He ignored her reaction and did what he’d wanted to do since her first night at Sommersgate, indeed, since he first saw her fifteen years ago.
Douglas kissed her.
While one arm held her tightly against him, wrapped around her waist, his other hand slid down her back to splay across the small and press her h*ps more tightly against his.
She pushed against his chest with more strength and moaned a suffocated denial against his lips, opening her mouth under his. Given this golden opportunity, he took unfair advantage, sliding in his tongue and deepening the kiss.
The moment his tongue touched hers, his body ignited. She tasted of a hint of coffee with an underlying sweetness that was intoxicating. Both his arms closed around her pulling her more deeply into him as his tongue went from invading to coaxing. He used it to tease her and his hands to mould her against his hard body.
This, he was pleased to note, worked.
He felt her hands abruptly stop pushing against his chest and they started to slide up, stopping when her fingers curled at his shoulders to hold on. Her lips relaxed and her head slanted to give him better access.
He didn’t hesitate in accepting her invitation.
It was then the kiss went wild.
She clung to his shoulders, her fingernails biting into his flesh as she matched his heat, her tongue duelling with his. He felt his blood heating, his heart pounding, her body remarkably hot through her clothes.
Finally, one of her hands lifted, gliding up his neck, her fingers slid into his hair as she held his head to hers, giving herself fully to the kiss. She pressed her soft body to his, the heat of her searing his skin through his clothes as her passion exploded. She gave him everything he wanted and he took it, gladly, and then took more. He heard her moan again but this time not in denial but with desire, the sound of it sending his blood speeding through his veins and he pulled her body even closer to him, trying to absorb her very essence.
He had expected it to be good but he hadn’t expected it to be like this.
She tasted sweet and she smelled of tangerines and jasmine. All he could do was feel her, taste her and smell the exotic scent which defined her – delicious, tangy, soft, wet and gorgeous. She surrounded his senses so completely that everything else but her faded away. The sensations were so extreme, he was sorely tempted to throw her on the ground and have her right there in the dining room.
His body tightened at the thought and before he could lose all control, he tore his mouth from hers and took a ragged breath.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
She pulled out of his arms and stood shakily in front of him with the fingers of both hands pressed to her lips. Her green eyes had darkened to jade and she was staring at him in wonder.
“Jesus,” he repeated, this time as a curse to stop himself from reaching for her again before her reason returned and the moment was shattered.
He knew, though, that it was way too soon and Douglas was an expert strategist. He would never make a move toward a desired goal before the time was right.
“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice low and soft, nearly a whisper, but there was accusation in it.
“I’m leaving for a few days, I’m not certain when I’ll return,” he returned instead of answering her, trying to regain some control.
“No!” was her startling reply. She sounded frightened and her eyes flew to the door where Monique had exited.
“Julia,” he said her name but watched as she looked away from him and seemed to be fighting to gain some control.
“Fine,” she replied, changing her mind like quicksilver. “Fine, I’ll be fine, we’ll all be fine. Just go.”
She wouldn’t be fine and she was beginning to understand it. And, for some reason, this pleased him.
“I’ll leave you my mobile number. Call if you need me or you can always get me through Samantha.”
She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin. “We’ll be fine.”
“I’ll leave you the number, just in case.”
“Why did you kiss me?” she asked again, her voice stronger, her eyes flashing, her tone demanding.
Why did he kiss her?
And, more to the point, why had he decided she would be his wife?
Because of her poignant story about the children kissing their parents good-bye?
Because in less than a week, the children were already responding to her when over four months under his mother and his nominal care they were more and more withdrawn and detached, going through the motions of childhood without anchor?
Because his mother was such a bitch and any relationship he had with Julia would drive her insane, an idea which, he had to admit, he found he liked very much?
Because of her charm and grace and the way she looked just as resplendent in blue jeans as she did in satin?
Because of that green dress, her long legs, her shapely ass and her flashing eyes?
Because he’d been waiting fifteen long years to have her underneath him and he decided he was finished waiting?
Or simply because he’d just decided she’d make an excellent baroness, that perhaps Tamsin wasn’t so crazy after all and this lovely creature before him would do spectacularly well in a life by his side?
“To say good-bye,” was all he said to explain.
She stared at him like he was mad.
“Call me if you need anything,” he finished.
And before he grabbed her again, which was exactly what he wanted to do, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Chapter Eight
The Game
Julia lay on her bed and stared at the dark ceiling. The scratching was at the window but she’d drawn the drapes.
She had to draw the drapes because last night, she’d seen what was scratching.
It was Ruby’s imaginary friend. Except, he wasn’t imaginary. He was real. Not real, exactly, a ghost. A man, handsome and tall and wearing an old-fashioned suit from some time that Julia didn’t know. He had dark hair and dark eyes and the only good thing about him was that he wanted to get in but he couldn’t. She knew that because she saw him try… and fail.
“Damn,” she whispered, tossing in her bed, “damn, damn, damn!”
The last two weeks had been an absolute nightmare.
A nightmare named Monique.
The woman was awful, she was truly awful.
Julia tried to find something good or nice in everyone and every night she’d been wracking her brain trying to find one teeny, tiny, little characteristic that Monique had that was likable or even acceptable.
There were none.
The staff feared her, Veronika most of all. And Julia could see why. At the best of times, Monique was imperious. The worst of times, she was scathing. Julia had witnessed her coldly tearing apart Veronika for missing some speck of dust or not polishing the banister to a high enough sheen and she’d been astounded by the woman’s sheer evil. She acted like Veronika had thrown a wild crack party and accidentally burned the house down.