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 lightning, 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.