She sighed. “I can’t talk about it. It’s family stuff.”
Understanding filled his face and he backed off with a nod. “Wait there. I’ll come around to you.”
She knew it was pointless to argue. Those old-fashioned manners of his. He opened her door and reaching down, grabbed her bag, putting it on her lap. That should have been her first clue. But she was still caught by surprise as he swung her up into his arms.
Marisol gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Carrying you inside,” he replied in a matter-of-fact voice. “You shouldn’t walk on that foot until the pain and swelling have gone down. Now which door should I take you in?”
“You really don’t have to carry me in. It’s just a bee sting, I’ll be fine.”
The look he gave her could have given a snowman the chills. “Marisol, I know we don’t know each other well. I’m a pretty easygoing guy. But there are some lines you don’t cross with me. And there are some things I don’t bend on. This is one of those things. You’re not walking on your foot until the swelling has gone down and it doesn’t hurt. Now, either I carry you in here or I take you home with me.”
Home with him?
God, it was tempting to say yes to that. She swallowed heavily.
“Here, please. My aunt, um, she isn’t really keen on strangers in her house so she might be, umm. . .”
“It will be fine. Don’t stress,” he murmured to her reassuringly.
He hadn’t been on the receiving end of her aunt’s tirades or he wouldn’t say that. Although, Linc didn’t seem the kind of guy to take shit from anyone.
“Which door?”
Jesus, Marisol. Get it together. Don’t just leave him standing here holding you.
“Through the garage is the best idea, if you don’t mind.” It was a bit further to carry her but she didn’t have a key for the front door if it was locked. Which it likely was.
Unfortunately, she noticed her aunt’s car sitting in the garage as Linc carried her through.
“Nice wheels. Where’s your car?” he asked.
“I keep it around the back.”
He just made a grunting noise. Probably regretting offering to carry her all this way.
“If you put me down in the kitchen, that will be fine,” she told him as they moved through the mudroom and into the kitchen.
“Where’s your bedroom?”
“Upstairs, but you really don’t have to carry . . .” she sighed and stopped protesting. “I’m not sure why I’m wasting my breath.”
“Neither am I,” he replied, looking around. “Is this what the place looked like when you bought it?”
She studied the ornate hallway. The floors were marble and the lighting fixtures were all gold-colored. Everything screamed wealth but in the most ostentatious, showy way possible.
“Uh, yeah.”
He started up the stairs.
“Oh no, what happened?” her aunt cried.
She barely contained a wince. Damn it. Too much to hope that they might have got up to her room without her coming across Rosalind.
“Marisol! Did you hurt yourself?” The words were said with fake caring. A show all for Linc. But she could hear the sharp note in her aunt’s voice. She was annoyed. Whether it was about Linc being here or Marisol hurting herself or Marisol being carried by Linc, she wasn’t sure. Probably a combination of all three.
She peered up at her aunt who was dressed in tight pair of jeans and a sheer white top. Oh, and she also had a red, lacy bra on that could clearly be seen through the shirt.