Beatrice and Douglas (5 page)

“I’m through waiting.”  He headed for the stairs,
holding a stunned Beatrice in his arms.  There were many, many reasons she
should protest his highhanded treatment and arrogant dictates, but right at
this second she honestly couldn’t think of a single one.

Mrs. Peal watched him carry the girl up the stairs like a
marauding pirate and had to fan her hot face with a brochure.  “Oh . . .
my.”  Daytime television had nothing on these people.

Beatrice was at a loss.  A few minutes ago she had been
ready to tell Douglas Bruce to take a hike, because let’s face it, he’s a
completely insensitive Neanderthal, which was not exactly a surprise. 
Now, he was carrying her off to his lair, or more accurately his bed and she
was letting him because . . .?  Apparently, she was one of those women who
found insensitive Neanderthals hot.  Who knew?

This is disturbing on so many levels. 
Beatrice
considered her circumstance.  She was being carried up the stairs like
some kind of romance novel damsel claimed by the pirate. 
This is so .
. . what is this exactly?

They hit the second floor and Douglas still had that
marauder look on his face.  Intense, a little scary, and very hot. 
Clearly,
I am completely deranged. 

He set her down on her feet by the door long enough to get
out his key.  He must have realized she was being too quiet, because when
he had the door open he stood looking down at her and stopped moving, until
finally she noticed and looked up to meet his eyes.

“What?” she asked.

“Why aren’t you kicking and screaming?”

“I’m thinking.”

He narrowed his eyes, his suspicions raised by her overly
calm voice.  “Are you hatching some plot to remove my dick with a nail
file while you’re thinking?”

A surprised laugh escaped from her.  “Maybe I’m
thinking about what a big strong man you are and how great it is to have you
take charge of little girly me.”

“Shit.” 

The word was succinct but heartfelt and it made her
smile.  “Worried?”

Douglas growled and pushed her bodily through the door to
his room.  “I’ll take my chances.”

She saw it was fairly close to hers decoration wise, just
scaled down, and the bed was a queen without the four-poster.  Then she
had to concentrate on Douglas because he was still brushing his body against
hers and leading her back to the bed.

“Am I reading this wrong?  Or, are you actually trying
to start a relationship with me?”

He grunted and pushed her back on the bed, so that she was
lying before him in her work wear and boots.  He went to work on the boots
first.  “You really don’t have a clue do you?”

“Apparently not.  Since I’m now sprawled out across
your bed, and have no idea why I am not kicking your balls into your throat
while I still have my boots on.”

He smiled that half smile and then held his arm up high and
dropped one of her boots to the floor with emphasis, then started unlacing the
other one.  “I figure we’ll strip most of this off and head for your room
to take the shower.  That way I don’t get sawdust all over the bed we’ll
be bouncing around in.”

“I’m not sure if I find your exhibitionist tendencies the most
disturbing or your arrogant assumptions that you can cart me around like a
blow-up doll, ready and willing to do your bidding.”

He raised his arm and dropped the other boot, that sexy
smirk back on his lips.  “Blow-up doll was not what I had in mind, but I
have to admit I like carrying you around.  Makes me feel strong and
manly.”  He backed up enough to turn and sit down on the bed, and start on
his own boots.  She sat up and crossed her legs, watching him. 

“You could help me with these,” he grouched, finally tossing
one away,  then reaching for the other. 

She snorted, “Then you’d really get the wrong idea. 
What next?  The little woman massaging your feet?”

He turned and lunged as soon as he had the last boot
off.  He had her flat on her back beneath him before she could
squeak.  “When I have you massage something, it won’t be my feet.” 
He pressed a hard kiss to her lips that left her breathless and shot to his
feet again.  He stood towering above her, his eyes hot on hers and started
working on his belt.  

Beatrice sat back up slowly, watching him pull his belt off,
then reach behind his shoulders and tug off both layers of shirt in one swoop
and a shower of wood dust.  She waved the air in front of her face and
laughed.  “So romantic, Bruce . . . I had no idea you were this kind of
suave.”

He deliberately shook his hair out over her, making her
scoot up the bed and laugh.  “You are such an ass.”

He answered with a wicked smile and then pulled his pants
off, leaving that hard body in nothing but black boxer briefs that tented most
salaciously.  Right away, Beatrice felt the breath leave her lungs and her
mouth start to water.  Every part of her that had been on a slow simmer
immediately went into a hot tingle.

Then he was reaching for her across the bed, but remembering
his plan of stripping down and then going to her room, she rolled away and off
the other side.  She had the door open and was through before she heard
him hit the doorjamb behind her.  Her own locks down the hall thwarted her. 
She had the key in and the locks turned, but he was on her before she could get
through the door.  Still she had made it to her room with most of her
clothes on, and no worries about streaking through the halls, at least on her
part.  Then she was up and over his broad shoulders, and he was shoving
the door closed and heading for the shower.  “No need to be so
impatient.  I’ll get you there.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

***

The bathroom had seemed big enough until Douglas was sharing
it with her.  He set her on her feet and studied her again.

“Still thinking?”

She shrugged, trying very hard not to be distracted by his
superior chest and rock hard abs.  Not to mention that impressive tent in
his Calvin Klein’s.  “I seem to be in a temporary state of shock.”
 He looked big and wide and totally masculine against the overly frilly
Victorian chintz.  “I’m still trying to decide if I want to reward your
bad behavior downstairs by allowing liberties in the shower.”

His eyebrow went up arrogantly. 
Talk about
obnoxious
.  Then he pulled off his boxer briefs and was suddenly
standing naked before her in all his glory.
 Unfair.

She was staring, she knew it, she just couldn’t seem to
stop.  Her voice was breathless when she finally spoke.  Breathless,
and pathetically transparent.  “I suppose if I allow you to service me in
the shower, its more punishment than reward.”

He picked her up with an arm around her waist and stepped
into the shower with her plastered fully clothed against his naked chest. 
“I’m all about the service.”  He sat her down in the tiny shower and
proceeded to strip her bare.  As soon as he had tossed all her clothes
behind him and out of the shower, he twisted on the hot water.  The first
stream coming down was cold enough to have her grabbing the walls of the shower
on either side.  But then he was pressing her back against the even colder
tile and blocking the spray with his body.  She assumed the water warmed
up quickly after that.  She certainly didn’t feel the cold for long, not
with that hard hot body pressing her into the tile. 

He grabbed her butt with both hands and lifted her until she
circled his waist with her legs.  Without any more preamble than that, he
entered her with one hard thrust.  Her head fell back with a gasp and if
she hadn’t been so focused on what he was doing inside of her, it probably
would have hurt to hit her head on the tile that hard.  One of his large
hands palmed the back of her head and rubbed.  Pulling her face up, he
growled, making her open her eyes to meet searing green.

He didn’t say a word.  Just held her and watched her
every reaction to his possession, and it was exactly that.  He was staking
his claim with every penetrating thrust that slammed her back against the pink
tile.

She reached up and grabbed his hair in a fist, yanking his
face down so that they were lip to lip.  “I am totally going to regret
this.”  She gasped it out between pounding strokes.  He kept
thrusting, even when she pulled him down and bit his bottom lip.  “You
won’t always get things your way.”

He growled again, licking his stinging lip while his eyes
shot sparks at her.  “Maybe,” he said, lifting her more securely in his
arms, “but I’ll take you any way I can get you.”  He quickened his pace
and Beatrice couldn’t hold it off any longer.  She came, gasping and
shuddering around his pulsing cock until he followed her with a bellow of male
satisfaction.

***

They eventually made it to the bed.  All Beatrice could
think was thank God it was Friday and they weren’t expected to show up to work
for a few days.  Eventually, she was going to have to decide what kind of
stand she was going to take on this quasi-affair she seemed to have stumbled
into, but that would be better done when she wasn’t tempted beyond endurance by
The Bruce’s hard bitable ass.  She lost count of how many times they went
at it.  He couldn’t seem to get enough and shockingly she wasn’t any
better.  Some time she must have slept because the sun woke her forcefully
the next morning and she opened her eyes to find herself spooned by Douglas Bruce’s
hard body.

She knew he was awake without even turning to look. 
There was too much tension in the arm holding her for it to be otherwise.

“I know you’re awake, Beatrice,” he grumbled out in a sexy
morning voice.

“What time is it?” she asked by way of answer.

He nuzzled his face into the nape of her neck.  “I have
no idea.  Coffee time?”

“Please let it be so.”  Her impassioned words made him
chuckle against the sensitive skin at her nape, and just like that, her nipples
hardened in response. 
When did that start happening?
 

“Too bad they don’t have room service.”  He squeezed
her closer so she could not possibly miss the rock hard dick wedged against her
ass.  “I’m thinking it will be awhile before we are ready to make an
appearance.”

She snorted.  “If you think you’re getting off again,
before I have coffee and at least a doughnut, you are out of your mind.” 
She elbowed him back to get some much-needed space.  She didn’t get any,
but she did make the effort.

“Oh, come on.  I’ll make it worth your while.”  He
nuzzled deeper into her neck, his hand finding a handy place to rest right over
her breast.  He squeezed, turning his head to nip at her shoulder. 

She grabbed his hand and threw it off her breast; as tempted
as she was, she needed sustenance and, more importantly, coffee.  She
slipped out from under him before he could get a firm hold, and he fell over
hitting the pillow she had been laying on. 

“I always knew you were evil,” he grumbled.  His words
were muffled against the pillow, but she still understood enough to laugh.

“After everything we did last night, you’re still going to
whine?”  She looked around, searching for her clothes.  “Is this to
be my life until, willpower depleted, I can’t take it anymore, and I’m forced
to kill you?”

Douglas finally rolled enough that he could rest his head on
his hand while he watched her move around the room naked.  She kept
bending over to pick up an article of clothing here and there. 
Evil
temptress. 
“If you just had sex with me whenever I wanted, we would
always get along.”

Beatrice snorted out a laugh, while she finally found her
robe and pulled it on.  “I’m taking a shower.”  She waved towards his
big reclining hard body, barely covered by the frilly bedding.  She looked
away before she jumped back into bed, thereby proving she was a pushover of
epic proportions.  “You should make yourself useful and get me some
coffee; otherwise, I might not think you’re good for anything but orgasms.”

He watched her walk out of the room with appreciative eyes until
she closed the bathroom door.  He heard the lock and bellowed through the
door,  “You say that like it’s a bad thing!”

He heard her laugh again just before the shower
started.  It made him smile. 

When Beatrice peaked out of the bathroom after her shower,
it was with some relief that she saw Douglas was gone.  She slumped
against the doorjamb for a moment – a force to be reckoned with, that was
Douglas Bruce.  It was no wonder she was feeling a little like Alice down
the rabbit hole.  She was having some kind of relationship with Douglas
Bruce. 
Which way was up again?

She shook herself out of it and went to clean up the room
and make the bed before he returned and they ended up right back in it again.

“Here,” he said as soon as he pushed open the door and saw
her standing by the bed in jeans and a t-shirt.  He was fully dressed as
well, and the coffee was in a to-go cup.  “Figured you would want this
now, but I’m taking you to breakfast.  There’s a place by the marina that
Ms. Peal swears has the best French toast on the West Coast.”

She took the cup, eyeing him above it while she took a
drink, black with cream, just as she liked it.  “You know it occurs to me
that you never come right out and ask anything.  You just kind of nudge me
along whichever way you want to go.”

He eyed her crossed arms, and canted hip.  “If that
were true we’d still be in bed.”

Hmm.  Good Point. 
She relaxed marginally.

“What would
you
like to do this morning?” he asked,
his obnoxious brow up.  It made her want to respond with anything but
breakfast; unfortunately, now she really wanted some French toast.

“Breakfast sounds good.”  She shrugged
nonchalantly.  “I was just making the point that you could ask me, instead
of telling.”

“Because you’re such a shy retiring soul, and I could be
taking advantage of your inability to speak up for yourself?”

She pulled on her jacket and looked up to see him right in
front of her with a knowing smirk on his lips.  She rolled her eyes. 
“What?”  Her voice was a tad over the top defensive, but instead of
getting angry, he smiled and helped her pull her hair out of her collar. 

“It’s going to be all right, Beatrice.”

“Stop doing that.”  She shook off his hands,
exasperated.

“Doing what?” 

“Acting so even tempered.  It’s throwing me off.”

“Do you want to fight with me this morning?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?” 

She had to think about that.  She finally huffed out a
breath and walked into his arms, coffee, and all . . . arms that immediately
wrapped loosely around her.  She rested her cheek against his chest and
breathed in the smell that was so distinctly Douglas Bruce.  “Fighting
with you is safer than this.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling into her hair, his hands rubbing up
and down her back and shoulders, “but not nearly as much fun.”

Yeah, it’s all fun and games until someone loses their
heart. 
Beatrice sighed, but didn’t let go.  It felt too right to
be where she was.

***

The walk to the restaurant was nearly over the water and you
could watch the seagulls soar over the sails of ships as they drifted on the
waves.  The day was overcast as it was wont to be in the Pacific
Northwest.  The air smelled of brine and stung the cheeks red with
cold. 

Beatrice marveled at the strangeness of walking hand-in-hand
with Douglas Bruce.  He was furnace hot all along her side and he smiled
easily and with frequency, even while she was still dealing with the
strangeness of it all and frowning out over the water.  Even she knew what
a ridiculous thing to do when being escorted beside the ocean by a beautiful
man who wanted to feed her and then take her to bed.

“I’m a flake,” she muttered. 

“What?”

She turned to see his smile still in place.  “I said,
‘I’m a flake’.”

“How do you figure?”

She breathed deep and then shook her head at her own convoluted
thinking.  “I don’t think this is a good idea, what we have going here,
even if I could figure out what that is, and still, here I am.  Going to
breakfast with you, because . . .” she sighed.  “See, I can’t even say why
I’m doing this.  Totally a flake.”

“You aren’t a flake.”

“I so am.”  She stopped since they had arrived at a
weathered wood restaurant that looked from the outside as if it had been there
as long as the sea.  She waited so he could hold the door of the
restaurant open for her, talking the whole while.  “I’m becoming like one
of those ditzy heroines who can’t find her ass with two hands.”  Her voice
went high and girly.  “‘I want you.’  ‘No, don’t touch me.  I
know you slept with my sister.’  ‘I don’t care what you’ve done; just take
me to your bed.’”  Her voice dropped back to normal.  “It’s actually
embarrassing to be me.”

Douglas chuckled, and then nodded when a woman from the back
called for them to sit anywhere.  The place was set up to resemble the
inside of a fishing boat, with fishing paraphernalia decorating the same
weathered wood walls as the ones outside.  There were windows all the way
around with most sporting a view of the boardwalk, the harbor, and the rolling
waves.  It was also nearly full.  He chose one of two free booths
with the scratched leather seats and a view of the town.  If you squinted
and concentrated, you could see a sliver of the marina in the corner.  You
probably had to get here early to get the good ocean views.

“I’m Alice.  Start you off with something warm?” 
A server with a towering head of frizzy and obviously dyed red curls stood
beside the table with a wide smile and writing pad.  Her outfit was casual
denim and flannel, much like what both Beatrice and Douglas were wearing, only
her jeans were painted on, and her too small top was opened at the boobs to
show a huge amount of cleavage over straining flannel and red lace.  It
was quite an arresting sight so early in the morning and it had Beatrice trying
to find a safe place to rest her gaze.  The brassy woman had clearly long
since hit the midlife spread phase at the hips and waist, but strongly
supported boobs distracted you from noticing that.

“Yes, fine, thank you.”  Beatrice cleared her
throat.  “Coffee with cream please.”

“And you handsome?” the woman asked with a flirty lip curl,
her voice a perfect blend of sandpaper and smoke. 

Douglas, who had been paying too much attention to Beatrice
and not enough to the server, looked up at the question and was dumbstruck as
his eyes adjusted to the sight before him.  Beatrice bit her lip to keep
from laughing out loud, as Douglas blinked.  Then he treated the woman
with a wide smile.  “Coffee would be excellent.  Black.”

“Sure thing, sugar.  I’ll be right back with
that.”  She winked and then pulled two menus out from beneath her arms and
sauntered off on three-inch high-heeled leather boots.  Douglas watched
her walk away for a minute, his eyes wide on her rolling walk.  The woman
had to be sixty, easy.

“Do you need a minute?” Beatrice asked on a laugh.

“Probably,” he said shaking his head, “that’s not something
you see every day.”  The ‘Thank God’ was implied, but remained unsaid.

Beatrice looked over at the roving server.  Alice was
coming back with a coffee pot and cups, but stopped to lean over the table of
an obviously delighted senior citizen with an oxygen tank.

“Maybe when we get to be her age we’ll have that much game
left . . . but I doubt it.”

“Speak for yourself.  I intend to be chasing nurses
around the hospital bed when I hit 105.”  He leaned over the booth and
took her hand.  “Speaking of which.  Where were we?”  He
smiled.  “Right.  Your flakiness.  There is only one sure way
you don’t become one of those sad ditzy females who blow hot and cold.”

“Really, do enlighten me.”

“Just stick with the ‘take me to your bed’ part.”  He
laughed when she rolled her eyes.  “You’re not a flake, Bumble Bee. 
You just like to over think things.”

“Whereas you go with the flow?” she asked with her brow
raised in doubt.  “Please, the longest I have ever seen you with the same
woman was a weekend.  We both know you suck at keeping relationships going
worse than I do, and that’s saying something.”

“No one else was you and me.”

Alice was back before she could respond to that.  But, since
she had no idea what to say, she made a big production of opening her menu and
then ordering without reading it.

“I’ll have the French toast.”

He let her have that play, though he did watch her with that
sexy smirk of his, all the while she made her breakfast choices.  Then he
ordered the same thing with extra bacon and a tall milk.  Beatrice kept
her eyes open and on his, meeting his obvious challenge. 

Alice finally finished making her notes and floated away
with another wink at Douglas.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me you have been wasting
away, dating swimsuit models as a last resort while you waited for me to notice
you pining in the corner?”

“Maybe.”  He shrugged, sounding not at all
serious.  “You finally drove me to drink, and I figured I should make my
move, before you did something idiotic, like marry the wrong man.”

“And all that time when you were driving me crazy and
teasing me, it was all, what. . . some kind of defense mechanism to protect
your beleaguered heart?”

“More like sexual frustration.”

Beatrice searched his eyes finding the usual teasing smirk
and some serious heat.  She swallowed.  Hard.  “So what are you
actually suggesting here?  A trial run?  Marriage and a white picket
fence?  A weekend fling?  What?”

He rubbed his thumb over the knuckles he still held, his
eyes searching her face.  “How about we just see where this leads when we
aren’t fighting each other every step of the way?”

She rolled her eyes again.  “We know where it leads,
apparently it leads right to bed.”  She sighed, then bit her lip,
thinking.  “All right.  We’ll just let it be and see where we end
up.  But, when one of us is done, we don’t try to spare feelings.  We
just say straight out and move on.”

“I can get behind that.”  He pulled on her hand to make
sure he had her attention.  His eyes going flat and serious on hers. 
“But only if it’s a real end and not some lame attempt to keep me at a distance
because you’re afraid of your own feelings.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again.  “Douglas
Bruce.  Have you been watching Doctor Phil?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  Then his smirk
was back and she laughed despite herself.

“Fine.  No picking fights to keep an emotional
distance.”  Beatrice leaned forward.  “I can’t promise no fighting
full stop.  We’ll just see how long sensitive, ‘let’s talk about our
feelings’ Douglas Bruce lasts.”

“Don’t worry about it.”  He shrugged, taking a drink,
his hot eyes were on hers over the rim of the cup.  “I figure you start
looking for a fight, I’ll just fuck that right out of you.”

“And . . . he’s back . . .”  Beatrice looked at her
watch.  “Wow, you lasted like 30 seconds.”  She clapped.  “Good
job.  Keep this up and I will have pitched my coffee at you by the end of
breakfast.”

Of course, she was tingling in all the wrong places and his
incorrigible side smile wasn’t helping.  Or the way he stared at her lips
with purposeful heat all the while she talked.  Like he had plans for
those lips.  Sexy plans.

Yep.  I am in so much trouble here.