Sommersgate House

by Kristen Ashley

  Then, that was it. Charlie and Oliver had come in from London for the evening and found them. Charlie swept her away for a round of introductions and Charlie-induced fun. Julia hadn’t seen Douglas again except in the crowd every once in awhile. The strange thing was, every time she caught sight of him, he was looking directly at her. Still no expression on his face but she found his constant stare highly disconcerting.

  Now, Charlie determinedly pushed through the crush and just as determinedly sought out, nailed down and introduced Julia to every available (and some not-so-available) man of Julia’s age (and some a bit younger than Julia’s age). It was impossible not to laugh at Charlie’s outrageousness or, indeed, participate in it herself, enjoying every moment as the harmless diversion it was. Diversion was good, Julia needed diversion and Charlie, she was realising, gave the best diversion there was to give.

  So, she thought, as she sipped her seventh glass of champagne, she’d have a great time and Douglas could stand there and glower and scowl with Oliver, who was also glowering and scowling…

  Julia stopped laughing at something her male companion was saying, which was what she was doing when she caught sight of Douglas and she swiftly averted her gaze, a feeling of dread seeping through her.

  “Charlie,” Julia said, her voice low with warning, rudely ignoring the man at her side as a chill ran up her spine.

  Charlie threw back her head and roared with laughter at something a rather handsome man of somewhat average height was saying to her.

  Julia felt a pair of eyes, maybe two, boring hotly into her back. She hazarded a peek and then turned quickly away again at what she saw.

  It was true, she wasn’t seeing things. Douglas was glowering, scowling and now, she could say, glaring at her and Charlie.

  “Charlie.” She grabbed her friend’s arm and pulled her away from the man she was laughing with. “Excuse me, I just need a quiet word,” she explained awkwardly to the man.

  “What’s wrong?” Charlie asked, immediately registering Julia’s discomfiture.

  “Um, don’t look now but I think your husband may be a bit peeved and Douglas looks…” she glanced back and then away again as his eyes drilled into hers. “Fit to be tied,” she finished lamely.

  Charlie whirled around and gave them a bold, anxiety-free stare. “Well, well, well,” she said, “the beast awakens. About bloody time.”

  Julia’s mouth dropped open and, because she was acutely aware of being the recipient of censorious glare from across the room, she snapped it shut again before asking, “What do you mean?”

  “No time to explain, call me tomorrow. And remember, you owe me,” Charlie said mysteriously, leaned forward, kissed her cheek and then disappeared.

  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.

  Chapter Sixteen

  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 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.

  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.

  “Don’t,” he barked when he saw her movements and, at the sound of his rough voice, her hands stilled, holding the bodice in place over her breasts as she struggled into a semi-reclining position.

  He was staring at her and she was immobile in the face of h
is blazing eyes. She watched him in fascinated silence as he shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the floor. His hands moved and he yanked at his tie viciously. In one tug, it came loose and he threw it to join his jacket. Then he went to work on the buttons on his shirt.

  “Douglas…” Julia was trying for a conciliatory tone, she was half-mad with wanting him, half-sane enough to realise her own fear. She sought control of the situation, time to think. He was furious, she knew, even though she wasn’t entirely certain why, and a fury the strength of his was a frightening thing.

  But it was also something else.

  It was magnetic.

  She wanted this, she was forced to admit. She was no fool and she tried never to fool herself.

  At the same time she was terrified of it.

  He wasn’t helping her, looking at her as if he would be hanged in the morning and she was his last meal.

  He had the last button undone on his shirt then his arm reached out abruptly, grabbed her by the waist and jerked her to her feet in front of him.

  “Who chose this dress?” he asked, his hands sliding down her sides slowly.

  “Charlie,” she answered nervously.

  “Remind me to thank her,” he remarked right before he bunched the material at her hips and savagely pulled it up over her head, forcing her arms up with it. In a split second it, too, fell on the pile with his tie and his jacket.

  His hands settled on her waist, the heat of them searing her bare skin and making her shiver as he roughly pushed her a couple of inches away from his body, holding her suspended, for she would surely never have been able to stand on her own at that angle.

  Rather than cover herself, her arms fluttered down to her sides and she watched helplessly as his eyes drifted over her hungrily. She was wearing nothing but her black gloves, a pair of black, lace edged, garter-less stockings, black lace underwear, her pumps and his emerald.