Julia whirled around “Rubbing alcohol won’t kill…” but she stopped when Douglas’s head shot up.
“Doctor,” Douglas muttered and Nick immediately left the room to fetch the doctor.
Julia and Douglas surveyed each other like opponents on a battlefield.
Julia broke the silence. “Douglas, is there something you want to share with me?”
“Not now, Julia.”
“I’ll tell you something for nothing,” she said, her anger taking over her nerves and making her lapse into the Midwestern twang her mother tried for years to breed out of them. “If you die, I’m going to kill you.”
To her shock, her idiotic threat made him grin. What he thought was worth grinning about in this grim situation, she could not imagine. Furthermore, she had to steal herself against just how devilishly sexy his damn grins made him, gunshot wounds or not. Before she could respond to the wickedly handsome look on his face, the doctor was at the door.
Julia watched as he inspected the wound then looked up and spoke to Nick and Julia.
“One of you stay to help me, the other one, leave us.”
“I’ll do it,” Julia immediately offered.
“No!” both Douglas and Nick shouted.
“You’re outvoted, luv,” the doctor said kindly and Julia, without a fight so the doctor could see to Douglas without delay, left.
Instead of going toward the house, where the kids might hear or see her, she went to the chapel.
The chapel, as it was unused nearly all the time, was unheated. She hadn’t put on her robe or slippers and only had on a pair of thin, knit, mint green, drawstring pyjama bottoms and matching lace-trimmed camisole.
She paced through the darkness to keep herself warm and she counted to keep her mind busy. She did not want to think of what her life had become. She did not want to list in her mind the many reasons her life had descended into sheer, unadulterated madness.
But as the minutes ticked by, her control slipped and she started listing. She couldn’t help it, it was habit.
There was Monique, the Super Bitch, out there somewhere, Julia knew, conniving to make Julia’s life a living hell. There was Douglas, lying on her bed with a gunshot wound in his shoulder. That same Douglas who wanted her to marry him for what had to be nefarious reasons and kept kissing her for no reason at all. There were the ghosts of separated lovers haunting this creepy old house. Then there was the house itself, spooky beyond belief and…
“Doc’s done,” Nick said from behind her, making her jump.
She rushed through the chapel, down the hall and back into her room.
Douglas was lounging back on her pillows and the bloody towels, shirt and overcoat had disappeared. His chest was cleaned of blood and his shoulder was wrapped expertly in bandages.
“Are you his intended?” the doctor asked her.
“What?” she forced her gaze away from Douglas who had his eyes closed and seemed to be sleeping.
“His intended? He said you were getting married,” the doctor explained.
Thinking that he may not tell her important information if she said no, she said, “Yes.”
Douglas’s eyes opened and he grinned again.
She wanted to stamp her foot in frustration but she forced herself to turn calmly to the doctor. “How is he?”
“He’s fine. Didn’t hit anything major and went clean through. I’ll want to have a scan of it tomorrow but he needs rest tonight. No moving the shoulder. I’ve given him something for the pain.” He looked at Douglas. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He clasped his case closed and Nick left with him.
Julia stared down at Douglas suddenly deflated and overcome with relief that everything was going to be okay. Not relieved that he’d shown up in the middle of the night with a gunshot wound, a wound which somehow didn’t send him into shock and a wound which he would not allow her to phone the police to report, but that particular discussion would have to wait for tomorrow.
“Well, now that I know you’re okay, I’ll go upstairs and sleep,” she announced.
“Why don’t you sleep here?” Douglas suggested, his voice slightly slurred making her think the painkiller was working.
“As comfortable as that chaise lounge is, I don’t want to sleep on it.” She was grabbing her slippers and robe but she heard him pat the bed.
“No, not there, here.” He was watching her, his eyes half-shut and she had to admit, he looked unbelievably sexy. He had a very nice chest, well-defined abs and she just noticed the snug black jeans…
She tore her gaze away. “I’ll find a bed upstairs, there’re plenty.”
“No,” Douglas returned. “Mother keeps them unmade. Doesn’t like the sheets gathering dust. Only made up for guests. The children will hear you if you make up a bed.”
“Then you stay down here and I’ll sleep in your bed.”
His eyes went from half-shut to fully-open, regarding her sharply. “Julia, you don’t sleep in that bed until I’m in it with you.”
Her stomach flipped at his words, his tone and his look.
To hide her fluster, she said with false bravado, “Well, at this point, I’m not entirely certain what you’ll do about it considering the… shape… you’re…”
She trailed off as he stood up and stalked, absolutely stalked, toward her.
He didn’t stop until he was towering over her.
“If I have to, I’ll open this wound and carry you back down, or join you up there. Your choice.”
She stood there, stunned.
“I’ll find a couch,” she offered.
“Julia, I’m tired, I’ve been shot, for Christ’s sake, just get into the bed.”
“Why?” she asked shakily.
“Because I want you to. Because I need something warm and soft and alive beside me tonight. Something that smells good and feels good. After what I’ve seen…” he stopped when her eyes widened in curiosity at his words. It was then the shutters closed over his features, he gave up and turned away from her. “Forget it, find your couch.”
She stood there and stared at him as he fell back on her bed and closed his eyes.
And she couldn’t help but wonder, what exactly had he seen? What on earth could make Douglas Ashton’s renowned composure slip?
Pulling herself from her thoughts, Julia went around turning off the lights and making up her mind (or making up excuses, depending on how you looked at it).
It wouldn’t hurt, just tonight; he’d had a painkiller which eventually should kick in.
And he’d been shot, for goodness sake.
And he needed human companionship and gone so far as to admit it. She couldn’t say no as she knew exactly how that felt.
She decided tomorrow she could go back to being aloof and unaffected by him.
Tonight, she was going to give Douglas what he wanted.
Just this once.
She climbed into bed cautiously and no sooner had she begun to lay back, his arm shot out and pulled her closer.
Then he hissed, “Bloody hell, your hands are like ice.”
Hastily she explained, “I was in the chapel, I didn’t want to children to hear me pacing. It was cold.”
“Get under the covers,” he ordered and she jumped out of bed as he rolled off the other side. He carefully took off his boots as she ran to put on a pair of socks so her feet wouldn’t freeze him, returned and got under the covers where he already was.
Just as before, the minute she lay her body down, he pulled it towards him. The way they were laying she had no choice but to rest one hand on his chest and her cheek on his good shoulder. She felt his muscles tense at the coldness of her hands but he said nothing.