Sommersgate House

by Kristen Ashley

  “Please don’t,” she begged on a whisper, not caring how weak she sounded because she knew she couldn’t endure much more.

  This was Douglas, handsome, compelling Douglas and she’d had a crush on him since the moment she laid eyes on him.

  Not to mention, it had been a long time for her, a dry spell, an enormous dry spell and it was like not eating for months and then being shown to a five-star, gourmet banquet. Douglas, so close, pressed against her, his hand working wonders, was the banquet and she, unfortunately, felt like gorging herself.

  His hand cupped her breast over her bra, his thumb rubbing against her nipple and Julia instantly melted. She closed her eyes and moaned low in her throat, the workings of his thumb shooting dizzying shafts of pleasure from her nipple downward through her belly straight between her legs.

  She bit her lip in an effort at control just as she clutched at his shirt.

  “Stop it,” Julia whispered, her eyes flying open to see the satisfaction on his face.

  He didn’t stop, he nibbled at her lips and they parted in a silent gasp as his thumb caught at the top edge of her bra, pulling the cup down roughly and it carried on with its earlier work, this time with no barrier, skin against skin.

  Oh my, but that feels nice, Julia thought but out loud she whimpered as the pleasure intensified.

  “Kiss me.” It was a demand this time, rumbling out from deep in his chest.

  “No,” she denied him, how she did it, she didn’t know as she was nearly at her end.

  At her denial, Douglas parted her legs with his knee, pulling her towards him, the heat of his thigh like fire on the insides of hers even through her jeans. His thumb ceased rubbing only to be immediately replaced by both thumb and forefinger providing more excruciatingly lush pleasure. Her head fell back and, against her volition, her back arched pressing her breast more deeply into his hand.

  She raised her head and stared at him with angry, passion-filled eyes. “You bastard,” she breathed and he chuckled low in his throat.

  “Kiss me,” he commanded again.

  And she did. She couldn’t help herself. She wrapped her arms around his neck, slid herself up his thigh and opened her mouth under his.

  She touched her tongue to his, her stomach somersaulted and then plummeted. His fingers righted her bra, his hand moved away from her breast and his arms slid around her, holding her so tightly it took her breath away. His mouth was demanding and insistent and she gave him everything he asked for and then more.

  And she gloried in doing it.

  Then, finally, in one move of pure strength and willpower, she tore away. Sliding to the side she quickly put five feet between them.

  “I think…” she said, her voice husky, her eyes flashing, her breath coming in halting gasps, “I hate you.”

  “Not words on which to start a lasting engagement, so I’ll focus on your actions instead.” His voice was also lusciously husky and his breath heavy but his face was set and determined.

  He walked forward, she stood her ground and she would have scratched his eyes out if he reached for her (or, at least, she told herself she would).

  He didn’t, instead he lifted his hand and just ran his thumb across her swollen bottom lip while she held herself frozen.

  To her surprise, he murmured simply, “I’ll make you happy.”

  “From current behaviour,” she snapped in return, “I find that impossible to believe.”

  He smiled at her, that devastating smile then he leaned forward, brushed her lips with his, pulled away and walked out the door.

  She stared at it in disgust, grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it at the door. Then another one and then another, until they all sat on the floor behind the door and she sat on the bed with her head in her hands and her mind blank to everything but the memory of his beautiful, mind-shattering touch.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Mistress

  Julia stood surveying herself in the three-way mirror. She wore a pair of wide-legged black trousers that hugged her low on her hips and a skin-tight camisole, the hem of which only just reached the waistband of her trousers. Over that she wore a see-through black blouse with satin edging at the buttons, collar and cuffs. She’d put in her diamond studs and tied a black velvet ribbon tight around her throat. She kept her hair long but used a blow dryer to straighten its waves. The finishing touch was a pair of silver, strappy sandals, the straps across her coral varnished toes were braided and the heel was stacked in a high, thin, black wedge.

  An hour ago Charlotte and Oliver arrived for the Thanksgiving celebrations which were to take place tomorrow. Sam followed twenty minutes later. Tonight they were going to have a light repast in preparation for the gorge-fest that was going to take place the next day.

  Even Monique had condescended to join them, more than likely because Charlie and Oliver were coming.

  Monique had been on her best behaviour the last two weeks since Douglas’s return. Although she hadn’t been around much to behave any way at all with her whirlwind of brunches, lunches, dinner parties and manicure appointments. When she was around, she kept to herself, not even bothering Douglas and completely ignoring Julia and the children.

  Douglas, as well, had been on his best behaviour.

  After his bizarre and maybe even unhinged proposal of marriage, Julia had steeled herself for the sexual onslaught that she thought would begin after she pulled herself together enough to leave her rooms to help finish the cookies. Instead, he had been the perfect gentleman, cordial, thoughtful and even, if it could be believed, friendly.

  She didn’t trust him one bit, mostly because she suspected he was unhinged due to his out-of-the-blue marriage proposal which proved, to Julia, that Douglas Ashton was completely and utterly mad.

  He, on the other hand, was around far more often then he used to be, which she felt under the circumstances, was most perverse.

  He was at the breakfast table every morning and was home every night. She knew he went into the office and even took quick day trips to meetings elsewhere in the UK and on the Continent. He might not make tea or supper or Ruby’s bedtime but he was at least home to say goodnight to Willie and Lizzie.

  But he didn’t kiss Julia, stalk her around any rooms, say anything outrageous, mention a word to the children, press a heavy, antique, heirloom engagement ring on her finger or any behaviour of the like.

  And Julia was immensely relieved (and secretly disquieted) by his behaviour. Even so, she did not let her guard down.

  Julia watched and noticed that the children were responding to Douglas being home, Monique being mostly absent and Julia having charge of their care. They clearly enjoyed a settled regime that was far less strict and a house that also included the presence of their uncle.

  The day after his proposal, Douglas had asked Sam to arrange an appointment for them at his bank to open an account for her. He’d met her there, already in the manager’s office waiting for her when she arrived. She completed forms and put up with the manager’s oily gushing to Douglas and herself.

  The whole while Douglas sat back, one foot casually resting on the other knee, one arm possessively (she knew exactly his meaning this time) draped across her chair, watching her as if witnessing the completion of forms was the height of entertainment (which meant completing the forms was far more gruelling than it needed to be).

  When they were finished and standing on the pavement outside the bank, he asked her if she’d like to go for a drink.

  “No thank you, I need to get home to the children.” Her voice was filled with acid-fuelled politeness.

  “Julia, they won’t spontaneously combust if you’re gone for a few hours.”

  She’d given him a narrow look and stalked to where Carter was waiting for her beside the Bentley.

  Like the gentleman he was apparently wanting her to believe him to be, he let her go.

  The only glitch in his charade was the one time Douglas did come home in time for tea.
After dinner, when the children went off to their homework, computer games and television, Julia had settled on the couch in the grand entry in front of a roaring fire that Carter had made. She was reading through some paperwork Charlie had sent her on charity organisations in the UK in preparation for the consultancy she would begin the next week. To her surprise, and under her distrustful eye, Douglas joined her. He had not changed out of his suit but had taken off his tie and jacket and loosened the collar of his deep green, finely-tailored shirt. He carried with him a book instead of work. Not any book, of course not, instead it was a Russian novel, printed in Russian no less.

  She surreptitiously watched him read it for awhile and determined that he did, indeed read Russian. This shocked her but she was busy ignoring him, and doing very well at it, so could not, or more to the point would not, allow herself to comment (as she very much wanted to do).

  Ruby was the first to break their hesitant peace, storming in with a loud complaint that Lizzie was watching a programme different from the one that Ruby wanted to watch.

  “Ruby, you don’t need to shout. Uncle Douglas and I can hear you perfectly,” Julia told her niece firmly but kindly. “And I thought we agreed it was Lizzie’s night to choose what was on the telly.”

  Ruby flounced away, seemingly accepting her fate but clearly unhappy about it.

  Next it was Lizzie’s turn. She wanted something to eat.

  “You don’t have to ask, honey,” Julia explained. “Do you want some help?”

  “No, I’m okay,” Lizzie replied and slunk toward the kitchen, still in the depths of her despair but Julia had little time to respond to it when Willie arrived.

  “Ruby just walked in and changed the programme,” he shouted angrily. “I was watching it and she said you told her –”

  Julia started to rise but Douglas lithely beat her to it.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he declared to her stunned surprise.

  Willie stalked off with Douglas trying to match his uncle’s ground eating strides.

  Julia gave it ten minutes then she went in search of them, her assumption being that Douglas would need some kind of assistance.

  Willie and Lizzie were alone, eating potato chips in the lounge, watching television.

  Douglas and Ruby were not there. Nor were they in the study or kitchen. They couldn’t have gone to the drawing room without her noticing them but she did use the back hall to check the billiards room, morning room and finally the library. No luck.

  She climbed the stone staircase, her steps muffled by the deep-pile, rich burgundy runner and she found them in Ruby’s room.

  Douglas was seated on the floor, his back to the wall, his long, muscular legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.

  Ruby lay beside him on her back, her head on his thigh, her legs cocked with one foot resting on her other knee while she listened with rapt attention to him reading her a story, her eyes gazing dreamily at the ceiling.

  Julia silently registered this shocking scene and crept quietly away before either of them saw her. She didn’t like what the sight of that scene made her think or feel so she tamped down any thoughts and definitely all feelings and went back to her work.

  Douglas joined her some time later and informed her Ruby was in bed, asleep.

  “Thank you,” Julia replied with a brief inclination of her head and a curt tone.

  He didn’t respond, just settled back with his book, the picture of patience and good will. It made her want to grit her teeth.

  Shortly after, she called to the other two to come and give them kisses goodnight and, once Willie and Lizzie had accomplished this chore, Julia allowed them time to prepare for bed before she rose to go to Lizzie’s room.

  “Where are you going?” Douglas asked, his eyes warm on her which made her knees go weak (a reaction she firmly ignored).

  “I need to tuck Lizzie in. I do it every night,” Julia replied, ignoring his soft gaze.

  She watched as Douglas got to his feet.

  “I’ll do it,” he told her, surprising her, and turned to walk away. Then, after only a step, he turned back and asked, “How, exactly, do I do it?”

  She forced down a smile at his disgruntled expression, too pleased that he was going to make an effort with Lizzie to be angry and she calmly explained.

  He nodded but didn’t move.

  “Yes?” she prompted.

  “Why am I doing it? She’s twelve years old.”

  “Because Gavin did it,” Julia explained quietly.

  His face changed almost imperceptibly and she expected him to refuse. However, to her relief and gratitude (which Julia felt but did not express), he nodded again and left.

  She didn’t creep up to see it, didn’t think she could bear it and instead she escaped to her own room and refused to allow herself to think about it or, indeed, anything at all.

  The night hadn’t, thankfully, repeated itself since. Julia couldn’t have borne up against that gentle of an onslaught. She had to trust that this was a genuine effort on his part and not Douglas using the children to get to her and thus breaking their only rule.

  However, it had caused a slight change in Lizzie’s behaviour as she seemed to have a bit more bounce in her step from that night onward. Julia never asked her about it but vowed that even if nothing went right for her and Douglas, she would always be thankful for his one night of kindness.

  Julia turned to her dressing table and picked up her perfume. Since that day when Douglas told her (not asked her, told her), he was going to marry her, she hadn’t used her normal scent. She told herself she wasn’t using it because she didn’t want to run out. Instead she put on the expensive French perfume her mother bought her every Christmas. It was a leftover from Sean, who used to buy it for her and she loved it so much she still used it occasionally even though it reminded her of her hated ex-husband.

  And, Julia decided, she could use reminding of rotten, selfish men who did whatever vile thing they had to do to get what they wanted.

  Everyone was to gather in the library for drinks before dinner and when she arrived, Douglas, Sam and Oliver were there as were all the children.

  “You look pretty!” Ruby shouted and Julia stopped to bend down and kiss the top of her head as Ruby ogled her shoes. “I love your shoes,” she drawled out the word “love” dramatically, giving it about five syllables and Julia laughed.

  “You can have them when I’m done with them, Ruby-girl,” Julia promised her niece.

  “Wicked!” she shouted Willie’s favourite word and the next thing she knew, Douglas was pressing a martini in her hand.

  “‘Pretty’ is not the word I would use,” he said in her ear and she flashed him a false courteous smile. “You smell lovely, something new?” he inquired lazily, his amused grin telling her that he was on to her game.

  “I’m not surprised you like it. Sean used to buy it for me. He loved it. It seems you two have things in common,” she drawled cattily and walked quickly away.

  But when she made her escape and caught his eye, Julia saw he was watching her and she could tell that he was not happy. She tried to tell herself she didn’t care but she knew that comparing him to Sean was out of line and she felt uncomfortably like a screaming bitch, mostly because she’d acted like one. It was something Monique would say. Perhaps they were playing games but she’d never been one to fight anything but fair.

  “When’s this feast being laid out?” Charlie, upon entering, greeted the entire room, making the children giggle. “I’ve heard about these American holidays and I haven’t eaten for a week in preparation.”

  And this started a night that was surprisingly and welcomingly full of laughter and teasing. Even Monique slipped only once, confiding in a stage whisper to Charlie, “Ruby. I don’t know what possessed them. Such a common name.”

  Before Charlie, who looked as if she’d just eaten something foul, or Julia, who was about ready to jump out of her chair, could reply,
Douglas did.

  “Obviously, Mother, you’re unaware that it’s a family name on both sides. I believe it’s Julia’s grandmother and also some distant ancestor of Father’s who shared the name.”

  Monique’s eyes cut toward her son, glittering quickly with ire but then she shook it off and again ignored the rest of the table in order to act the lavish hostess to an indifferent Oliver and openly beleaguered Charlotte.

  Julia shot Douglas a grateful look but he ignored it, most likely still angry at her earlier comment and she had to admit, he was entitled to it.

  After dinner, Monique didn’t retire to the billiards room with them because the children did.

  Once there, Charlie and Julia walked directly to the couch in front of the warm fire. Avoiding the rug of dead tiger hide lying on the floor in front of it (complete with head), they tucked their feet underneath them, settling in to finish the evening drinking wine and gossiping.

  The children, Sam and the men engaged in boisterous games of snooker behind them with the mortifying heads of dozens of dead stags staring blankly over their heads. Julia liked this room, albeit not the dead animal pieces hanging on the walls or lying on the floor. Unlike most of the house, it was snug and welcoming, inviting you to stay awhile. Someone had long since disposed of the billiard table and replaced it with snooker and they were at it until it was time for Ruby to go to bed.

  “I’ll take her up,” Sam offered. “I’m dead on my feet and don’t often get a break.” She slid a comical look of accusation at Douglas who completely ignored her comment except to raise one, arrogant brow and his lack of response that nevertheless included a response made everyone else laugh.

  It didn’t make Julia laugh. Instead, it made Julia’s inebriated mind fill with thoughts of just how sexy he looked with that one brow raised.

  Lizzie and Willie were allowed to stay up later than normal due to the holiday and loudly protested when the time was nigh for their beds.