction one would make at this point after she made that little clarification.
“I’ll have to carry you then.” This was said with much aggravation.
Before she could give a token protest that she was too heavy – maybe she had lost a kilo or two since Tuesday, one could hope, right? – she was being swept off her feet, or rather off from the bed, and up into his strong, firmly muscled arms. Her head lolled to one side, bumping into a firm chest. He smelled heavenly, whereas she hadn’t managed to shower since God knows when. She shrank from the contact.
“Stop squirming,” he warned, his bobbing motion indicating they were going down the stairs. She would not puke on his shirt.
“What’s going on here?” she heard a man blustering. She guessed it was the new apartment manager, Manny or Andy, she couldn’t remember which.
Her rescuer stilled and turned a bit, presumably locating Manny or Andy, but he didn’t speak.
The voice became belligerent. “You can’t just come barging in here and kidnap a tenant just like that!”
“Miss Adams-Chudley is very ill. She needs medical attention.” Each word was delivered in a precise, commanding tone. “If your establishment had bothered to answer the telephone the several times my secretary tried to call, there wouldn’t have been this need for haste and dramatics.”
Good luck with finding anything that actually worked in the building, Imogen thought, and that included the management. Imogen had grown tired of complaining about her broken intercom, her broken AC unit, and the broken lift. As they said, you got what you pay for. The rent was the cheapest along properties surrounding UCLA and hey, if the services sucked, it was only to be expected.
Her rescuer continued in a voice that brooked no argument. “As of today, Miss Adams-Chudley is no longer a tenant of this establishment.”
She wasn’t? She wanted to open her mouth and make a token protest, but it felt so good to be cocooned in his arms that Imogen didn’t want to move. She hadn’t felt so content in a long time. She wanted to savor this surreal dream a bit longer before waking up and confronting some harsh realities that were waiting for her.
“She has overdue rent! Your−your hulk of a bodyguard−” Andy or Manny sounded in imminent danger of bursting a vein, “is not allowed to take any of her stuff out of the unit unless she settles the balance and admin goes over a checklist,” he finished with a crow of triumph.
Imogen felt herself going hot with mortification, not the fever. Surely the whole building had heard the broadcast about her financial status by now. And she had been this close to freedom. Now her rescuer would have to turn back and return her to her unit.
“Carter?”
“Yes, sir.”
Another voice. Goodness. How many bodyguards did this man have?
“Call the office and tell Miss Lamb to settle the account at once with Mr.−”
“Garcia,” the new manager supplied. “Joey Garcia.” Not Andy nor Manny.
“That’s settled then,” His Grace pronounced. Imogen felt him pivoting with a fluid motion to continue his deed of rescuing germ-ridden, unwashed, and broke damsels in distress.
“Hey, wait a minute−” Joey Garcia protested.
“For the love of God,” His Grace uttered, “this is getting to be so tedious! Carter,” he bit out, “deal with it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hey−” Joey Garcia’s protest was drowned out by the
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