Sommersgate House (Ghosts and Reincarnation #2)(77)
“That’s not good enough,” she retorted, walking toward him angrily. “In case you don’t remember, even though I can’t imagine you forgetting because I keep reminding you, but you’re also responsible for three other human beings on this earth. Whatever you’re doing that puts your life in danger has to stop. They’ve lost enough; I’m not going to let them lose you!”
He watched her eyes flare and she had ended her tirade by using one long, slim finger to poke him painfully in the chest.
She needn’t have used her physical exclamation point; he felt each word like a blow. An odd feeling stole over him, a feeling that he vaguely identified as guilt.
Julia continued. “Furthermore, what if one of the children had happened on you last night instead of me? I can imagine the years of therapy that would ensue at having a gun pointed at one of them or seeing their uncle bleeding and delirious.”
“I wasn’t delirious,” he felt it important to point out, although this conversation was beginning to be very uncomfortable, mainly because she was right.
“It doesn’t matter! Whatever it is you do with your life now affects the lives of three other people and you can add me to that list because if something happened to you, I would be left with your mother! And if that, whatever it is, happens to bring danger into this house, I have something to say about it and guns are frankly unacceptable in a house where there are children.”
He shifted uncomfortably.
“Point taken,” Douglas allowed, staring directly in her eyes and not believing his own words. He wasn’t in the habit of being wrong, must less admitting he was. Although this wasn’t an admission, it was the closest he would get.
She simply kept staring at him like she was a schoolmarm and he was a disobedient student.
“It won’t happen again,” he bit out.
“See that it doesn’t,” she demanded and he nearly burst out laughing when she ruined her well-expressed diatribe by whirling dramatically away and searching in vain on her dressing table for something. “Now where’s my damned comb?”
“I believe you threw it at me,” he informed her helpfully.
She strode back in the direction she came.
“You’re not funny,” she snapped as she walked by him.
“I’m not trying to be,” he replied in all seriousness.
“Good.” The word was clipped and he wondered how she’d feel if he kissed her. From the angry line of her back he assessed that wasn’t the brightest strategic move at that particular moment. Still, she was magnificent and he longed to do it.
“Who’s Nick?” she asked, tearing her retrieved comb through her hair and interrupting his pleasant reverie.
“Nick’s a friend.”
She eyed him, her brows raised, doing a bloody good impersonation of him.
Douglas decided to elaborate. “Let’s just say Nick’s a sort of… bodyguard.”
“If that’s the case, you need a new one,” she replied glibly and tramped back into the dressing room.
Sensing his setting-down was complete, he sought to change the subject.
“May I use your phone?” he asked courteously.
“Be my guest, it is your phone we’re talking about,” she replied, obviously not feeling less angry after her rant and Douglas was glad of it. He had to admit he was enjoying this. Julia was deeply amusing when she was in a pique.
He went to the writing desk and picked up the phone, punching in Sam’s number. There was a knock at the door and he watched as Julia strode back through, opening it and taking some clothing from Carter. She closed the door and tossed the clothes on the bed before sauntering angrily back into the dressing room. He was enjoying just watching Julia, even if she was angry (in fact, especially when she was angry), as he listened to the phone ring. He dropped his eyes and saw the e-mail she’d been writing.
Joe, you’re a darling, what would I do without you…
He didn’t read any further as he felt his stomach clench and his lips thin in an angry line.
Who the bloody hell was Joe?
Sam answered and he spoke curtly to her, “I’m out of commission for a few days. I’ll be in my office at Sommersgate.”
“You okay?” Sam asked, her voice filled with concern but he put down the phone on her question and read further.
You can’t imagine how much I needed a smile. Things could be better here…
“What are you doing?” Julia asked, back in the room and looking at him in disbelief.
Douglas lifted his eyes to her.
“Who’s Joe?” he asked in return.
Her eyes went from his to her computer and they narrowed.
Then Julia flew to the laptop and slammed the top shut before looking back at him and demanding, “Are you reading my e-mail?”
“Who’s Joe?” Douglas asked again.
“You’re impossible,” she announced in a voice that said, eloquently, that she meant it.
It was his turn to raise an eyebrow but he did this instead of throwing the laptop across the room, which was, for some absurd reason, precisely what he wished to do.
“Joe,” she started, exuding wounded patience when she realised he wouldn’t let it go, “is a friend. An assistant coach for the Indianapolis Colts who was instrumental in getting a number of players to do a fundraiser for us last year.”