Sommersgate House (Ghosts and Reincarnation #2)(127)

She shifted and lifted herself up on her elbow to look down on him.

The draperies were open and moonlight was spilling into his bedroom. She could see his face in shadowed relief and she allowed herself a moment to think of what a brave man he was. He had survived an abusive childhood and created, all on his own, the masterpiece that lay before her.

She couldn’t help herself, she smiled with pride.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“I’ve no idea,” Douglas replied, watching her, his eyes heavy-lidded, his hand moving on her behind.

“Have you slept?” she asked, twisting around to see the clock on his bedside table and noting it was not nearly as late as she expected.

“No,” he answered.

Her head swung back to him.

“Why not? You must be exhausted.” He had to be after all that had happened that night. She was.

“No, Julia, I’m anything but exhausted.” And his hand tightened on her bottom.

She let out a little, happy laugh even as her body reacted to his words.

“If this is my future, you’ll wear me out in six months, a year tops,” she told him.

“I’ll take my chances,” he returned and Julia noted his voice was throaty, sexy and held a tantalising promise.

She shivered and, like everything else she was feeling, it was a very happy shiver.

Julia lifted her hand from his chest and tentatively touched the small scar on his lip. In all the time it was there, she would never have dared to ask what she was about to ask.

But now, because she was going to be his wife (and felt she had a right to know and this thought thrilled her) she dared. “How did you get this?”

He answered without hesitation, “Knife.”

She yanked her hand away with a shocked gasp and she could almost feel the blood drain from her face.

“Knife? You had some crazy lunatic wielding a knife close to your face?” Her body became stiff, she pushed up to a sitting position, dislodging his hand, holding the sheets to her chest and twisted to look down at him. “They could have… I don’t believe it! They could have really hurt you!”

“What they did didn’t exactly feel good,” he muttered, moving to his side and up on his elbow.

“They could have put an eye out!” Her panic was rising as was her drama. “They could have slit your throat! How on earth did you get in a knife fight?”

“That’s all over now, Julia.” His voice was firm and it gave her a modicum (a very small modicum) of assurance.

The idea of any sharp object hovering near his handsome face, much less slicing into it, made Julia shudder. In an attempt to hide her reaction, she reached out and pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen to his forehead. The minute she took her hand away, the lock fell where it was before. Julia found that endearing and she also found the fact that she had every right to touch him felt splendid. She decided to focus on that rather than envisioning a knife close to his face.

Even so, she felt a point should be made, so she touched his scar again with her finger and said, “Well, I hope they got what was coming to them and I don’t ever meet whoever they were. You don’t carry a knife, do you?”

“No, I’ve never carried a knife.” She could swear his voice held a tinge of amusement.

She was not amused.

“You frighten me sometimes, Douglas,” she admitted on a whisper.

At that, he surged up and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her neck.

“It’s all over,” he promised and she felt his lips moving against her skin with his words.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak and forcing herself to believe.

Earlier that night, after he’d asked her to seduce him, he’d taken over (of course) and half-dragged, half-carried her upstairs to his bedroom. They made love, well, not exactly made love, it was too hot, too needy, too urgent, too intense to be described as “making love”.

However, the second time, they did make love. It was slow and sweet and she had the opportunity to explore his body, touch him, tease him, taste him before it became out-of-control, gloriously insistent and demanding.

Glowing and satiated, they lay still joined intimately, her face in his beautifully-muscled, masculine throat and she whispered against the underside of his chin, “I’m hungry.”

They dressed slowly, Douglas pulling on a pair of jeans and a burgundy sweater, Julia putting her dress back on. He grabbed another of his sweaters, this one moss green. He yanked it over her head and she swam in it but it would help to keep out the chill and she was touched by his gesture.

They padded down to the kitchen, barefoot and hand-in-hand. The house had been put to sleep for the night and she couldn’t believe that at one time she found it frightening and sinister.

Now it was just home.

She knew its corners and its shadows. She knew where the edges of the carpets were and how to avoid the furniture in the dark. She was beginning to realise she loved it there, it was Douglas’s and now so was she and thus she belonged at Sommersgate. That sense of belonging made her feel wonderful.

They entered the kitchen and Julia thought she’d have to cook their food.

Instead, they found Mrs. K sitting at the kitchen table, her hands busy with knitting, her eyes trained on a portable television that had been hastily set up, probably by Mr. K.