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Authors: Kelly Lucille
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thing.” Then his smirk
was back and she laughed despite herself.
“Fine. No picking fights to keep an emotional
distance.” Beatrice leaned forward. “I can’t promise no fighting
full stop. We’ll just see how long sensitive, ‘let’s talk about our
feelings’ Douglas Bruce lasts.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged, taking a drink,
his hot eyes were on hers over the rim of the cup. “I figure you start
looking for a fight, I’ll just fuck that right out of you.”
“And . . . he’s back . . .” Beatrice looked at her
watch. “Wow, you lasted like 30 seconds.” She clapped. “Good
job. Keep this up and I will have pitched my coffee at you by the end of
breakfast.”
Of course, she was tingling in all the wrong places and his
incorrigible side smile wasn’t helping. Or the way he stared at her lips
with purposeful heat all the while she talked. Like he had plans for
those lips. Sexy plans.
Yep. I am in so much trouble here.
Chapter 8
From the way Douglas had watched her throughout breakfast,
Beatrice had been prepared for a quick run home and a tumble. Instead, he
held her hand and led her on a meandering walk through the cute shops of
historic Port Townsend’s Main Street. Much of it dated from the 1800s and
had a heavy Victorian influence. Well maintained with flower baskets and
brightly lit windows, it was cute, quaint, and situated as it was by the
harbor, it was well worth the meander.
“It’s an amoeba.”
Beatrice was not sure her voice was carrying the full weight
of her authority behind it, but looking at the modern art in the small gallery
they had wandered into, she really was not sure what it was supposed to be.
“An amoeba is a chicken shit answer for an ink blob.
You can do better.” Douglas turned to the side and looked at it from
another angle. “I say it’s a dick on top of a reindeer.”
Beatrice snorted but tipped her head sideways just in
case. “Oh yeah. I totally see that.” She pointed.
“Antlers. Funny hat. Huh.”
They moved to the next painting. This one had them
stumped for a while, but Beatrice could admit it had some nicer colors than the
last one in soupy greens. This one at least kept all the colors
distinct. “Maybe a dragon in a tutu?”
“This one looks like a dick, too. I think there’s a
theme.”
“Or you just have dick on the brain,” Beatrice muttered, but
had to shake her head and move on because he was right again.
“What happened to trees and flowers? Or, I don’t know .
. . local art of the majestic ocean and fluttering sailboats?”
Douglas was already squinting at the next painting.
“We might need to move to another gallery for that.” He sighed, “I sure
hope this painter is either a woman or a gay man, because if not, he has issues
with his dick. Deep psychological issues.”
Beatrice studied the pinks and purples of the next
painting. It looked like a dick. “It could be an amoeba.”
Douglas snorted. “Clearly you are in need of a little
more up close and personal dick time.” He grabbed her arm, leading her
away. “When we get back to the B&B, we can work on that. For as
long as you need.”
Beatrice laughed. “You would do that . . . for me?”
“I’m all about the sacrificing.”
The day outside was full of cool salt breezes from the ocean
with a bite. The sun had not made an appearance yet, even this close to
noon and Beatrice wished she had brought along more than her flannel for the
impromptu outing. An outing she was enjoying more than she thought
possible, and all because she was with Douglas Bruce and he was using his
sarcasm and dry wit for something other than making her crazy.
“You want to hit that jewelry store?” he asked, eyeing the
sparkly window.
“Are you going to do that guy thing of assuming I want you
to buy it for me just because I ooh and aah at all the sparkles?”
“Of
was back and she laughed despite herself.
“Fine. No picking fights to keep an emotional
distance.” Beatrice leaned forward. “I can’t promise no fighting
full stop. We’ll just see how long sensitive, ‘let’s talk about our
feelings’ Douglas Bruce lasts.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged, taking a drink,
his hot eyes were on hers over the rim of the cup. “I figure you start
looking for a fight, I’ll just fuck that right out of you.”
“And . . . he’s back . . .” Beatrice looked at her
watch. “Wow, you lasted like 30 seconds.” She clapped. “Good
job. Keep this up and I will have pitched my coffee at you by the end of
breakfast.”
Of course, she was tingling in all the wrong places and his
incorrigible side smile wasn’t helping. Or the way he stared at her lips
with purposeful heat all the while she talked. Like he had plans for
those lips. Sexy plans.
Yep. I am in so much trouble here.
Chapter 8
From the way Douglas had watched her throughout breakfast,
Beatrice had been prepared for a quick run home and a tumble. Instead, he
held her hand and led her on a meandering walk through the cute shops of
historic Port Townsend’s Main Street. Much of it dated from the 1800s and
had a heavy Victorian influence. Well maintained with flower baskets and
brightly lit windows, it was cute, quaint, and situated as it was by the
harbor, it was well worth the meander.
“It’s an amoeba.”
Beatrice was not sure her voice was carrying the full weight
of her authority behind it, but looking at the modern art in the small gallery
they had wandered into, she really was not sure what it was supposed to be.
“An amoeba is a chicken shit answer for an ink blob.
You can do better.” Douglas turned to the side and looked at it from
another angle. “I say it’s a dick on top of a reindeer.”
Beatrice snorted but tipped her head sideways just in
case. “Oh yeah. I totally see that.” She pointed.
“Antlers. Funny hat. Huh.”
They moved to the next painting. This one had them
stumped for a while, but Beatrice could admit it had some nicer colors than the
last one in soupy greens. This one at least kept all the colors
distinct. “Maybe a dragon in a tutu?”
“This one looks like a dick, too. I think there’s a
theme.”
“Or you just have dick on the brain,” Beatrice muttered, but
had to shake her head and move on because he was right again.
“What happened to trees and flowers? Or, I don’t know .
. . local art of the majestic ocean and fluttering sailboats?”
Douglas was already squinting at the next painting.
“We might need to move to another gallery for that.” He sighed, “I sure
hope this painter is either a woman or a gay man, because if not, he has issues
with his dick. Deep psychological issues.”
Beatrice studied the pinks and purples of the next
painting. It looked like a dick. “It could be an amoeba.”
Douglas snorted. “Clearly you are in need of a little
more up close and personal dick time.” He grabbed her arm, leading her
away. “When we get back to the B&B, we can work on that. For as
long as you need.”
Beatrice laughed. “You would do that . . . for me?”
“I’m all about the sacrificing.”
The day outside was full of cool salt breezes from the ocean
with a bite. The sun had not made an appearance yet, even this close to
noon and Beatrice wished she had brought along more than her flannel for the
impromptu outing. An outing she was enjoying more than she thought
possible, and all because she was with Douglas Bruce and he was using his
sarcasm and dry wit for something other than making her crazy.
“You want to hit that jewelry store?” he asked, eyeing the
sparkly window.
“Are you going to do that guy thing of assuming I want you
to buy it for me just because I ooh and aah at all the sparkles?”
“Of
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