Touch Me (Promise Me Book 2)

by Viragh, Brea

  The slight hitch of an elbow in my side was a cue to speak.

  “I’m at home most of the day.” I shrugged and flicked at my nails for something to do. “I need to feel free a few nights of the week, let my hair down and cut loose. Otherwise I go mad.”

  Who was speaking? Certainly not me. The voice, the teasing voice I recognized, now sounded different, quiet, sultry. With a hint of gravelly roughness adding depth. On any given day I sounded like I should be skipping and chewing bubblegum.

  Isabel scrutinized my every move and appeared unimpressed. Her opinion was written across her face. She shot me the kind of look that left a mark. “What do you do for a living, Leda?”

  The effort was there, and gave her credit. However, the way she said my name conjured images of creepy-crawlies no one wanted to touch. I was not winning any popularity points tonight. Then again, being popular wasn’t the point.

  What did I do for a living? I did what I had to in order to make sure the rent was paid on time. “I run a hair salon out of my house. Lots of people popping by at crazy hours, but it’s not the same as getting out.” I gestured down, tipping my head sideways and striving for a grin. “I like the opportunity to dress up and look nice.” Or I tried, in any case. I rarely had the time anymore.

  “You always look good to me.” August shot me a heated smile and I echoed the gesture.

  To counter, I slapped August on the thigh. “Sweet man.” I glanced at Isabel, cocking my head as I stared at her. “You should come and see me sometime, Isabel. I’ll try to help you with all of this.” There was too much length. She’d do well with a snappy pop of highlight and layers. I pictured the design in my head and mentally shaped her style.

  “All of what?”

  “I think you know,” I replied. The way she bristled had me instantly regretting my offer.

  “I’m so glad we had the opportunity to get together. The last time we tried didn’t work out so well,” Isabel said to August. A single eyebrow rose independent of the other.

  Duncan, in turn, said to me, “I got the flu. Bedridden for four days.”

  The flu? I looked closer and sure enough, his face did show distinct signs of strain. There were dark rings beneath his eyes, a gaunt set to his cheeks. The jacket hung loose on his frame.

  “You poor thing.” My tongue clucked against the roof of my mouth, heart twisting in sympathy. “I heard something was going around but I didn’t realize it took so much out of you.”

  I resisted the urge to reach across the space and grab his hand, give his tanned skin a good rub. Papa always insisted the best remedy for when you’re on the mend was a hand rub. The joints stiffened during sickness, became sore and in need of a massage. I had to admit, it had helped me on more than one occasion.

  Duncan smiled, and I had the distinct impression of teetering on a knife’s edge.

  “It did,” he stated. “I only returned to work the beginning of the week and it was rough at first. You forget how the flu lays you low once it gets its hooks in.”

  “That it does,” I commented, wondering how deep Isabel’s hooks had sunk into Duncan.

  A glint of light on Isabel’s engagement ring told me they were deep enough. If I didn’t owe August a favor I would steer clear of the couple, knowing my penchant for muscled men. Muscled blond men. Muscled blond men with an easy way about them.

  Nope. Wrong. Tonight was for August.

  “I can’t believe you got the flu this time of year,” I murmured.

  Duncan scoffed, rolling his shoulders. “I should have figured there was sickness in the air when the receptionist at my office started getting the chills. Like an idiot I didn’t pay attention and it caught up to me.”

  “It’s not your fault. Viruses go around faster than a snap. You don’t even have to look in my direction and I usually catch some kind of illness. Then there are the times you think it’s allergies and suddenly you’re on the floor with every inch of your skin feeling flayed.”

  He chuckled. “Right you are. The tender skin was the worst. Not to mention stomach ache and chills and glands like swollen boulders.”

  “Are you sure you should be out indulging?” I glanced around at the full patio. “Rich food won’t make your stomach feel better.”

  I should know. Mine was doing backflips.

  “Oh, I’m fine,” Duncan amended. “A little shaky but otherwise on the uphill mend. Ready to stuff myself until I burst.”

  “I hope you at least had someone at home taking care of you.” To make my point and please August, I sent Isabel a pointed look before turning back to Duncan. “With that kind of illness, it’s impossible to get up and take care of yourself. I remember the last time I caught something and it was awful!”

  “My girl did a fine job. The best she could, at any rate.” Duncan patted Isabel, indulgent.

  “I hope so. I would hate to see you wither away because someone was too busy.”

  “She’s never been good at those things,” August said teasingly to Duncan, adding in his two cents.

  Isabel clutched her water glass with such a firm grip it looked close to shattering. “Wow, I didn’t realize today had become National Dump on Isabel Day.” She took an angry sip. “Thanks a bunch.”

  “Don’t be like that. We’re just having a little fun.” August turned to me and nudged. My lips pursed when I had little to offer to enhance the conversation.

  “So, Leda, how did you get into running a salon?” Duncan asked.

  Ooh, he wanted to talk to me? Pleasure leapt up my throat and I gritted my teeth, struggling to swallow it whole. “Styling has always been easy for me. I used to work at a beauty parlor. When I wanted a change of scenery, I just picked a spot on the map and moved there. I had a name in mind, and if I liked the look of a road, I followed it. Until I ended up in Heartwood. It’s sheer luck I have a skill I can take anywhere. It travels well.”

  “Too true.” Duncan ran a hand through his hair, my gaze following the movement of his massive fist. What a grip the man must have. “What do you think you can do for me?”

  I started to imagine the naughty acts those hands could perform, before shaking the thought from my head. “You, sir, have a perfect head of hair. Beautiful enough to make the girls twitchy! Although if you wanted a design, I could shave it for you.”

  Duncan’s eyes twinkled when he broke off a piece of bread, popping it into his mouth. “Any kind of design?”

  “Whatever your heart desires,” I joked.

  “Like a topiary. It takes a few quick snips for the pattern to emerge.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You could make my hair into a bunny rabbit,” he challenged. “Or a giraffe.”

  “Darlin’, I could do just about anything with you.” I folded my hands on the table. “Just give yourself over to me and we will get a pattern emerging.”

  “Imagine how funny I would look!”

  Jesus, he wound me up, so beautiful to look at it hurt. Puzzled at my reaction, I continued to speak. “Then again, think of how the guys in the office will react. They’d want to break down my door to get a similar style and I’m not sure I could keep up with the demand.”

  “Why don’t we add color into the mix too?” Duncan teased.

  I leaned closer. “I would measure myself,” I advised. “Maybe a tone with strong copper highlights to bump up the action of the sunny gold?”

  “Action and intrigue, I’d say.” Duncan leaned his head back and the ensuing laughter had those nearest our table turning to stare. “I can’t imagine.”

  “Believe it. I’ve seen some crazy combinations in my day. And between you and me, I’m quite capable of executing whatever style is called for. Tried most of them out on myself.” I tugged at my own roots. “Would you believe I once went raven black? Pretty unflattering.”

  “I don’t believe any color would be unflattering to you. You have the face of an angel.”

  I couldn’t control my delighted smile. “You are too mu
ch for me to handle.”

  “I’m the package deal, right?” Instead of sounding full of himself, the statement was simple. Its meaning was clear.

  I smiled so wide, bird feathers should have dangled from my lips. “Right you are.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Our conversation was interrupted when the waiter approached the table cradling a bottle of red wine in his hands. Oh, thank goodness. I was in need of a little liquid fortification to get through the meal. The moment the cork popped, the tangy scent of tannins reached my nose and I almost swooned.

  Remembering my manners, I refrained from grabbing the stemware, instead waiting for the waiter to pour for the table. In true tradition and with a charming flourish, the young fellow served the eldest woman at the table first. Isabel received her wine before the rest of us. And decided to take the insult out on me.

  The look I received would have turned a lesser woman to stone and should have done the same for me if I hadn’t expected it. Instead, I decided to take it in stride and smirked in retort, my insides squirming. The server received a glare as nasty as the one I did and continued to pour the wine with nary a spill. Strong man. I’m not sure I would have made it through the process if I were in his shoes.

  Damn her. I was a Cox. I’d eaten nastier stares for breakfast.

  I accepted my pour and took a healthy swig before anyone noticed. At once the heat spread through my insides to calm any residual fissures of tension. There was no sense in getting agitated now. The evening had just begun.

  I’m a strong, independent woman, I reminded myself. Repeat. Repeat again.

  August and Isabel engaged in conversation in their own world. They were far away from the table, from me and Duncan, catching up on their lives during the past five years. I opened my mouth to interject when Duncan spoke.

  “I don’t drink on a regular basis, but tonight seems like a special occasion,” he stated, swirling the glass. He peered down at the garnet-colored liquid with a discerning squint.

  “Oh yeah? What are you celebrating?” I countered.

  Duncan must have sensed Isabel’s furious stares as he turned his head away, keeping his gaze fixed on me with an almost offhand defiance. “Nothing in particular. I meant because you and August decided to join us. I love company, although this one over here,” he jerked a thumb toward Isabel, “she’s more of an introvert. She likes things to go her way and has a hard time letting go of control.”

  “So I can see.”

  “I almost had to beg her to come out tonight. I’m sure August told you, but she...we...have been running ourselves into the ground with house renovations and wedding details. I know Izzy doesn’t want to waste money on dining out, but the thought of spending another second in that hotel room almost sent me into a depression.”

  “I can understand how she feels, although I’ve never been one for staying at home. My own company can be horrible at times.” I indulged in a self-deprecating shrug. “I like to say I’m outgoing. It makes life more exciting.”

  “I agree. Much more exciting.”

  I raised my glass to his. “To a taste for adventure, then.”

  Duncan echoed my cheer and our glasses clinked together in a merry fashion. “I suppose working in a beauty salon requires a certain type of personality, and being outgoing helps. It doesn’t seem an easy task to interact with the public on a day to day basis while you’re in your own house. I’m not sure I could stand it.”

  I watched Duncan dip a piece of bread into a waiting bowl of olive oil, the piece dwarfed in his massive hand. A sip of wine brought much needed moisture to my mouth. The glass was cold against my lips.

  “It’s hard for me to imagine going to work at a nine-to-five. As for operating out of my house, I got used to the intrusion. The constant flux starts to feel normal. It’s the same with bartenders and serving staff. It takes a special person to deal with the ebb and flow of customers each day while still keeping a smile tacked on your face.”

  The strength of his cologne hit me and I wondered if I would ever be the same. With my mind wandering, I shifted the wine away from my face, saw myself in the image reflected in the glass. How different we were, Isabel and I. Could Duncan picture himself with a woman like me?

  Hair a short spill of yellow above my shoulders, wide eyes more emerald than forest-green. A smooth expanse of skin waiting for the sun’s touch.

  The moment the pin stuck through the map on my eighteenth birthday, I knew I was ready for a change. Not just a difference in scenery but a difference in myself as well. All of my life I’d kept my hair long, first at my mom Deborah’s insistence and then because it was habit.

  Little girls with such beautiful hair need to let the world see it. You are too stunning to change anything. You’ll look like a little boy, Deborah had said, stroking the long strands with a hairbrush. During my youth, those locks were corn silk in color and texture. They slid down the narrow portions of my back to touch the base of my spine, with a little curl at the end. Mama loved to brush my hair each night, when we sat in front of the television and the soft bristles of the brush curved graceful lines along the length.

  I’d loved the feeling, how each long stroke matched the beat of my heart. We’d giggled over the cartoons and joked about the commercials. When she was done, she would pull me onto her lap, rocking back and forth, humming a wacky tune against my ear.

  Thinking about it now threw me back to the time when things began to change, when the scent of microwaved macaroni and cheese covered up the acridness permeating the room. Oozing from her skin. Too much makeup and too little control when it came to rum. My child’s mind was slow to comprehend her frequent trips to the store or the midnight skirmishes when she and my father kept their voices low and angry.

  Later, once she’d left me alone with Papa, he refused to change a thing in our beautifully crafted tableau. As though I would stay the pretty pre-teen forever and he wouldn’t have to be reminded of a key component missing in his life. Family came first, always. He’d drummed it into my head until it became a broken record repeating the same tired line.

  Yes, the pin in the map was step one, Heartwood pulling me up and up onto those lofty mountain roads. Off with my hair was step two. The packed car and full gas tank completed my freedom quest.

  “You’re right about the people skills,” Duncan was saying to me. “I work in insurance and I’ve seen my fair share of people come and go because they don’t have the disposition for customer service. I am, however, a strong believer in helping my fellow man while indulging in a bit of capitalism. I do what I can.”

  He had a handsome face, I decided as we sat there. A strong nose and an elegant jaw may seem out of place with his mountainous physique but I adored the dichotomy.

  “I’m not going to tell you I enjoy being surrounded by people all the time, but it sure beats the alternatives. How boring,” I said.

  “I understand.”

  I turned to August, though he still had no time for anyone other than Isabel. A brief glance at the latter showed her reacting the same, her pupils dilated and legs crisscrossed. At least she did a better job of hiding it than he did. Perhaps this whole endeavor would be easier than I thought. With luck, they’d be together in a few weeks.

  Feeling more at ease, I continued my own thread of conversation. “So, Duncan.” His name rolled over my tongue like sweet candy. “How did you get into the insurance business? It doesn’t seem like the type of profession young kids dream about.” Curious, I watched his brow furrow as he thought of an answer.

  “Well, it’s a little weird,” Duncan began, drumming his fingers on the table. “And not a glamorous tale by any means.”

  I steepled my fingers and shifted forward. All for another lungful of his scent. “Do tell.”

  He shifted his arms over his chest, at ease and relaxed while we waited for our meal to arrive. “My buddy entered a surfing competition,” he remarked, “the first month I moved out to California. I’d sp
ent my whole life in Alabama without so much as sticking a toe in the ocean. And no, the Gulf doesn’t count. Surfing, that whole coastal lifestyle, it was all new to me. So I had to watch my main man compete.”

  “Of course,” I agreed.

  Instead I turned my attention around to Duncan and ignored the frantic beat of my heart.

  “So I get to the beach and I am struck speechless at the beauty of this place. Water like you wouldn’t believe. Deep, cold, blue, and full of these long pieces of seaweed called bull kelp. I made the mistake of rolling up my pants legs and going in up to my ankles. This wave comes along—”

  I could see where he was going. “You got knocked down, and swallowed some kelp to boot.”

  Duncan chuckled. “Face-first into the sand and slammed down for a good fifteen seconds. I ended up choking on half of the Pacific. Sometimes even now when I burp, I can still taste the sand as though it’s come back for revenge.” When he rubbed his teeth together I imagined glistening diamond-like particles stuck between molars and caps, gritting against the enamel.

  “What does this have to do with insurance?” I pushed.

  “My friend’s board got run over by a car after the competition and he filed a claim. The insurance guy was super helpful. I needed a job. It kind of went from there. He helped me make my first rent payment on an apartment, found me a second-hand sofa, and took me under his wing. It’s hard to forget people like that.”

  He was open, I noted, ready to tell me his life story without any prodding. I wanted to know more. The candidness he exhibited drew me in deeper. “What did you want to do before you talked to your oh-so-helpful friend at the insurance office?”

  “Broadway.”

  My jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

  “No, I’m just kidding. I played a little basketball during college and thought my height would be an advantage. It was, until none of the pro teams wanted to hire me.”

  I pushed my hair away to bare my face to him, running fingers through ruler-straight strands to fluff them. “I’m sure you were a great player.”