“But,” she shifted uncomfortably and then looked at him before suddenly and exasperatedly bursting out, “quit staring at me like that!”
“Like what?”
“Like… like that!” she retorted, with a jerk of her head toward him, clearly thinking her words were an explanation (which they were not).
He lifted his good hand, palm up.
“Oh forget it, forget the chat too, I’m tired,” she snapped.
“Julia.” He stood, deciding it was time to take control of the conversation. She whirled on him and he expected another one of her brilliant tirades, a pouring forth of one of her lists. But instead her shoulders drooped, she turned her head to the side and she pulled a shaking hand through her hair.
“I can’t believe you’ve been shot,” she whispered. “What on earth are you doing that puts you in the way of a bullet? What is it that the police can’t be involved?” He walked toward her and she turned her face to him. “I want to be your friend, Douglas. I think I could be happy here, with the kids, in this house, having a challenging job. If you would just help a little and be my friend.” Her voice was aching and he felt an odd, unfamiliar feeling of tenderness as he stopped before her. “But I can’t let myself like you if I think something’s going to happen to you. I have to protect myself, protect the children.”
She was suffering from a hint of post-traumatic stress, he imagined, and he moved closer to her, gathering her warm body in his one good arm.
She leaned away, arching her back against his arm and looking up at him.
“I talked with Nick today,” he explained quietly.
He felt a hint of gratification when her eyes flared with hope. “Yes?”
“Yes,” he assured her and saw, as well as felt, the relief flood through her as she realised what he was saying. He felt the strange stirring again at the thought of doing something of which she so obviously approved.
“I’m glad. For us and for you too,” she whispered.
“Now,” he said, setting that topic aside, “about your being my friend.”
She nodded her head. “I’d really like that, Douglas.”
“I would too.” His gaze dropped to her lips and he watched the tips come up in a happy smile.
“I’m so glad,” she breathed, more relief, so much it made her tense body relax against his. “This is going to work so well, I promise,” she stated brightly, obviously misinterpreting what he said.
“Julia.” She was pushing against his arm trying to get away; he tightened it and swept her against his body. He felt her soft br**sts press against his arm in the sling and the warmth of her body and he liked both.
“Oh,” she muttered, lifting her head again to look at him. “What?” She was still straining against his arm and it was causing pain in his opposite shoulder.
“Stop trying to pull away, it’s hurting me,” he told her and she immediately stilled.
They watched each other for awhile and then she gave into her curiosity and asked, “Is there something more?”
Douglas noted her tone was slightly strained.
“It’s about us being friends.”
“Yes?”
“I’d be delighted to be your friend,” he told her.
“I… I thought we’d established that. I’ll be delighted to be your friend too.”
He nodded.
So did she, but hers was jerky and unsure.
“But I also intend to be your husband.” Her body stiffened again and she started to pull away but glanced at his sling and stopped then her eyes flew to his in fear.
Douglas ignored her look, determined to move to the next phase in his strategy and went on. “Julia, I intend to be your lover.” With Julia’s soft warmth pressed so close, he could smell her. Both the feel of her and her scent made his body begin to tighten in an intensely pleasant way so that, when he spoke, his voice deepened, became hungry, as he, again, made his intentions clear but this time, he made them clearer. “I intend to sleep in sheets that smell of tangerines and jasmine. I intend to have your na**d body squirming under mine. I intend to touch you everywhere with my hands and my mouth. I intend to memorise the taste of you, to make you call my name while I’m moving inside you, to make you so excited you beg me to let you come…”
“Stop it,” she whispered but her voice was husky, her frame had softened, moulding to his and, in her eyes, there was a mixture of warmth and panic.
Progress.
Now, Douglas thought, to make myself perfectly clear.
“I’ll do whatever I have to do. Even break our rule,” he promised, thinking about Lizzie.
The warmth in her eyes gave way to the panic.
“You wouldn’t!” she gasped.
“I would,” he assured her bluntly and her eyes widened then narrowed.
“That’s low,” she accused.
“I get what I want,” he vowed. “I’m a patient man but my patience is running out.”
“Why do you want to marry me? Be my lover?” Her voice rose hysterically. “Douglas, it’s mad!”
He stared at her quizzically. Could she not know her effect on him, on Nick, on Oliver, on men in general?
The thought was ludicrous, all women knew. They knew it and they used it.
All of them.
“Don’t ask ridiculous questions,” he clipped, his voice impatient. “It doesn’t suit you.”
Her mouth fell open and then snapped shut.
Suddenly, she dropped her head and exerted gentle pressure on his arm.
“Okay, fine, you’ve made your point. No truce, no compromise, the battle still rages.” She was talking quietly but sarcastically. He could not read her mood, couldn’t see her face but something in her tone made him let her go.
She quickly took several steps away.
“You should know,” she said when she looked at him, her face carefully controlled but her eyes were still glittering with something he could not read, “that there will be consequences to all of this. I doubt you’ll understand it, that it will even penetrate that reserve of yours, but it will happen.”
He had no idea what she meant and when he started to ask she shook her head.
She moved toward the dressing room. “Please, just go. For tonight, let me be the winner.”
Without looking back, she entered the dressing room and closed the door behind her.
After a moment of gazing at the door, he did as she asked and left.