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 cl**ax 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 cl**ax, 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.