“Of course, Ruby, when would you like to go?” he inquired, sipping his coffee and feeling the full weight of Julia’s feigned aloofness, just as she intended.
“Tomorrow?” Ruby tried.
He smiled at the child and said in a gentle tone, “No, Ruby, tomorrow would be too much of a good thing. But soon.”
“Promise?” she shouted.
He nodded and Mrs. Kilpatrick walked in, setting his breakfast in front of him and announcing that Carter was ready to take the kids to school.
They rushed around like dervishes, all stopping at Julia for hugs and kisses. Douglas watched in dawning realisation that this unusual practice of affection was now an expected agenda item for the morning schedule, or indeed any time they left Julia. Ruby even stopped and gave him a kiss before unnecessarily chasing after the siblings who would leave her behind.
Unable to keep her back even partially to him and not appear rude, Julia turned back to the table but didn’t say a word.
“Have you had breakfast?” he asked.
“I’m not hungry,” she replied, her tone not inviting further conversation and her eyes were now gazing in fixed fascination on the wallpaper across the room as if she were counting the seconds to when she could leave and not seem ill-mannered.
“Would you like to explain this new morning ritual?” he asked.
This shook her out of her feigned remoteness and she turned startled green eyes to him.
“You said that I could decide what the children were to eat,” she looked down at the pots of jam.
“I’m not referring to the sugar bowl, Julia,” he explained. “I think it… unusual to demand the children display physical affection every time they leave you.” His tone sounded more judgmental than he intended and she stiffened in response.
“It’s tradition,” she told him, her voice terse.
“An odd tradition,” he commented, regarding her levelly and she raised her glittering eyes to his.
“Not really. My mother always made us kiss and hug her before we went to bed or school or, when we were older, out with our friends. We used to hate it. Especially if it was in front of someone else or we were quarrelling with her. Even then, we had to kiss her goodnight. One day, when I was a senior in high school, she got sick. A really bad case of pneumonia and she had to be in the hospital for a long time and, for a day or two, it didn’t look good. I couldn’t give her a kiss or hug before I went to bed and I found I missed it, was actually desperate to do it because I was so scared at how sick she was. It was then I realised her wisdom, because anything can happen when you least expect it. And, if the last thing you did was give someone you loved a hug or a kiss, it would make dealing with whatever happened just that tiny bit better.”
She stopped and he realised, with some surprise, she was having trouble breathing. Regardless, she continued, but this time, her voice was shaking.
“I know Gavin and Tammy did the same thing with those kids for the same reason and it makes it all a tiny bit better knowing that the last things those kids did was kiss and hug their parents good-bye.”
It was then Douglas realised why her breathing was laboured, why her voice was shaking. She was holding back the tears that were gleaming at the rims of her eyes. He himself felt a strange lump rise in his throat and his hands involuntarily formed into fists in an effort not to touch her, something that was becoming a habit, this consistent effort not to touch her.
And he very much wanted to touch her now. He wanted to touch her last night after she blazed at him in anger and when she was seated demurely on the couch listing her grievances regarding the children. He wanted to touch her in the car when she was sleeping away her exhaustion and jetlag. And he had wanted to touch her in the Bentley when they were driving to the gallery and all he could smell was her perfume and all he could see were her endless legs.
It wasn’t often that Douglas didn’t simply do what he wanted to do. Now, most especially, as he watched her struggle with her emotions, sitting there looking alone and tremendously sad, he found himself wanting to comfort her. If he was honest, he may have even needed her to comfort him as he felt his chest tighten with something he hadn’t felt for years.
“Julia,” he murmured softly.
She took a deep shuddering breath.
“So, you see,” she finished, a tremor still in her voice but the subject, most definitely, was closed, “it’s tradition.”
He allowed her a moment to collect herself, reading correctly that she would prefer to be in control rather than let go. He understood that. However, he did so while watching her.
She was immensely watchable. Her face wasn’t just lovely, it was also expressive. Her emotions, now raw and right on the surface, made her all the more alluring. He could never countenance female tears but then, he’d never seen any that were genuine.
He felt the familiar pull of what he recognised as a growing attraction to her. He’d always known it was there but the strength of it was surprising.
He didn’t just want to touch her. He wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted to kiss her in the car when she had so obviously enjoyed the night out with Charlie, her cheeks flushed, her voice happy and he was surrounded with her captivating scent and knew exactly how her legs and ass looked in that unbelievable dress. And again, when he had awakened her after they arrived home and her eyes were heavy-lidded and her voice was husky with sleep. And also, after she had vented her anger at him last night.
No, last night he hadn’t wanted to kiss her, he ached to do it and far more than that. He’d had to put the desk between them to stop himself.
And now, while she was struggling for control, he wanted very much to coax her to lose that control. He wanted to taste her lips, hear her whisper his name with her voice throaty with passion.