Beatrice and Douglas (2 page)

Should she be disappointed?  She wondered.  She
wasn’t.  Actually when you got right down to it, she was relieved. 
Charles had been pressuring her for some time to take their relationship further. 
This weekend had been his idea, and she was still a little skeptical about
dealing with the implications of a weekend away together.  She liked him
well enough for dates and friendly conversation, but she wasn’t ready to marry
the man, or take any other labels he wanted to send her way, like “Girlfriend”
or “Dear.”

Something told her she was going to have to have that talk
soon.  The one where she expressed their lack of chemistry, and her need
to be 'just friends'.  She had put it off a while because she hated to
hurt his feelings, and they were rarely free at the same time anyway, but that
was only going to work so long. 

Oh well, she didn’t have to worry about it quite yet. 
For now, she could put it on the back burner and concentrate on other worries. 
Like ‘The Bruce’ and how she was going to handle working with him again. 

The bed and breakfast had been transformed from an old
Victorian home built in the 1800s, so
 
it had the kind of character she
liked.  Plus, when working on an 1800s Victorian restoration, it helped to
stay in an inn that was around the same era.  Though not a spindle Queen
Anne, it was a farmhouse version of the frilly Victorian style, and it was
located in Port Townsend, which was just a 20-minute drive from the house.

The rooms were small and homey.  Mrs. Peal was overly
sentimental with her decorating, going for the full Victorian country look, but
the beds were soft and the view of the lighthouses and distant ocean was
incredible from almost every room.  On a clear day, which admittedly was a
rarity, you could see Mount Rainier in the distance.  At the same time, if
you opened the windows, you might freeze, but you would get the briny scent of
sea air across your face. 

It also meant that the bathroom was at the end of the
hall.  Unless you had the old master with the attached bath, currently
referred to as the ‘sweetheart suite,’ which Beatrice did
.  The bath was antiquated but clean, with a
claw-footed tub and pedestal sink.  For the moment, she and Douglas were
the only ones staying there, though she had yet to bump into
 
him. 
A trend she was going to try her best to perpetuate.  It was bad enough
seeing him all day at the worksite.

The other members of their team preferred to commute from
Seattle daily since they had families.  It was about a two-hour drive but
they were planning to carpool.  Beatrice knew herself well enough to know
she would be working long hours and would hate the necessity of the drive
time.  Apparently, ‘The Bruce’ felt the same.   

Speaking of hellspawn. 
She supposed she should
let him know her plans had changed.  But, the thought of spending the rest
of the evening in his burly company was more than she could take. 
Besides, he hadn’t come back to the hotel.  One thing about Douglas, he
never wanted for company when he looked for it. 

Probably already has some blond bimbo cooing at him.

“Coming!” she yelled, pulling her robe tie more securely around
her waist.  She toweled her hair as she headed for the door.  It was
after eleven and the B&B did not offer room service, even if she had wanted
to order it this late.

“Who is it?”

“Douglas.”

Beatrice froze, her hair dripping down her back as she tried
to dry it.  She really considered not answering.

“Beatrice.”

“All right.  Keep your pants on.”

She opened the door and was surprised to see Douglas looking
a little unsteady.  Then she smelled whiskey.

“Have you been drinking?”

“So where is he?” he asked ignoring her question and pushing
past her to look around the room.  “I’m dying to finally meet him.”

As long as Beatrice had known him, she had never seen him so
much as slightly tipsy.  From all accounts, he occasionally had a beer
with the guys, but was not prone to hard liquor.  It seemed so against his
character that it left her floundering for a minute.  “You are
drunk.” 

Douglas was not listening to her; he was too busy searching
the room for a man.  When he started opening closet doors, she rolled her
eyes. 

“Charles isn’t here.”

“What, did you send him to his room already?” Douglas
grunted.  “Wimp.”

“Now what are you looking for?” she asked, watching as he
opened drawers and sniffed at her perfume bottle and lotions.  “Put that
down.”

She stepped forward and pulled the bottle he was so absorbed
in out of his hands and placed it back on the vanity.  Douglas shifted
behind her and Beatrice found herself caught between the dresser and his hard
body.  When she turned her head, Douglas had his eyes closed and was
sniffing at her hair. 

“How do you do that?” he asked, his eyes opening to latch on
to hers with vivid green intensity.

“Do what?”

“You always smell so damn good.”

“It’s called soap,” she answered as she turned to face him,
trying unsuccessfully to push him aside.  “You should try it
sometime.  Tonight would actually be good.”  It was only a small lie,
he always smelled of cedar and man; mixing in whiskey didn’t seem to lessen the
impact, but she was hardly going to tell him he smelled good, too.  She
pushed again.  It was like trying to move an oak tree.  Douglas was
too busy sniffing at her neck to appreciate her feeble efforts. 

“What is the matter with you?” she asked exasperated, even
as little tingles were working their way down to her toes.  Lord help
womankind, he was even a sexy drunk.

“Nothing wrong with me.  Just had a few drinks.”

“Douglas, I hate to break this to you, but you’re hammered.”

“Never,” he said, as he teetered closer, his arms on either
side of her hips against the dresser, his mouth hovering over her exposed
collarbone at the edge of the terrycloth.  “I haven’t gotten drunk since I
was sixteen and Jack caught me nipping into his whiskey.  Sat there with
me and let me drink half the bottle, then had me up at dawn for work. 
Never want to be that sick again.”

“Well, I think you’re in for a rude awakening in the
morning.”  Beatrice tried to breathe regularly, she really did, but caught
against his body and the dresser with his arms surrounding her and his lips
hovering at her shoulder, she was having a hard time not wheezing like a
racehorse.  “You need to be in bed.”

“There you go,” he said, looking up from his absorption with
her neck and smiling that wicked smile of his; even slightly lopsided, it was a
killer.  Then he turned, and to Beatrice’s consternation, plopped down on
her bed as if he intended to stay.  He even sat up to remove his
boots.  But when he finally yanked one off, he stared at it and couldn’t
quite decide what to do with it.

“For the love of . . .,” Beatrice said, shaking her head and
going forward to help.  “Here give me that.”

She took the boot, tossed it into the corner, and then
grabbed the other one.  When Douglas saw she had his foot well in-hand, he
lay back down and let her do all the work.

“I’ll help you with your boots, but then you’re going back
to your own room.”  She struggled with the slippery heal before it popped
off.  “This is so stupid.”

Beatrice had made quick work with the boot but when it
joined its mate in the corner, she looked at his big form sprawled across that
frou-frou lace bedding and was at a loss as to what her next move should
be. 

Why doesn’t he look stupid surrounded by white lace?
 
She shook herself out of it when she saw his eyes were watching her at a sultry
half-mast.  She cleared her throat, then moved to the side of the bed and
tried to yank him back up.

“Oh, no you don’t.”  She pulled his arm.  “Don’t
you dare get too comfortable.  You need to pass out in your own
bed.”  He wouldn’t budge.  She yanked harder, and suddenly she was
the one yanked down and rolled under.  She blinked and he was leaning over
her on the bed.  He was no longer smiling. 

“Get off me, you degenerate.”  Struggling feebly, she
slapped at his massive shoulders.

“Did he kiss you?”

“What?  Who?”

“The dweeb.  Did he kiss you?”

Beatrice huffed out a breath in annoyance.  “I told you
he’s not here.  Now, stop this and let me up.”

“You let him kiss you, didn’t you?”

“Douglas, please . . . .”

“I’ll kill him.”  His growl was a vow, and it confused
her enough so that she stopped struggling.

“Listen to yourself, you aren’t even making sense.  He
didn’t come.  And, honestly, just because you grew up with my brothers,
doesn’t mean you are one.  Why do you even care?”

Beatrice tried one more time to get off the bed, but he just
shifted his chest over hers and threw one leg across her thighs.  The robe
shifted with the struggle and now her legs were bare to mid-thigh and the
lapels shifted exposing one breast to the night air.  They both froze. 

Beatrice was tempted to close her eyes and block out the
sight of her breast heating to a soft rose.  Douglas looked right where
she was hoping he wouldn’t.  He seemed fascinated.  His face just
inches from naked skin.  She could actually feel his labored breath, and her
nipples’ reaction was unmistakable. 

She did close her eyes then, “Oh my God,” she said, wishing
the floor would open up and swallow her, or that he would roll off her so she
could get her hands back and close her robe.

“Did you let him see you like this?”

It took her a second to make the connection.  Then her
eyes opened with a flash.  “Better him than you.  Now for the last
time, Get. Off!”

It was obviously not the best thing to say under the
circumstances.

“Better him than me?”

Beatrice was feeling very threatened all of a sudden. 
She had never been afraid of Douglas, and she probably never could be, but he
was making her nervous.  There was intent in his eyes that made her breath
hitch.

“Douglas . . .” she started a warning, not sure what he was
capable of,  but it was too late.  His open mouth had already claimed
her breast. 

Beatrice gasped, and tried to squirm away as nerve after
nerve ignited beneath his mouth and tongue.  When he started to suckle
her, every thought in her head flew right out the window.  He was really
good at that.  He pushed the robe open with a groan, latching onto her
other breast.  She pushed at him trying to get her mouth open over a
protest, but the pleasure he was pulling from her was debilitating.

He worshipped her breasts until she thought she would melt
right out of her body.

“Douglas . . . please,” she said writhing beneath him, not
really sure anymore what she was asking for.  She was no longer pushing
him away when he rolled with her until she was on top of him . . . her legs on
either side of his thighs.  The belt of the robe came loose until she was
straddling him with just his jeans as a barrier between them.  He pulled
off his shirt, and since she had finally lost her mind, she helped him.

He groaned, pulling her close as her soft breasts pressed
against hard chest muscle.  Beatrice felt him shudder with pleasure, even
as he was sitting up with her straddling his lap and her hands in his
hair.  Then his mouth was on her neck and his arms tight around her
back.  It was Beatrice’s turn to shudder.  He felt incredible. 
Hard, hot, and all dominating male.

Then, as quickly as he had reared up, he rolled her beneath
him again. 

“You feel so good,” he groaned.  His head landed back
on her breasts, his thighs cradled between her naked ones.  He sighed out
against her flesh, nuzzling a beaded nipple before his head found a comfortable
berth and stayed there.

It took Beatrice a moment to realize he wasn’t moving. 
She nudged him on his naked shoulder.

“Douglas?”

His only answer was a snore.

She felt like screaming her frustration.  In the middle
of the most passionate moment in her entire history, the jackass had passed out
cold.

“I will kill him,” she fumed, but she couldn’t even manage
to get out from under him.  It didn’t take her very long to realize the
embarrassment factor in the equation.  Not only had she let a man she
despised, and a drunk one at that, seduce her, she had practically begged him
to do it.  How had this happened?  And how was she ever going to live
it down? 

“Oh my God.”  Her only hope was that he might not
remember any of this in the morning.  “I will kill him.”

It was a long night.  Beatrice finally fell asleep
sometime before dawn, still thinking of all the delightful ways she would
torture him when he woke up. 

But her dreams were of a different nature.

When Douglas opened his eyes, it was to the realization that
he no longer had a skull.  Somehow, it had fallen off during the night and
now was rolling around on the floor. 

“I see you’re finally awake.”

The voice was too loud and too strident to be ignored. 
Douglas groaned.  Then he turned over and saw Beatrice standing in the
full light of day, dressed in her standard pair of jeans, a red t-shirt and a
hard glare that did not bode well for his chances of surviving the morning.

“What are you doing in my room?”  His voice was rough
and gravelly from whatever had crawled down his throat.

“Look around you, Slick.  Does this look like your
room?”

Douglas did with a squint against the overly bright light
and a feeling of dread slipped into his tortured head.  This was not his
room. 

“What am I doing in your room?”

“What a good question.  Why didn’t I think of
that?  What are you doing in my room?  Let me think.”

Douglas grimaced, as she paced and rubbed her chin in a
sarcastic parody of thought.  In a minute, he was going to get up and find
a large bucket of aspirin and a shower, but right now, he had to deal with his
missing skull and a banshee. 

“What were you doing in my room?  Hmm, how about making
a complete ass of yourself, you lush.”  She had stopped and was standing
by the side of the bed and glaring at him as if her blue eyes alone could fry
him on the spot.  “Now get out of my bed and out of my room, and pray God,
out of my life.”

Looking up at her, he suddenly had a flash of her in a white
robe and dripping hair.  Then it occurred to him that he knew what her
skin tasted like just there, where her collarbone met her neck.  His blood
shot eyes narrowed further as he seemed to remember her beneath him, saying his
name on a moan.  Her breast against his mouth, under his tongue. 
Another of the countless guilty fantasies that had been plaguing him for
years? 

“What the hell happened last night?”

She ignored the question even as she felt the worried knot
in her belly loosen.  He didn’t remember. 

“Nothing much, you showed up drunk and stupid, though I
guess there really is nothing you can do about the stupid part, so I’ll make
allowances, then you passed out in my bed.  Now, for the last time, get
out!”

Douglas grabbed his head and was surprised to find it still
on his shoulders.  It pulsed with each word out of her mouth.

“Please, no yelling.”

“You think this is yelling?  If you are not out of here
in ten seconds, I will yell down the hotel and then when people have come
running, I will order breakfast just for you.  How about poached eggs and
liver, mm-mm, doesn’t that sound tasty, all those juices running?”

Douglas moved faster than he thought possible leaving the
room.  He made the bathroom down the hall just in time.  He winced as
the door of Beatrice’s room slammed with a mighty force, then he was too sick
to think of anything for a long while.

***

As a result of his incapacitation, he was late getting to
the job site that morning.  When he finally pulled up in his beat up Ford,
it was to the loud sounds of construction under way.

“Hey Doug, good of you to drop in.” 

The gravel of the drive bit under his boot satisfactorily as
he prowled past the burly Irishman hefting two by fours.

“Bite me, Dodger.”

“No sir, I’ll leave that to the boss lady.  She’s in
rare form and looking hungry.”

“Funny.  Very funny.”

When he entered the house, the sounds of sawing and
hammering got louder.  Each step he took up the stairs caused a spike of
mild pressure inside his head that built the closer he got to his
destination.  But it was what he saw when he got there that really shot
the blood to his brain. 

Beatrice was perched on a stepladder on the top floor. 
That would not have necessarily been a bad thing, except that she was perched
over the balcony straining to get to a light fixture, nothing between her and a
broken neck but 15 feet of air.  Up on her tiptoes, she strained to turn
the screw. 

“What in holy hell do you think you’re doing?”  His
harsh voice was so unexpected that Beatrice lost her balance on the short
ladder and almost took a header over the ledge.  Instead, she found
herself lifted up into strong arms and cradled against a sturdy chest. 
Then she was looking deep into green eyes, very angry blood shot green eyes.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?”  His voice was harsh
and snapped her out of the momentary freeze suddenly finding herself back in
his arms had caused.

“Me?  I was just fine until you snuck up behind me and
started braying like an ass.”  She kicked her legs trying to get out of
his arms, but he didn’t budge.  “Put me down.”

Why Douglas was suddenly smiling despite a massive hangover,
he couldn’t say.  There must be something very wrong with a man who found
a woman her most attractive when she was spitting fire at him. 

“Are you deaf?”

“You know I have the strangest feeling something happened
last night.  You want to talk about it?”

Beatrice froze; she could only hope her cheeks weren’t as
red as they felt.  Coming out of the blue like that, the question had
caught her off guard.

“I told you, you acted like an idiot and crashed in my
room.”

“That’s all?”

“A really big idiot.”

Douglas leaned his head forward until he was close enough to
take a big sniff of her neck.  Beatrice was vividly reminded of when he
had done the same thing last night and what it had led to.  She started
kicking again.

“If nothing happened, what are you so worried about?”

“I don’t need to have a reason to find you
distasteful.  It’s my usual feeling.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

She froze.  His smile was just a little too wicked and
his eyes dwelled just a little long on her lips.  Beatrice did the only
thing she could think of.  She grabbed his ear and gave it a good yank.

“Ow, shit.”  He dropped her, quickly.  Luckily for
Beatrice, she was still close enough to the rail to grab hold so her feet could
hit the floor first.  She pulled herself up and glared as Douglas rubbed
his abused ear.

“Shrew.”

“Peasant.”

They glared at each other until someone cleared his throat,
then they turned in unison to glare at the interruption.

“What?!” 

“There’s a call for you,” he said nodding at Beatrice and
handing her the portable phone.  Beatrice shook off her anger with an
effort and took the phone, heading for the other room.

“Thanks, Frank.”  She passed him quickly and did not
spare Douglas more than an angry glance.

Douglas had to strain not to reach out and stop her.

“Jack?”

“Nah, the lawyer.”

Douglas gnashed his teeth and started down the hall,
determined not to waste any more of his day thinking about stubborn,
mean-mouthed women.  To hell with it, he had work to do.

Frank breathed out a harsh breath as Douglas stormed
past.  He headed back downstairs shaking his head.  “Going to be a
long day.”

***

“No, Charles, I do understand.  It’s not that big a
deal.”  The hammering was loud and close.  She plugged her ear to
hear the phone better.  “What?  No.  Charles, I can’t hear
you.  Why don’t you call me later?  I’ll be at the hotel about
seven.  What?  Charles, I told you it’s okay.”  She tried to get
farther away from the door and the noise, but it didn’t seem to work.
 “Charles, call me later.  I can’t understand you.  Okay, yeah,
I’ll talk to you later.”

Beatrice hung up the phone with a frown.  It seemed
that everyone expected her to be upset but her.  Of course, she had more
humiliating worries today.  Like how was she supposed to work with a man
who drove her crazy in every way possible?  A boyfriend that didn’t show
up didn’t seem like too much of an issue.  If he had shown up, now that
might have been a problem.  Whatever else this hellish job was proving, it
was clear that breaking it off with Charles would be the first thing she did
when she returned to Seattle.  He deserved better than a girlfriend who
lusted after another man, even if she had no intention of doing something about
it.

It was a long day.  The wood had to be ordered to
replace the rotten floorboards and the electrical and plumbing was going to be
a huge project that had to be done before the new drywall.  They had men
standing around costing money and nothing was getting done.  At least the
walls had been demolished and the refuse carted away, but the rest of the work
seemed to be at a standstill.  Everyone’s temper was on a short fuse, and
the customary afternoon rain didn’t cool it down much.  By the time the
boys packed up and headed home, they were giving Beatrice and Douglas wide
berths and being uncharacteristically quiet. 

Beatrice threw her blueprints and notebooks into the back
seat of the Jeep.  She was simmering.  The day could not end too
soon.  Douglas had other ideas.

“Hey, Bumble Bee, you in a hurry?”

“To get away from you, absolutely.”

He leaned against the Jeep door as if Beatrice wasn’t trying
to leave.

“So, Charles didn’t show.”  It wasn’t a question.

“No, he didn’t.  Though once again, it really isn’t any
of your business.”  She shoved him out of the way and pulled open the
door.

Douglas was studying her closely, too closely.

“Yeah, I seem to remember you saying that before.”

Beatrice slammed her door back closed and stomped up to him
until her toes were almost tromping his.

“You have something to say?  Say it.  You’ve been
making suggestive little comments all day and I’m sick of it.”

“Fine,” he said, mad now himself; he stood up straight,
bringing them much closer together.  Beatrice was too mad to think of
backing down. 

“I don’t know what you think happened last night but I would
love to discuss it,” she said instead.

“What I
think
happened was we got down and dirty and
you’re pissed about it.”

“Down and . . .” she couldn’t even say it.  “How
romantic.  However, it didn’t quite happen that way.”

“Come on, Bumble Bee, no one else is here, you can be
honest.”

“Fine, I’ll be honest,” she said gritting her teeth. 
“You got drunk, barged into my room, and passed out.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“Yeah, well, you were a trifle indisposed.”

“Nothing wrong with my memory.”

“And what exactly do you think happened?”

Douglas was close enough to see the dark ring around her
blue eyes.  And he could smell her.  He was fighting a need to taste,
too.

“I think I barged into your room, and made a pass at
you.  I’m a little hazy about the particulars, but you weren’t exactly
fighting me off.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed at his smirk.  “I was humoring
you until you did pass out.  That’s all there was to it, and I would
appreciate it if you left off on the digs about it.”

“Humoring me?”  His look was incredulous.  “Is that
what you call it?”

“Exactly.”

“I see, now it’s all clear to me.  All the moaning and
clinging was just your way of humoring me.  Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“Moaning and . . . why, you…”

“Now, now,” he said.  Catching her hand before she
could do any damage.  She was unceremoniously and quickly pulled up so
that her heaving chest was pressed against his.

“Let me go, you jackass.”

“What?  Aren’t you going to humor me?  I really
like how you do that.”

“I’m warning you, Bruce, I’m really getting sick of you man
handling me.  It was bad enough to have to take it last night when you
were stupid drunk, but today I am really not in the mood to play.”

“Ah, well, that’s what’s really got your panties in a twist,
isn’t it.  Last night, you did want to play.  With me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He still had her wrist in his hand and he could feel her
pulse speeding.  He squeezed her wrist lightly, even as he leaned closer
so that her lips were right under his.  His eyes on her.

“If I was flattering myself, I would say your lack of breath
and high pulse right now would be because you want to play some more.”

Beatrice looked at his mouth and then back up into his hot
green eyes.  Her breath was coming fast and there wasn’t anything she
could do about it.  The problem was she wasn’t sure she really wanted
to.  She kept remembering what his lips had felt like on her skin. 
She brazened it out.

“Is the word ‘no’ a new concept for you?”

“You haven’t said ‘no’.”

Beatrice took a deep calming breath and squared her chin.
 “No.”

Douglas stared into her determined eyes briefly, and then
let her go to lean back ever so casually on the car.

“All right,” he said.  She didn’t move.  “If
that’s the way you want it.”

“That’s the way it is.”

Beatrice took another deep breath still captured by his now
shuttered eyes.  Then she turned, pulled open the door of the Jeep and got
in.  Douglas came around to the window as she started the motor.  She
met his eyes in challenge when he leaned over and tapped on the window. 
Beatrice rolled it down quickly but didn’t say anything, just raised a brow in
question.  At this point, she wasn’t sure what was going to come out of
her mouth if she opened it.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” 
Then he reached forward and ran a finger down her cheek.  “Bumble Bee.”

Beatrice didn’t bother to berate him this time, she wasn’t
sure she could say anything with the feel of his finger burning her
cheek.  She just put the clutch into gear and peeled out.  Lucky for
Douglas he moved before she could run over his toes or cause any other
injuries.