Sommersgate House (38 page)

“Don’t,” he
barked when he saw her movements and, at the sound of his rough
voice, her hands stilled, holding the bodice in place over her
breasts as she struggled into a semi-reclining position.

He was staring
at her and she was immobile in the face of his blazing eyes. She
watched him in fascinated silence as he shrugged off his jacket and
threw it on the floor. His hands moved and he yanked at his tie
viciously. In one tug, it came loose and he threw it to join his
jacket. Then he went to work on the buttons on his shirt.

“Douglas…”
Julia was trying for a conciliatory tone, she was half-mad with
wanting him, half-sane enough to realise her own fear. She sought
control of the situation, time to think. He was furious, she knew,
even though she wasn’t entirely certain why, and a fury the
strength of his was a frightening thing.

But it was
also something else.

It was
magnetic.

She wanted
this, she was forced to admit. She was no fool and she tried never
to fool herself.

At the same
time she was terrified of it.

He wasn’t
helping her, looking at her as if he would be hanged in the morning
and she was his last meal.

He had the
last button undone on his shirt then his arm reached out abruptly,
grabbed her by the waist and jerked her to her feet in front of
him.

“Who chose
this dress?” he asked, his hands sliding down her sides slowly.

“Charlie,” she
answered nervously.

“Remind me to
thank her,” he remarked right before he bunched the material at her
hips and savagely pulled it up over her head, forcing her arms up
with it. In a split second it, too, fell on the pile with his tie
and his jacket.

His hands
settled on her waist, the heat of them searing her bare skin and
making her shiver as he roughly pushed her a couple of inches away
from his body, holding her suspended, for she would surely never
have been able to stand on her own at that angle.

Rather than
cover herself, her arms fluttered down to her sides and she watched
helplessly as his eyes drifted over her hungrily. She was wearing
nothing but her black gloves, a pair of black, lace edged,
garter-less stockings, black lace underwear, her pumps and his
emerald.

“Jesus,” he
murmured, looked in her eyes again and she could have drowned in
the depths of his, they had turned to ink.

He pulled her
in his arms, her bare skin crushed against the edges of his
partially opened shirt and she barely had time to savour that
sensation before she was falling backwards, one of his arms around
her waist, the other one thrown out to control their fall. Her back
no sooner hit the bed when he was gone, pulling away from her, his
hand reaching for her panties.

“Douglas, we
need to slow down.” This was going too quickly for her, she needed
to think, she needed her clothes, she needed…

“Slow is not
an option,” he declared as he pulled the lace expertly down her
legs and it too joined the pile of clothing.

She gasped at
the quickness of his action but his body covered hers before she
could think or move and she became aware that he was still nearly
fully clothed while she was nearly naked. She felt exposed and
vulnerable.

This, she
didn’t like.

He kissed her
again and all such thoughts flew right out the window. Her body
ignited as if the time between the white-hot passion of the
stairwell and now had simply melted away.

He sucked her
tongue into his mouth and she took the opportunity to explore it
boldly. His hands were all over her, her hands roamed over him. Her
skin tingled where he touched it and she moaned low in her
throat.

He pulled his
mouth away. “Take off your bloody gloves,” he commanded and, for
once, she obeyed happily, shakily removing her gloves and flinging
them wherever they would land.

The minute her
bare hands touched the skin of his back under his shirt, there was
no time to think, there was only time to feel. She felt his mouth
on hers, on her neck, at the base of her throat. She felt the edge
of his teeth drag against her nipple then pull it hungrily in his
mouth then move to the other, only to do the same thing. She felt
his hands roaming the skin of her sides, her bottom, her hips, her
belly, against the silk of her stockings and then up, between her
legs.

“Oh!” she
cried, as he found her with his thumb, a fleeting, joyous pressure
that sent her neck arching back and her mouth opening in a silent
groan of pleasure. Then it was gone, only to be replaced with one,
long finger sliding slowly inside her.

Her
breath dragged out of her while his finger moved and his thumb
again found its spot. She started panting, actually
panting
, as her
stomach clutched and then dropped away and she pressed her hips
urgently against his hand.

It was her
turn to touch him, her hands insistently roaming, her mouth at his
neck and throat, her tongue darting out to taste the salt of his
skin against the hard muscle as she rode his hand like a madwoman.
She was close, the pressure was building, she felt she only had to
reach for it and the wild joy he was promising would be hers.

“Do you want
me?” His mouth was at her ear but his finger had slid away, his
thumb disappeared.

“Yes!” She
didn’t hesitate, wanting it all back, wanting it immediately and
willing to do anything to get it.

His hand was
still gone and she arched her back, her breath ragged, her fingers
desperately running down his arm to find his hand and pull it back
to where it was. But this was thwarted, Douglas captured her hand
in his and pulled her arm over her head, his body settling on hers
as he caught her other wrist and imprisoned both over her head in
one of his hands.

Then she felt
him yanking at his trousers, then parting her legs and settling
between them and, finally, she felt him there, just at the edge and
not moving any closer.

She
wanted him closer. She
needed
him closer.

She needed him
inside her.

She realised
her eyes were closed when they flew open and she saw him watching
her, his indigo gaze boring into hers.

“Douglas,” she
whispered and the minute she uttered his name, he slammed into her
with a heady ferocity that she welcomed without question. Her hips
lifted to receive him, her legs moved to open herself to him, one
wrapped around his hip, the other curling around the back of his
thigh.

He let go of
her wrists and both of his hands went to pull her hips boldly
upward to meet his thrusts, deepening them, his open lips on hers,
receiving her moans in his mouth, every once in awhile his tongue
shooting out to duel with her own.

She’d never,
not once, climaxed simply with a man inside her but she felt it
building now, felt her muscles tensing with anticipation, her legs
tightening, her fingers clawing, her mouth searching… and then he
was gone. His body completely still, he was suspended where she
could feel the promise of him but she didn’t have him.

She arched
against him in desperation, pressed her hips down, sought him
soundlessly and through all this he withheld from her.

She bit her
bottom lip, her nails dragging down his back and when she could
take it no more, when she thought she would likely die if she
didn’t feel him inside her again, she pressed her mouth against
his, looked into his dark eyes and begged, “Please.”

Hearing that
word, he drove into her violently, burying himself to the hilt
inside her, and she exploded, her entire body tensed, wrapping him
fiercely in her limbs as if she would never let go and she went
completely still. Except her mouth, which emitted a prolonged moan
that eloquently informed him of the profound pleasure tearing
relentlessly through her body.

He’d joined
her moments later and she registered it with contented feminine
knowledge but was still too immersed in the residual shudders and
tingles of her own climax to watch. Then she felt the weight of his
body settle against hers.

Her response
was to tighten her arms and legs.

They lay
there, still joined, his heavy weight pressing her into his soft
bed while her mind fought for control over her body, and lost.

It had never,
ever, been this good. She hadn’t even imagined it could be, not in
her wildest dreams. She felt an intoxication that had nothing to do
with seven glasses of champagne and no matter how hard her common
sense struggled to remind her that this was a frightening risk, she
delighted in it.

Douglas lifted
his head and looked at her. She didn’t know what to say so, for
once, she said nothing at all.

“Do not ever
flirt with another man in front of me,” he growled so ferociously
his command throbbed through both of their bodies.

She blinked at
him in surprise.

So
that
was why he
was angry.

She lifted a
palm and laid it gently against his cheek. “Douglas, if this is my
punishment for flirting, I’m afraid I’m going to have to do it more
often.”

He didn’t
move.

“In fact,” she
went on, “I may do it all the time. I might start flirting with
Nick,” she informed him and his arms stole around her, his weight
bearing heavily on her. “And even Carter,” she breathed, because
his body on hers was taking her breath away, in more ways than one.
“You’re crushing me,” she whispered softly in his ear.

She no
sooner said it than she lost his arms and
him
as he pulled out of her and away, dropping to the
side, half-on her, half-off, lifting himself on his elbow to look
down at her.

She may have
been teasing but she saw that he was not amused.

He watched her
and then asked bluntly, “Are you going to marry me?”

His eyes were
intense and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

She wanted to
say something flippant.

She wanted to
rush home to the safety of Indiana, her old house, her old job, her
old life, her old grocery store where she knew where the cake mixes
were, but she understood now that it was all too late.

“Yes,” was her
simple reply.

There was no
crowing in victory. Douglas simply rolled into her, gathering her
in his arms and he kissed her. Gone was the passion and urgency and
in its place was complete and surprising tenderness which left her
a different kind of breathless.

Then he
carefully pulled away and, nearly reverently, swept off her shoes
and stockings, righted her body on the bed and pulled her under the
sheets. He discarded the rest of his clothes and met her there,
pulling her back into his arms.

She wanted to
talk to him, for him to reassure her, for something to be said that
would be a hallmark of this momentous occasion.

Instead, she
asked teasingly, “So, you liked the dress?”

His response,
“It’s obvious you think this is incredibly amusing but allow me to
educate you. Men do not like to be teased.”

He was lying
on his back and had pressed her against his side and she’d laid her
head on his shoulder.

“I gathered
that,” Julia mumbled, his hand drifted to her bottom and he may
have been about to give her a smack but she didn’t feel it because
the intensity of her climax suddenly stole over her and she drifted
to sleep.

Now, she was
awake and she needed the bathroom, she needed a moment to herself,
she needed a moment to think.

She shifted
slightly and his arms tightened.

“Douglas,” she
whispered, not knowing if he was awake or asleep, “I need to use
your bathroom.”

Apparently he
was awake for his arms loosened. She slid out of them and rolled
off the bed.

Not
entirely comfortable with ambling around his still-lit bedroom
completely nude with him half-asleep, or not (she’d learned
that
lesson the night of the gunshot
wound), she grabbed the closest thing at hand, which was his shirt.
She shrugged it on, avoiding looking at him and scurried to one of
the two doors she could see, hoping it led to the
bathroom.

Thankfully, it
did.

As with his
bedroom, it was decorated in deep chocolate browns, dusky blues and
sharp chartreuses. She quickly went about her business and, at the
basin, after washing her hands, she stared at herself in the
mirror.

She nearly
laughed out loud.

Her hair
hadn’t moved. It was still twisted in its elegant coils as if she
hadn’t just been thoroughly satisfied by a rapacious baron.

She’d just
lifted her hands to begin to release her hair from its pins when
the door flew open.

She
jumped.

“What are you
doing?” Julia demanded, staring in the mirror at Douglas standing
behind her in his glorious nakedness, his lean, muscled body
nonchalantly exposed to her eyes, which were shining in disbelief
at his intrusion. Her arms were lifted and her hands were stilled
in the process of taking the hairpins out of her the hair at the
back of her head.

He looked at
her, also through the mirror. “You were taking a long time.”

“What? Did you
think I was going to crawl out the window?”

He walked
forward and stopped. She felt the heat of his naked body against
her back, his eyes still on hers in the mirror and his hands
settled on her waist.

“Honestly?” he
asked.

She
nodded.

“I wouldn’t
put it past you.”

She couldn’t
help herself, she burst out laughing.

When she
finished, she noticed he was still watching her in the mirror, no
amusement in
his
eyes.