Sommersgate House (37 page)

Julia had no
time to react or to do anything because the next thing she knew,
her hand was taken in a firm, almost painful grip and she heard an
iron-edged, velvet-cloaked, deep voice growl in her ear, “We’re
going.”

That’s when
she knew she was in trouble.

Julia’s
Realisation

Douglas
Ashton, Baron Blackbourne, was
not
happy.

“I’ll kill
her.” These were Douglas’s thoughts but they were uttered by his
friend, Oliver, who was standing at his side.

For the last
half an hour, Oliver and Douglas had witnessed a display of womanly
wiles so practised and successful that Douglas had no doubt his
phone would be ringing off the hook tomorrow.

Which
meant, tonight, after he was finished with Julia,
thoroughly
finished with her, he was going
to leave her exhausted, naked body in his bed and then throw every
phone in the whole damned, bloody house in the bin.

Jealousy, and
he knew exactly what the feeling was, there was not a thing vague
about it, was eating at him. A fine, red film of fury had long
since glazed his vision. The only thing that stopped him from
striding across the room and dragging her from the building was the
scene he knew it would cause.

He’d spent the
last three weeks calmly, he thought, patiently, he felt, waiting
for her to come to him. He thought, if he allowed her some space,
she’d come around to his way of thinking. If he let her have a
moment to think, to settle in, she’d stop being so bloody-minded
and realise she wanted him.

He’d been
wrong.

His
usually precise strategy had been spectacularly inaccurate. She’d
been blithely unaware of him the entire time. Only once or twice he
caught her looking at him with what he thought, even so far as
fucking
hoped
, was
longing, but nothing came of it. She was impossibly busy, always
doing something for her charity, for the kids, nursing an ailing
Mrs. Kilpatrick, setting a big bowl of spaghetti and meat sauce in
front of a grinning Nick, decorating the damned Christmas
tree.

The only time
he felt as if he was making any headway was when she’d brought her
business plan to him last night. She looked devastated when he’d
set it aside without comment and gone back to his work. He thought
his actions would make her react, finally (and verbally).

They did
not.

The truth was,
he’d been inordinately pleased she’d asked him, even trusted him to
read it and he’d reached for it the moment she left the room.

That was then,
this was now.

If she felt
she could flirt, under his nose, with practically every man in the
room, it was time for Douglas to disabuse her of that notion.

He’d only made
his decision when he caught her eye and she blinked at him, her
laughter at something the idiot at her side was saying dying on her
face.

He realised
that she knew he was displeased and that satisfied him immensely.
He watched as, in the next moments, she glanced anxiously at him a
couple of times and grabbed Charlotte.

“If you’ll
excuse me, Oliver, I think I’ll call it a night,” Douglas muttered
to his friend, deciding quickly to make his move before Julia had
any chance to make hers.

“Capital
idea,” Oliver muttered right back.

Douglas’s
angry, ground-eating strides went unfettered by the crowd as they
parted to accommodate him. In reality, they had no choice; he would
have simply run them over.

In no time at
all he had hold of Julia’s hand. She was looking away to where
Charlotte had escaped and he leaned forward and told her simply,
“We’re going.”

Her frightened
eyes flew to his face but he didn’t hesitate. He had her at the
cloakroom within moments. He tossed her wrap to her, pulled her out
the front door and practically threw her in the back of the Bentley
that Carter had, thankfully, parked close to the front steps.

Then they were
away into the night.

She waited a
few minutes before she spoke. “Is… um, Douglas?” she hesitated. “Is
there something wrong?”

He didn’t even
attempt to mask his reaction to her as he had been doing,
painstakingly, for the past three weeks.

He turned
burning eyes to hers.

“Wrong?” he
inquired, his voice steely.

The passing
streetlights illuminated his face and she shrunk away from him but
said, “Yes. Wrong.”

“Why would you
think something’s wrong?” With effort, he tore his eyes from
her.

He couldn’t
look at her in that exquisite dress without tearing it off her
equally exquisite body. He imagined Carter, who was now practically
like her favoured uncle, would find something amiss in such an
action.

When he’d
first seen her earlier that night standing in the dining room
wearing that remarkable dress and calmly adjusting her glove, he’d
nearly lost all control.

He had
never, in his entire life, been so enamoured of clothing the way he
was of Julia’s… entire…
fucking
… wardrobe. It took everything in his power to compose his
face and regard her blandly when she finally deigned to give him
her attention.

She laughed,
breaking into his thoughts, he heard the anxiety in the sound and
he was unreasonably glad of it.

“Well, we
practically ran out of there,” Julia stated nervously. “I didn’t
get a chance to say good-bye.”

She stopped
when his head swung around to regard her. “Who, may I ask, of all
the many people you met tonight, would you have liked to wish a
good evening?”

She didn’t
answer for a few moments.

Then she
surmised accurately, “Something
is
wrong.”

Douglas didn’t
reply.

Fifteen very
long minutes later, when the air in the back of the Bentley was so
thick Douglas felt it hard to breathe, they glided to a halt in the
drive of Sommersgate.

In an attempt
at escape, Julia grabbed hold of the door handle before Carter
could make it around.

Quick as
light
ning, Douglas
caught her upper arm.

“I think not,”
he bit out, his voice holding a warning.

She froze and
stared at him, caught like a startled doe in the burning heat of
his gaze.

When Carter
opened the door, she grabbed her opportunity and scrambled out.
Douglas followed her swiftly, nodded sharply to Carter and bid him
a curt goodnight.

He didn’t wait
for Carter to reply but stalked behind Julia, who had made some
headway, already had heaved the front door open and was in the
house. However, in those deliciously erotic heels, she was no match
for him and he caught her arm again as she was turning into the
dining room, heading toward her rooms.

Her cautious
gaze captured his.

“Drink?” he
inquired, his tone barely civil.

“No, thank
you,” she replied, her words polite, her voice tight. “I think I’ll
just go to bed.”

“Excellent
idea,” Douglas agreed and, not letting go, he slid his hand down
her arm, capturing hers, and pulled her towards the stairs.

“What? Where
are you…? Let go of me!” she burst out, tugging at her hand in
his.

“No,” he
returned, feeling her hand trying to pull from his, he stopped and
yanked her forward. Caught off guard at this quick change and off
balance at the jerk of his hand, she stumbled into him and his arms
locked around her.

“What’s the
matter with you?” she cried, her anxiety gone and the spirit and
fire he was used to was beginning to light her eyes.

He watched her
with smug satisfaction, enjoying her eyes sparkling. He much
preferred her this way, the fire rather than the ice. Her fire
would make this vastly more enjoyable.

She watched
him back. When she was done waiting, she pushed against his chest.
“Let me go!”

He pulled her
closer to him, his arms tightening; her soft body had no choice but
to yield to his hard one.

“No.” Her eyes
rounded in anger but he carried on. “I’m not going to let you go,
Julia. I thought I explained that to you. My patience has finally
run out. I warned you.”

And that was
when he kissed her.

It was
not a tender kiss. He meant to devour her, he meant to punish her,
he meant to let her know, in no uncertain terms, how he felt about
watching her flirt with male after male right under his nose. He’d
told her he wanted her to take his name, his hand in marriage and
her body to his bed. He’d made himself perfectly clear on those
particular subjects. He was not a man to be trifled with and he
already considered her
his.
The kiss was meant to teach her that all-important
lesson.

She tore her
lips from his.

“
What
was
that?
” she
snapped in disgust, wiping her mouth on the back of her gloved
hand.

“
That
was a
lesson.
This
is a
promise,” he replied on a growl.

And he kissed
her again, at the same time he forced her backward until she hit
the stone wall of the stairwell. She let out a small cry of protest
but he relentlessly pressed her into the wall, pressed his body
into hers, feeling the glorious heat of her seep through his
clothes. His mouth was hard and demanding but this time with hungry
passion, not anger. His hands went behind her, both of them aiming
low, one sliding over the velvet at her bottom outside her gown.
The other did exactly what he’d been imagining since he’d seen the
unbelievably sexy dip in the back of her dress. It delved in and
rounded over her buttock then he pulled her tightly against his
groin.

He counted on
her melting as she did practically every time he touched her but he
thought it would take some coaxing. He didn’t expect the minute his
hand touched her bottom, with only the thin, lacy barrier of her
underwear between his hand and her skin that she would react the
way she did.

He heard her
moan, deep in her throat, the sound nearly guttural with need. Her
back arched, her mouth opened and her tongue darted between his
lips.

He felt the
blood rush to his head, through his veins and to his cock, heating
his body to a fever as her hands went under his dinner jacket,
tearing at his shirt, pulling it free of his trousers. Then he felt
them, encased in their soft satin, gliding across the skin of his
back, his sides, roaming everywhere, trailing fire.

While his
tongue played with hers, she made a soft mew that he could swear he
felt to his very soul and then he felt her nails, made less harsh
through her gloves, drag down his back.

“God, I want
you,” he growled against her lips, his one hand still cupping her
soft, generous ass, his other hand pulling brutally at the material
at her shoulder, the strap at the back tore free and the bodice
fell to catch where his chest pressed against her breasts.

He registered
her nodding mutely as he pulled away to watch the material fall
further down, exposing her spectacular breasts to his view. With
his hand on her buttock and the other arm now tightened at her
back, he lifted her up to the tips of her toes while his head
descended and he captured one perfect nipple between his lips. He
dragged his teeth across it and felt it stiffen against his lips at
the same time he felt his body tighten with a nearly overwhelming
need and he heard a hungry moan escape Julia’s lips.

Her hands went
to his hair, her fingers sliding into it, holding his head fast. He
heard her breath catch then her body shuddered so deliciously, it
communicated itself to him and the shudder tore through his as
well. His lips closed on her nipple and drew it in sharply and she
cried out in desire, the sound so primitive, he felt it straight
into his bones.

He swiftly
moved his mouth to hers, hungry to swallow the end of her cry,
sucking her tongue into his mouth when she was done, just like he’d
done to her nipple. When he became cognizant that she was pressing
her body against his with need, her arms wrapped around his neck
with longing, he tore his mouth away.

“Do you want
me?” His voice was rough with passion, foreign to his own ears.
He’d never felt this kind of desire, this desperate need in his
entire life.

He was holding
his breath, waiting for her reply, for some reason he knew his
future depended on her answer.

Julia was
silent.

His hand
tightened on her ass.

“Do you want
me?” he growled against her mouth.

“Yes, Douglas,
I want you,” Julia breathed.

And then,
abruptly, he bent double, picked her up and, just like a bloody,
fucking caveman, Douglas threw her over his shoulder and carried
her to his bed.

* * * * *

Julia woke up
sometime in the night, her naked limbs tangled with Douglas’s.

She wouldn’t
be able to move without disturbing him and, for the time being, she
wanted to relish in the delicious moment of closeness. She wanted
to take this precious time to savour what they had shared only
hours, or maybe it had only been just moments, before.

He had carried
her up to the bedroom, not in his arms like a doting lover, but in
a fireman’s hold like a marauding Viking.

Not until he
had her through his personal sitting room and in his bedroom did he
put her down or more to the point throw her down, right in the
middle of the bed. He didn’t utter a sound, not even a grunt of
effort.

Some sanity
had returned at that point and her hands flew up to adjust the
fallen neckline of her dress while he turned on the light at the
bedside table.