Page 57 of Somewhere I'll Find You
Annoyed by the derisive note in his voice, Julia opened her mouth to reply. But she closed it abruptly. He was right, although she hated his perceptiveness, not wanting anyone to read her with such apparent ease. She did like the feeling of being admired by the public, who seemed more than ready to give her all the attention and affection her father had always denied her.
“Leading an ordinary life must pale in comparison,” Damon remarked.
“I wouldn't know,” she said with an edge of sarcasm, pulling down her disheveled hair. “Tell me what an ordinary life is like…oh, but I forgot. You wouldn't know either.”
“I lead the life I was intended for.”
“So do I,” she said defensively.
There was a sardonic twist at the corner of his mouth, but he chose not to argue. He watched her steadily as she used one of her tortoiseshell combs to straighten her hair before twisting it back up again.
The terrace house was as elegant as one would expect of an address in posh Laura Place. The gleaming oak floors were covered with pale English hand-knotted carpets, upon which were scattered handsome pieces of polished rosewood furniture and urns filled with lush plants. Pale yellow and green curtains covered the long windows, while sheets of ornately framed mirror glass gave the rooms an airy, open appearance.
Relaxing in the luxurious candlelit atmosphere of the small dining room, Julia applied herself hungrily to the meal. The array of French dishes included chicken and truffles in champagne sauce, veal scallops stuffed with herbs, and vegetables glistening with a hint of butter. A plate of wine-soaked fruit was brought out for dessert, as well as tiny almond tarts heaped with raspberries and meringue.
“After such a large meal, I won't be able to fit into my costumes,” Julia said, biting into a tart and making an appreciative noise.
“You barely do now.”
Julia smiled at the touch of jealousy in his voice. “Compared to other actresses, my costumes are extraordinarily modest.” She picked up a raspberry that had fallen to her plate and consumed it daintily.
The shadow of displeasure remained on his face. “I don't like it that other men are able to see so much of my wife. I know exactly what they think when they look at you.”
Amused by his possessiveness, Julia leaned her chin on her hand and stared at him. “What do they think?” she prompted.
On the pretext of pouring more wine for her, Damon stood and walked to her side of the table. Half-sitting on the edge, he refilled her glass and looked down at her. Julia didn't move, even when his warm gaze traveled to her breasts and back to her face. Lightly he caught the fragile edge of her jaw in his fingers, and tilted her head back.
“They imagine what your skin feels like, and if it could really be as soft as it appears.” His forefinger traced the curve of her cheek and grazed the tender corner of her lips. “They wonder how you taste…they think about loosening your hair and letting it fall over your body…arranging it over your breasts…” His hand moved in a slow caress down her throat, and then the backs of his knuckles passed once, twice over the peak of her breast.
Julia's breath quickened, and her fingers grasped the edge of her chair as she fought for composure. She wanted to stand and press herself into the lee of his thighs, to welcome the warmth of his hands on her skin. Damon continued to toy with her leisurely, his silver-gray eyes locked on every nuance of her expression. “They want to make love to you,” he murmured, “and lock you away somewhere for their private pleasure.” His fingers slid beneath the edge of her bodice, dipping close to the tingling bud of her nipple.
Shivering, Julia caught his hand. “You said you would return me to the inn untouched.”
“So I did.” Gradually his fingers withdrew from her gown. His lips hovered above hers, his breath warm and sweet against her skin. “There's a bit of meringue at the corner of your mouth.”
Automatically Julia reached with her tongue and found the touch of stickiness, letting it dissolve in her mouth. Damon's gaze didn't miss the flicker of movement. His hand, still caught in hers, was as hard as steel.
Slowly Julia let go of him, and happened to glance at the sparkling diamond on her own finger. The stone was extraordinarily beautiful in the candlelight, glittering in constantly shifting patterns. She felt guilty for having accepted it from him, for wearing something she wasn't entitled to keep. “You should take this back,” she said, removing the ring and offering it to him.
“I have no use for it.”
“It doesn't belong to me.”
“It does,” he contradicted quietly. “You're my wife.”
Julia frowned, holding the ring in her palm. “This is a symbol of a marriage that never existed—and never will.”
“I want you to keep it. No matter what happens in the future, you'll look at that ring and know that once you were mine.”
Julia hadn't realized that he considered the ring a sign of ownership. She set it on the table, forcing herself to let go of the beautiful diamond. The ring came with a price she wasn't certain she was willing to pay. “I'm sorry,” she said, unable to look at him.
Although she couldn't see his face, she sensed a change in the atmosphere…the fierce will of a warrior in battle, the urge to conquer and dominate. Aware of his violence barely kept in check, Julia remained very still. She kept her face turned away and listened to his breathing, until the deepening movements of his lungs became calm once more.
“You'll ask for it back someday.”
Startled, Julia made the mistake of looking at him. His face was very near, his eyes gleaming like a well-sharpened knife blade. It took all her self-control to keep from shivering in alarm. In this moment it was easy to see how he had singlehandedly pulled his family from poverty to wealth, with pure force of will. “No,” she said softly. “Even if I were to fall in love with you, I wouldn't accept the ring and become your property.”
“Property,” he repeated, his tone infused with the sting of a riding whip. “Is that how you think I would treat you?”
