He looked exactly what he was, lord of the manor, master of all he surveyed. With that sexy scar on his lip and that even sexier glint in his eye, instead of looking like a man who was born to it, he looked like a man who had seized it.
This thrilled her, annoyed her and scared the living daylights out of her all at the same time.
He wore a soft suede jacket the colour of clay and a forest green turtleneck over faded blue jeans and boots. Slap a cowboy hat on his head and he was the GQ version of the damned Marlboro Man.
“Dinner is in half an hour,” she repeated tersely.
“I heard you,” he replied.
She walked away, hoping that he wouldn’t follow her.
He didn’t.
Then she hoped for the disappointment that came from him not following her would go away.
It didn’t either.
* * * * *
“And he sits the best horse ever,” Lizzie enthused with the fervour of a zealot.
Everyone was sitting around the huge dining room table eating dinner. Even though Julia loved chilli, she found she wasn’t hungry. This was probably because she was extremely aware that Douglas was sitting to her left side. Every time she looked at his hands, she thought of what they could do to her body. Every time she looked at his face, her eyes dropped to his lips and then she thought about what they could do (and, as if he could read her mind, those lips twitched at the corners which then made her want to crash the nearest, undoubtedly priceless vase over his head).
Since their return that afternoon, she had gone from worrying about what Douglas would do next to worrying about what she would do if she was pregnant. Then she started to get angry about what Sean had likely done. Now, she was frustrated at Lizzie who seemed to want to convince Julia that Douglas was, at any moment, going to walk calmly outside and fly, such were his superhuman powers.
“He’s going to teach me to play polo,” Willie said through a mouthful of chilli.
Et tu, Willie? Julia thought, her eyes rolling to the ceiling.
“I’m gonna play polo too!” Ruby shouted, not wanting to be left out.
“Do you know how to ride, Julia?” Douglas asked, his deep baritone rumbling over her like a caress.
She ignored the caress and answered the question. “No.”
“You do too!” Lizzie accused. “We all went riding at Pokagon State Park.”
Julia watched the girl closely to see if there would be any negative response to a verbally acknowledged memory that involved her parents. None of the children seemed to notice and she allowed her quick bout of tenseness to subside.
Julia swept a glance passed Douglas who was looking at her with what appeared, to her stunned disbelief, to be smugness.
She turned her attention to her chilli, pretending to go about the business of actually eating it when she’d only been able to manage two mouthfuls and she stirred it around.
“Lizzie-babe, I hardly think some cowboy getting me up on a two hundred year old horse by pushing me up with a shove on my behind and then riding it docilely in a line with ten other people for half an hour constitutes as ‘knowing how to ride’.”
“Yeah, that was funny. Even in the line, you nearly fell off,” Willie added then turned to inform Douglas, “She didn’t take her hands off the pommel the entire time. The cowboy guy eventually had to ride beside her the whole way.”
Another glance showed that Douglas no longer looked smug, he looked annoyed.
Willie, now a veritable font of information, told Douglas, “And she walked around for the rest of the day like she had a tree between her legs.”
Julia gritted her teeth.
Douglas grinned.
“What’s for pudding?” Ruby screeched and Julia could have kissed her youngest niece for changing the subject even if Julia wasn’t certain she’d ever stop the ringing in her ears.
“All right, everyone,” Julia ordered, “plates rinsed and in the washer.”
She managed dessert without too much of an effort and Douglas thankfully disappeared for the rest of the evening, leaving her to take care of the kids and then hurry to her own room in an attempt to avoid him.
Even though it was early, she prepared for bed. In a gesture toward confidence-building, she pulled on her favourite nightie, a short, spaghetti-strapped, strawberry-coloured cotton wisp of material with little embroidered peach flowers and peach lace around the hem and neckline.
She tried to read but all she could do was think.
So she quit reading and turned off the light and tried to sleep.
Still, all she could do was think.
She wasn’t falling in love with Douglas Ashton.
Julia was in love with him.
In fact, there was a very good possibility she’d been in love with him for fifteen years.
She probably even married Sean because he reminded her of Douglas (she decided it was a good idea to blame Douglas for her first marriage fiasco, it helped her stay focused).
She was in love with Douglas and forced to live with him for, at least, the next twelve years of her life. What on earth she had done to deserve this dastardly end, she did not know. And, if the last two months were anything to go by, she didn’t think she would make it for another two months let alone more than a decade.
If he didn’t leave her alone, she wouldn’t be able to resist him.
And she had to resist him. No matter what Charlie said, Lizzie wanted or even Mrs. K apparently hoped for, she had long since vowed to herself she was never going to let another man like Douglas into her heart. He wasn’t Sean, she knew, and he wasn’t her father either.
But he wasn’t Gavin.
Gavin had loved his wife with a powerful distraction that was unlike anything Julia had ever seen and definitely nothing she’d ever known. When he married Tamsin and he said his vows, he nearly shouted the roof off the Cathedral, he was so proud to say them. Any other man would have looked the fool, but not Gav, and Julia knew every woman’s heart in that church melted because that’s what happened to her own.
Julia wanted a man like that and if she couldn’t have it (which she knew she couldn’t), then she wanted no man at all.
She was self-sufficient and capable and didn’t mind being alone.
But she was tired of her loneliness, tired of fending for herself, tired of not having anyone to talk to her about her day or help her if the car had a flat tire.
She wanted to be cared for and protected; she admitted to herself this was true.
But she wanted it with devotion and in the meantime (which would be for always) she knew she could take care of herself.
She had no other choice.
It was easy for Charlie to tell her to settle, she had Oliver and he blatantly worshipped the ground Charlie walked on. He might do it sometimes with exasperation at her crazy antics, but he did it and would do it, for all time.
Julia was a game to Douglas, he made that perfectly clear. He’d had dozens, maybe scores, it could even be hundreds of women for all she knew. She was just one in the long queue and, more than likely, not the last one.
Once he’d conquered her, he’d move on.
That was what she feared, that was what she would have to avoid, that was why she could not let him win. Because she knew that if she let him see what was in her heart and he couldn’t reciprocate it, then she would be lost. He would go on with his life and she would be left picking up the pieces. Again. By herself. She doubted he’d be cruel, but was thoughtless indifference any less unkind than outright abuse?
She finally fell into a fitful sleep and dreamed of Douglas, one of those vivid dreams, so realistic it was almost like it could actually be happening. Now, with the intimate knowledge of what it was like to be with Douglas, the dream was all the more intense.
He was behind her, his hard body pressed the length of her. His mouth was at the back of her neck then behind her ear then he was nipping her earlobe with his straight, white teeth. His hands were
all over her, hot and strong, one stroking tantalisingly at the underside of her breast while the other one slid underneath her to wrap around and cup her between her legs. A finger idly stroked her there, deliciously teasing.
She pressed back into him; she had no need to protect herself from a dream. She wiggled her behind into his groin and heard a low groan which caused a shudder to pass through her and a flush of heat to spiral from her stomach downwards where a glorious ache had begun.
The hand between her legs changed position, coming up to cup a breast while his free hand pressed into her underwear, his knee forced itself between her legs from behind just enough to part them and give him better access.
Then his finger slid inside her.
Her head tilted back and she whimpered low while lush sensations shot out across her body from between her legs. At the same time the pad of his thumb stroked across her nipple and his finger disappeared from between her legs, only to come back as two, filling her more completely. His thumb found just the perfect spot between her legs and she started to move, nestling her bottom into his lap at the same time pressing into his fingers. Her hand found his arm, sliding down, holding his and feeling it while he tormented her.
The minute her hand found his, his body moved slightly, his mouth came to her ear and she heard him say in a husky voice, “Julia.”
Though it was not Dream Douglas saying her name, it was Real Douglas.
Her eyes flew open but it was too late, her body had betrayed her, she couldn’t stop moving, pressing against him, using her hand to encourage him. The ache was building to fever pitch, he was pressing, stroking, soon, she knew, it would be over, she could feel it coming and she wanted it more than breath.
But knowing he was there, she wanted him, not his hand and even as her body begged him to bring her to climax by pressing against his, she tried to turn toward him.
His arms tensed immediately, holding her in place against him but still away from him.
“No, Julia. This is for you.”
“I want…” she whispered but it was too late, the sensations overcame her words and with a small cry, her back arched, her pelvis ground into his hand and the pleasure tore through her violently and when the first wave ended, his hand continued its work and to her shocked outcry of, “Oh!” (which didn’t half do it justice), the second wave began. Somewhere in her dazzling double climax, her dazed mind noted she felt Douglas smile against her neck.
When the luscious tension ebbed out of her body, his hands slid away, his lips drifted across her shoulder and he disappeared.
As in, he left the room.
She lay there, her body spent, her mind still full of hazy cobwebs of desire.
And she lay there, satisfied, but alone.
She wanted to forget it, to ignore it, go to sleep and worry about it tomorrow. She wanted to think of it as another crazy day in a life full of crazy days since moving to England.
But she couldn’t.
And because she couldn’t, instead of bursting into tears of frustration (and longing) Julia began fuming.
Then her ruminating anger turned to fury.
She whipped the covers off the bed and the minute she did, Archie started scratching at the window and The Mistress slid arcticly through her ankles.
“Oh, bugger off!” she seethed and distractedly she noticed the scratching stopped immediately and the draught melted away.
In the darkness, she paced the room once then twice then went to the door, wrenching it open only to whirl around and pace the room again. She tried to calm herself, tried to figure out why she was so furious, because it wasn’t all that surprising, she wouldn’t put anything passed Douglas.
Then she knew.
“I mean, how dare he?” she muttered to no one.
He was playing with her, toying with her, he knew exactly what he could do to her and he was using her own body against her.
He didn’t fight fair.
Well, she thought, two could play at that game.
With long, angry strides, she exited her room and went to his, half-blinded by fury, feeling as if her head would explode.
Not wanting to wake the children, she carefully opened the door to his sitting room and just as carefully closed it with a noiseless click.
The sitting room was dark but the door was open to his bedroom and a soft light came from there. She crossed the sitting room quickly and surged into his bedroom.
She’d caught him fresh from the shower, walking across the room rubbing his wet hair with a towel while another towel was wrapped around his waist. She noted that there were still droplets of moisture on his broad shoulders.
He halted the moment he saw her.
“Julia,” he said warily catching the look in her eye. His hands holding the towel dropped.
“Tomorrow, I’m leaving. I’m moving home to America and I’m taking the children with me,” she announced and she watched, with not a small amount of fear, as his face grew hard.
“The hell you are,” he replied, wariness obliterated and instant rage in its place.
“Watch me,” she retorted and turned on her heel, whirling around but before she got to the door, he was there, quick and quiet as a cat, and he slammed it shut right in front of her. She felt the whoosh of air as it whipped closed.
She jolted to a stop and then turned to him.
“I’m leaving,” she repeated.
“You leave, you leave the children behind.” His eyes were glowing dangerously but she ignored it.
“You promised you wouldn’t bring the children into it.” She threw in his face.
“I lied,” he stated calmly.
She pursed her lips, her fury a tempest behind her eyes.
Then, she hissed, “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
“Oh yes, Douglas, I do,” she assured him.
At that, he advanced on her and she could no longer ignore the look in his eyes, their dark blue turning midnight. His lips had tightened and the scar came out in bold relief, making him even more menacing.
She retreated.
“You can’t make me stay,” she said, her anger melting into bravado.
He quirked an eyebrow, tossing the towel he was holding to the side. “No?”
He took it as a challenge that she should have been smart enough not to throw at him but she wasn’t feeling in the mood to be smart.
“And I’ll take the children with me, you’ll have to fight me for custody,” she threatened as he kept at her and she continued to retreat, walking backwards. He was quickly closing in on her, barely a step away.
“I’ll do it,” he warned. “I’m far richer than you and they’re British citizens, I doubt international law would smile upon kidnapping.”
“It wouldn’t be kidnapping, I have custody!”
“It would if Baron Blackbourne says it was.”
“You wouldn’t do that!” she burst out.
“Try me,” he snarled and she reared back, coming to the end of her retreat when her knees hit something soft and solid and she toppled backwards onto the bed.
“Well done, darling,” he drawled.
She started to scramble away, thinking what a fool she was for retreating toward the bed but he swiftly caught her ankle and yanked her effortlessly back across the comforter. She yelped and twirled and then watched as, with a rough jerk, he pulled the towel away at his hips.
“Don’t touch me!” she snapped.
He loomed over her. “When I’m done, I’ll have you begging me, you’ll press your wet, tight –”
“No!” She shoved at him.
It was too late. He was there, he was driven, he was furious and he was going to have exactly what he wanted and there was nothing Julia could do about it.
To her extreme humiliation, she melted within moments of his mouth landing on hers, his hands on her body and his hardness against her. He seemed to be everywhere and her body wanted him, her heart wanted him, it was only
her mind that wouldn’t allow her to have him.
And she kissed him back, nipped his shoulder with her teeth and licked away the moisture there. She gasped in his ear and ran her nails up his spine. He left her long enough to tear her underwear down her legs and then he was back, she opened her legs to welcome him and he was gliding inside her. He was fully ready for her and she was long since ready for him.
She arched her back and neck and knew he had won.
But, throughout it all, silently, she was crying.
His mouth took hers again in a brutal kiss while his hips pounded into her and she gloried in it at the same time her grief was engulfed by his passion. He tore his lips away and her breath gave a stuttered hitch from the soundless weeping but he didn’t notice. He slid his cheek down hers, slammed his groin into her and her neck arched with delight and despair at the pleasure of just how deep he was.
She wanted to hold him there forever.
It was then his head came up and his body stilled.
She tensed.
“Julia?” His voice was hoarse and as he looked down on her she turned her head to the side in a futile attempt to hide the tears on her face.
His hand came up to her cheek and gently moved her face to look at him. His thumb found the tears that were sliding down the sides of her eyes into her hair. He stroked her there, trailing a wet line of tears down her cheekbone to her lips so she tasted their saltiness.
“Julia,” he muttered, his voice thick.
“It’s okay,” she told him, her voice shaky, her hips moving because he was still buried inside her. His body tightened, his muscles stiffening under her hands. “Really, Douglas, it’s okay. You win, for tonight, you win,” she whispered.
His forehead dropped to rest on hers, the length of his nose pressing against hers and he closed his eyes as if he was in pain.
“It doesn’t have to be like this.” He was moving again, gently, sliding in and out with sweet, agonising slowness.
“I bring out the worst in people,” Julia admitted haltingly, “especially men.”
He groaned, low and deep and it sounded like there was pain mixed with his pleasure. He kissed her, not with brutal passion but this time tenderly, a kiss like none she’d had from him before, a kiss that made something bud inside of her, awaken and start to grow.