“You better hurry,” Laurence advised. “She tickles people.”
Summer glared, although attempting to glare at someone when you were hanging over their shoulder was quite difficult. She kept looking at his rear — which was annoying, because he had a nice rear. And she shouldn’t be thinking about that right now! “You put me down this instant,” she said, belatedly tacking on, “my lord.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage — I am wearing armour after all, Laurence.” He grinned and then chuckled softly at the expression on Summer’s face, already creating ways to apologise to her later on, should she choose to accept them, of course. “I think not. You’re going to stay here, and then I’m going to take you some place safe.”
She was reduced to spluttering in frustration, because he /was/ wearing armour (which was poking her in uncomfortable ways), and a trained warrior, neither of which was true for her. She had no hope of getting away from him. Colour ran up in her cheeks as a traitorous thought whispered, ‘you don’t want to get away from him.’
“I will not attempt to escape, my lord,” she said stiffly. “You must do as you like.”