Beatrice and Douglas (8 page)

She could feel the scratchy lace of the bedspread beneath
her and the heat of hard male above and inside her.  She felt the hands he
used to push her wrists above her head and hold her there.  Nothing else
existed.

She strained against him, trying to get closer, trying to
get her hands back so she could clutch at him.  He just growled and held
tighter, almost bruising her wrists.  Dear Lord, it felt good.  If
she was able to form a thought, she would have wondered which she wanted more,
to touch all of him, or to be bound to him.

Since she couldn’t use her hands, she wrapped her legs
around his pistoning hips and squeezed in an effort to get him closer. 
Not that it was actually possible, but she was compelled to try.

All the while Douglas watched her with eyes that spat
fire.  He didn’t say a word – his eyes, the shackles of his hands, his
grinding hips said it for him, and she felt completely and utterly claimed.

When she thought she could feel no more, the climax
hit.  Her body seized, her head thrashed, and she came. 

Douglas thrust and watched and held her shuddering beneath
him, before finally losing his brutal control and joining her on the edge of
pleasure’s knife.

Douglas saw the exact moment when she came back to her own
head.  Her face changed not at all, but her eyes widened with just a touch
of panic and then shuttered as if she could physically knock him out of the
places he had laid claim to. 
Not going to happen.

“I should get up and get my shower.”  She looked
everywhere but at him.

“Not yet.”  He still had a hold of her wrists and he couldn’t
deny the thrill it gave him to hold her beneath him, especially when there was
no doubt in his mind that she was ready to run, emotionally if not
physically.  “Don’t run away yet.  I’m going to savor this for a few
minutes.”

Her eyes snapped back to his as if he’d just goosed
 
her.  “I’m not running.  I
just want to get up.”

His lips went up in that ridiculously sexy half smile of
his.  “Really?  Cause it looks like running to me.  In fact, it
seems every time I start to get a little too close you back away fast.” 
He leaned down and nipped her bottom lip, which was starting to get a very
schoolmarm purse to it.  “Ironic, since a few hours ago you were all about
the sharing.  I had to talk about my
feelings,
or else.”

She snorted and pulled at her hands, which he was happy to
keep a hold of.  “You think I made you talk about your feelings?  All
you did was give me a list of events.  Your
feelings
were never
discussed.  Even I know better than to try to get a man to talk about his
feelings.
” 

Douglas got the
feeling
that if he didn’t have hold
of her hands still, she would do that irritating air quotes thing every time
she said the word ‘feelings’.  This only made him want to bite her
again.  He thought back to the conversation at the worksite.  “Fine. 
You have a point, but it doesn’t change the fact that you are the one running
right now.”

“Running?”  She rolled her eyes.  “I can’t even
get off the bed.”

“You know what I mean.”  He did bite her, this time on
her ear lobe, making her yank her head to the side with a gasp.  “I feel
like I’m running up one of those down escalators. The only time I can get a
good hold is when I have you under me in bed.”

He waited for her to deny it again but she surprised him,
which come to think of it, he should have expected.  She sighed and he
could see her making the effort to relax. 

“I can’t deny that I get a little skittish around you.”

“A little?”

She tensed up all over again, this time with a flash fire of
temper.  “Fine.  You scare the shit out of me.  Is that what you
want to hear?”

He ignored the temper, but made sure to keep a solid hold on
her.  Just in case.  “Maybe it is.  Depends on why I scare you.”

She blew out a deep breath, and then shook her wrists
again.  “Let me up.”

“I like it right here.”

“Douglas, if we are going to have this conversation, I
refuse to have it naked and underneath you.”

He enjoyed her wiggles and had to sigh himself.  “I
can’t think of a single conversation that would not be made better by you being
naked and underneath me.”

“Up Douglas, or I’ll consider it an act of war and act
accordingly.”

He raised a brow at her tone, wondering what she could
possibly do to him from there, but knowing her, he didn’t want to find
out.  Probably.  “Killjoy.”  He rolled off her and thoroughly
enjoyed the view he uncovered.

“You’re the one who wanted a conversation; don’t blame me if
you get more than you expected.”  With that ominous statement, Beatrice
was up and headed for the bathroom, swiping her robe from the chair on the
way.  “You could get dressed, too,” she called without looking at him
again.  She hit the bathroom like he was chasing her.  “I need
coffee!”

“Bossy,” he muttered, shaking his head, but then she had
that ass, and since it sounded good, he got up and started the pot Mrs. Peal had
provided when they moved back into the master suite the day before.

***

After a shower that she might have extended past all bounds,
she walked out to find Douglas had straightened up the mess and, at least,
pulled on his jeans, even if the sexy bastard hadn’t bothered to button
them.  Between that and the smell of coffee permeating the room, her mouth
started to water.

He handed her the cup without waiting for her to ask for it,
and to top that off, he kissed her hair as he passed by on his own way to the
shower.  She looked from the coffee in her hand to the closing bathroom
door.
 Son of a bitch — either he’s my soul mate or he’s going to break
my heart into teeny tiny little pieces when he goes.
 

She took a drink before she put the coffee down to get
dressed.  Perfect as usual. 
Sigh.
  She could hear
Douglas humming in the shower as she looked through her bag for clean
clothes.  There had not been much call to wear nightclothes since Douglas
had taken it upon himself to move them in together.  So there were plenty
of clean night clothes to choose from.

By the time she had pulled on the yellow checked cotton
capris with the white tank top, she heard the shower turn off.  She was on
the bed combing out her hair when Douglas came back in the room in nothing but
a low-slung towel.  Glistening water drops on his chest, he reached up to
slick the hair back from his face.

“Really?” she asked in clear exasperation.

“What?”

“Do you have to be sexy every damn moment of every damn
day?”

He smiled that freaking half grin of his and she felt her
nipples tighten under the thin cotton. 
Son of a bitch.

“Ah, Bumble Bee . . . are you flirting with me?  Go
ahead, get angry. You know it gets me hot.”

Her laugh burst out with a snort before she could stop it
and she covered her mouth in horror.

Douglas froze and looked at her closely.  “Did you just
snort?”

She shook her head quickly.

“You did just snort.  The lady of the manor, Beatrice
Shirley Blue, just snorted . . . in public.”

“Shut it, Douglas Bruce.”  She crossed her arms, trying
to look stern.  “And this is hardly public.”

“But you did snort?”

“Absolutely not.”  Even she could admit that her tone
was uppity.

He threw his head back, laughing full out.  Fresh from
the shower, in nothing but a towel and glistening water drops, his laugh put
him right over the edge into beautiful.

Douglas was still chuckling when he looked back at Beatrice
and caught her staring at him as if she was dumbstruck.  “What?”

She seemed to blink herself out of it and cleared her
throat.  “Nothing.  Did you want to dress before we talked?”

“No.”

She blew out a breath and looked at the ceiling as if asking
for divine help.  “Fine, but don’t expect actual coherent answers then.”

“You’ll do well enough, and I won’t have to strip us both
down again when we finish.”  He waggled his brows and she laughed again,
but sobered quickly.

“What was the question again?”

Douglas sat down beside where she sat cross-legged in the
bed.  She tossed the brush at the side table and missed by a mile. 
It made him smile.  “Why do you always run when I get close?”

“Another Doctor Phil moment, is it?”

“If you like.”

She swallowed again, her eyes finally meeting his, her chin
jutting obstinately. 
Here we go,
he thought. 
Another
angry evasion.

But she surprised him yet again by speaking plainly. 
“Because I don’t want to fall in love with you and then watch you walk
away.”  Her words were harsh as if her throat had dried up.  “I’m
trying to protect myself from your stupid charm.”

He smiled slow and sweet.  “How’s that working for
ya’?”  She hit him with the pillow.  He laughed, pulling the pillow
out of her hands and tossing it.  They struggled until he had her back
where they had started, with her beneath him. 

He looked down into her face, her eyes snapped fire at him
and her teeth were bared as she finally gave up her ineffectual struggles and
huffed.  He lost his smile while she glared up at him.  He was stone
cold serious when he spoke next.  “I’m going to get you in the end, you
know.”

“Maybe,” she growled back, just as sober, “but if I fall in
love alone, I’m going to turn into your worst nightmare of a crazy
ex-girlfriend.”

That made him smile.  “Right back at you, babe.”

When he didn’t say anything more, she narrowed her
eyes.  “Are we finished with this talk then?” she asked, her brow crinkled
all cute and confused.  “I mean, after all the build-up, is that it?”

He shrugged.  “I got what I needed.”

She rolled her eyes and relaxed beneath him.  “You are
such a guy.”

“I know.  It’s a terrible burden.”

She wriggled beneath him.  “Let go of my hands for a
minute; there’s something I’ve wanted to do since you came back in from your
shower.”

He studied her suspiciously, pulling back a bit in
self-preservation.  “You’re not going to slap the shit out of me if I let
go?”  He released her hands even as he asked the question.  He had no
clue what she was going to do.

She grabbed the towel and ripped it off his hips. 
Taking a firm grip of his dick, she leaned up and nipped his bottom lip, “Only
if you ask nicely.”

It made him laugh through his groan, even as he dropped back
down between her thighs.  He was pulling her tank top off while she
grabbed his ass with her free hand, and wrapped yellow checked cotton around him.

She thought he would walk away from this?
  He
took her lips, tasting that addictive honey he couldn’t get enough of.  He
was fast coming to the conclusion that he never would, and he didn’t give a
shit. 

He wrapped his hands around her ears and felt the wet
strands of hair, like ruby silk between his fingers.  Her blue eyes were
heavy lidded, and her hips rocked against his, while her fingers simultaneously
dug into the muscles of his ass and squeezed his dick. 
I’d have to be
a fucking idiot to let this woman go.

“Douglas,” she panted, as she pushed her heels into the bed
to give her hips more grind against the steel rod cradled between her fingers
and thighs, “this is no time to look deeply into my eyes.”  She wriggled
again, squeezing.

He smiled that wicked smile down at her.  “Only if you
ask nicely.”

She snapped her teeth at him, making him jerk his head back
with a laugh. 

Frustration was obvious in her voice when she spoke. 
“Okay, I am going to slap the shit out of you.”  She let him go, but he moved
faster.

He rolled them both over so that she was on top, enjoying
the feel of her draped over him.  He smiled up into her surprised face,
her hair falling on either side of his face.  “You’d have to catch me
first.”  He murmured, then leaned up and caught her dangerous mouth with
his.

This time it was Beatrice who pulled her head back and away
from him just as he was getting the taste of her.  She laughed when he
growled at her.

“Don’t think I won’t,” she said above him, and then
proceeded to trail her lips down his overheated body.  His last thought
before she nibbled and sucked every ounce of brain power from his body was
succinct, familiar, and heartfelt. 
I’d have to be a fucking idiot…

It seemed that working with Douglas Bruce was always filled
with strife of one kind or another — never a dull moment and all that. 
Even if it wasn’t his fault, trouble seemed to follow him around.  It had
never been an actual crime before.  Whatever else he was, Douglas Bruce
was never cruel, so even expecting trouble, it was still a shock when they
arrived at the worksite to find it vandalized.

They had a trailer they kept locked that held their
expensive tools and supplies.  In this case, they had five gallons of tung
oil waiting to be applied to wood, as soon as they were done sanding. 
Someone had broken in during the night and poured all of it over the equipment.
It had dried to a sticky mess,  a very expensive and time-consuming
mess.  They called the Sheriff’s Department, then walked the site to check
for other damage or thefts.  Nothing else was found to be out of place or
missing.

“Anyone see anything out of the ordinary?  Any
strangers hanging around?” The sheriff had liked the idea that someone from
their own people had done this, but since there was no one new, he had switched
to stranger danger.  Once again, it was obvious that outsiders were the
first and best suspects, but since they had no questionable visitors, all they
could do was speculate, which they did all the way, until they got in their
cruiser and departed.  “Just give us a call if you can think of anything
else, or notice anyone acting suspicious hanging around.  We’ll make sure
and have some patrols drive by tonight, just in case.”

“Right,” Douglas muttered, while Beatrice shook her head and
went back to work as soon as they drove off.

Douglas couldn’t blame her, they had plenty of work to
do.  Beatrice especially worked more than the usual jobs covered by the
interior designer.  She also represented the management when Jack put her
on a job, just as Douglas did in his way.  And this would add extra work
for both of them.

Of course, they were going to have to order more tung oil
and eat the cost of the first batch, plus arrange to replace any of the damaged
equipment that couldn’t be cleaned.  Insurance would cover it, but it
would still take time.  The most important consideration was the need to
order the tung oil again quickly.  They ordered early and in bulk for a
reason.   The whole thing was just fucked up and a serious waste of
time and money.

***

Beatrice fell onto the bed face down as soon as they walked
through the doors of their room at the B&B.

“Coffee?” he asked, smiling at her all sprawled out.

“No.”  The word was muffled against the pillow but he
could swear that’s what she said. 

“You don’t want coffee?”  She must have understood the
incredulous tone because she flipped over and through her hands out so that she
was a giant ‘X’ on the bed. 

“I understand your confusion.  Saying no to coffee
seems ridiculous to me, too, but right now I want a shower, and then I want to
go out and get some buttery pancakes with oodles of real maple syrup.” She
narrowed the eyes she had pointed at the ceiling.  “And a big glass of ice
cold milk.”

He smiled.  “No bacon?”

She turned her narrowed eyes to him.  “Are you trying
to fatten me up for something?”

He chuckled, bending down to pull off her work boots and
socks.  “Just getting the idea of how you like your breakfast, when it’s
served for dinner.  I myself am a firm believer that there’s never a bad
time to have bacon.”

“Such a guy.”  She sat up and crossed her legs, pulling
off her coat while he chucked her boots across the room in the general
direction of her luggage.  In contrast, she primly folded her coat and
placed it on the pillow behind her.

His lips did that half smile thing while he watched her,
crossing his arms at his chest.  “And you are such a girly girl, always
were.  The little ‘prissy princess’.”

“Don’t call me that.”  Her eyes flashed to his. 
“I always hated when you little ingrates called me that.”

“Oh, I know.”

She stood up barefoot on the bed, so that she looked down at
his smirking visage, her finger pointed at his nose, her temper simmering just
that fast, exhaustion forgotten in the injustice.  “Just because I liked
dresses and Barbies was no call to give me that ridiculous name.  I was
faster and meaner than most of you lot.”

“This is true.”

“What’s more . . .” she started, only to have him yank her
into his arms and kiss the stuffing out of her.

When he finally let go, she wobbled a bit on the bed.
 When she was able to stand on her own, he let go, smacking her ass as he
headed for the front door.

“Go take your shower.  I’m going to talk to Mrs. Peal
about where we can go to get breakfast for dinner.”

He walked out whistling while Beatrice wondered how in the
world the man managed to both ignite her temper and then so thoroughly distract
her out of it, all in a matter of minutes.  She felt like she was coming
down from an adrenaline rush when he did things like that – all loopy and
unstable.  She watched the door close behind him, still standing on the
bed like an idiot.  She kicked up her feet so that she landed with a
bounce on the corner of the mattress and then stood up and headed for the
bath. 

“Never mind,” she grumbled to the empty room, “a shower will
make everything better.”  She could worry about getting her bearings with
Douglas, The Bruce after pancakes.

***

Douglas came back to the room to collect Beatrice and found
her dressed, unfortunately.  “That was a fast shower.”

She looked up from where she was unpinning her hair. 
She had managed to keep most of it dry, but there were damp curls escaping here
and there where the shower mist had hit it, and her skin was flushed and
moist.  The only thing that could have made this better was if she was
still in her robe…or nothing at all.  However, the turquoise cashmere
sweater did look soft against her throat, and when she turned, the jeans
stretched taut against her luscious ass, so not a total loss.  The leather
knee boots were hot.

“I’m hungry.  Did you find out where we could get some
pancakes?”

“Yep,” he motioned to the door with a sweeping bow, “right
this way milady.”

When she went for her coat, he grabbed her arm and led her
out of the room, without it or her purse.

“What’s the idea?”

“Trust me,” he said and led her down to the kitchen, where
she had never been before.

“Douglas I don’t think we are supposed to be in here.”

“Mrs. Peal found out I was looking for breakfast and offered
her kitchen since there is nothing open that will sell breakfast for dinner in
these parts.”  He led her through the white farmhouse kitchen and helped
her up on a red padded barstool.  He handed her a tall glass of
milk.  “She offered to cook for us but I told her I could handle it.”

“
You’re
going to make me pancakes?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.  I may not have been raised
by Shirley Blue, kitchen goddess, but I think I can handle pancakes.”

“Uncle Jack taught you how to cook pancakes?”

He snorted, even as he headed around the bar to where an
overfull notebook sat open next to an empty mixing bowl, a large glass jar of
flour, eggs, and a few other things.  “Jack was allergic to the
kitchen.  So, if I wanted something to eat, I had to be the one to cook
it.”  He looked up from the notebook and gave her that killer smile. 
“Besides, chicks dig a Renaissance man.”

She laughed and he got back to it, measuring out the
ingredients with a complete lack of precision.  An overly full measuring
cup looked more like a cup and a quarter, but he just threw it in there with a
smidge of this and a smatter of that.  “Are you actually reading a recipe,
or just looking at a picture of what it should look like when you’re finished.”

“Funny,” he said.  “I’ll have you know that Mrs. Peal
gave me this recipe. She swears by it.  So you should be more
respectful.”  He pointed a flour-covered finger her way.  “You just
sit there and look pretty.  I’m going to blow your mind.”

“Really?  During dinner or after?”  She stole one
of his moves and waggled her brows at him, making him laugh with it this time.

“Both.  If I have anything to say about it.  Now
stop trying to distract me.  I have man work to do here.”

He poured the pancakes on the giant griddle he had already oiled
and grabbed plates while she studied him.  “You always surprise me,
Douglas.”

“How’s that?”

“You just never do what I expect is all.”

She cleared her throat and let him do his ‘man work’ without
distraction.  A few minutes later, he set a huge plate of pancakes before
her.  She picked up the fork he placed next to her plate.  “You
are
trying to fatten me up.”

He laughed and went back to pour more on the griddle.

Beatrice blew out a breath; watching him move around the
kitchen was illuminating.  It didn’t seem like there was anything he
couldn’t do, and with a smile on his face most of the time.  It made her
think about his earlier words about his grandfather.

“I don’t want to spoil the mood, or make you talk about
things best left alone, but I want to say one thing, and then I’ll leave it
alone.”

Douglas turned away from the stove and looked at her. 
He braced himself for whatever she would say since clearly this was going to be
bad.  “Yeah?”  Her first words froze him in place.

“Your grandfather was an ass.”  She met his eyes and
hers were completely sincere. “Even when you were driving me crazy, I admired
your work. You have become an artist with wood and well-respected in your
field.”  She looked down at her plate and rubbed her lips together
nervously.  “You care about people, and it shows.  You aren’t cruel,
even in a temper, and despite your obnoxious and never-ending propensity to
tease, you have the best sense of humor of anyone I have ever met.”  She
looked back up at him.  “Our family is lucky to have you.  You have
become a man any father would be proud of.  I know Uncle Jack is.” 
She smiled at him.  “He brags about you constantly.”  Then she
wrinkled her nose.  “It’s pretty annoying, actually.”

Douglas barked out a laugh before he knew he was going to;
then watched as she dug into her pancakes with obvious relish.  No hidden
agenda or any other reason he could see for her to say it, other than she must
have been thinking about it all this time and worried about him in that soft
heart of hers.

“You are a hell of a woman, Beatrice Shirley Blue.” 
His words were quiet and just as sincere as hers.

“Don’t I know it . . .”  She flashed him another smile,
after she took a huge bite of buttery pancakes with real maple syrup, then put
her dainty hand in front of her mouth and spoke with her mouth full. 
“You’re burning your pancakes.”

Douglas turned with a rush and cursed fluently when he saw
the smoke coming from the many disks that had once been his dinner.  He
turned off the burner and moved the pan, giving it time to cool down.  He
washed his hands and turned to see her enjoying her food while she watched him.

“Good?”

“Delicious.”  She popped another piece in her
mouth.  “I think I might have to steal that recipe from Mrs. Peal before
we leave.”

“Don’t I get any of the credit?”

She swallowed, then smiled big, and it occurred to him that
she was actually getting prettier. 

“Maybe you get a little credit,” she said.  Putting
down her fork, she pushed her half eaten pancakes away.  “That hit the
spot.  Why don’t you finish these while I clean up?”  She came around
the bar and grabbed his arm, pulling him around and shoving him down on her
stool.

He picked up the fork just as she leaned over his shoulder
and whispered in his ear, “Then we can go upstairs and fool around.”

His fork clattered down but she was already out of reach,
cleaning up the mess he had made and running hot water for the dishes.  He
ate her pancakes, content to watch her move around the kitchen in front of
him.  Even so . . . he ate fast.