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?