Touch Me (Promise Me Book 2)

by Viragh, Brea

  Duncan stepped back when I opened the door further, sliding my sunglasses down to hide the redness rimming my eyes. “How are you today?” I asked politely.

  Instead of answering the question, he stopped me. Those large hands tilted my chin up for his perusal, discarding the glasses and studying my face.

  “You’ve been crying.”

  I tried to laugh it off. “Darlin’, please. I do not cry.”

  He refused to accept that. “Then explain why you look like you’ve been up for days.” His thumb pads traced along the darkness above my cheekbones. “When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”

  “I thought you were the type to compliment instead of point out a person’s flaws.” I shook his hands away, though sparks had burst to life from the points of contact. I would have given anything to lean his way and purr. “It’s nothing. I’ve been sleeping like a baby.”

  Duncan, with his keen situational awareness, took one look at the bank, the papers on the passenger seat, and my condition.

  “You didn’t get the loan,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were ready to apply.”

  I shook my head. “It’s nothing, a little reminder about small-town living. Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine.” I patted his arm, surprised when he captured my hand. “I’ll be fine,” I repeated. Making sure each word had emphasis.

  I’ll be fine. The reminder tried to get through the thickness of my own skull and failed.

  “While I have no doubt about it, I’d feel better if you let me treat you to ice cream.”

  Nuh-uh, nope nope nope. “I’m not stepping foot in the sweet shop. Sorry.”

  The corner of his mouth tweaked up and he glanced around, retaining my hand and keeping it pressed to his chest. The beat of his pulse echoed through my skin. “Then I’ll make you a deal. Let’s go back to your place and you can whip something up. I have an idea that’ll make you feel better.”

  His words almost had me dropping to my knees in a fit of tears. If he were single, I could imagine what he had in mind and knew without a doubt I would feel a thousand percent better. I imagined spending the day wrapped up in him as he peeled away each layer of clothing with infinite tenderness. With his nuptials looming on the horizon, I couldn’t think of a single thing he would have planned.

  “Why do I feel like you have something up your sleeve?” I tugged on his suit jacket sleeve with my free hand. Trying not to sniffle and embarrass myself.

  “It’s nothing,” he repeated my words. “Will you trust me?”

  “I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit me.” I sent him a sidelong look. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes. Back up and running before you know what hit you.”

  Duncan jokingly slapped my shoulder. “I’d feel better if you let me cheer you up.”

  Palms went to my hips in an unexpected flash of agitation. “How do you expect to do that?”

  **

  Thirty minutes later, Duncan was seated at my tiny table in the even tinier breakfast nook. Laptop open, he scrolled through several free online editing programs in his attempt to design a business banner. Despite my skepticism, he insisted.

  I stirred the batter some more and watched his fingers dwarf the keyboard. Across the room, the hulking hunk sat alone, with golden strands of hair touching the nape of his neck. In need of a trim. With his complexion and constitution, I questioned how a man like him even existed.

  “What are you doing now?” I wanted to know.

  Duncan removed a pen from between his teeth and motioned at the screen. “I want to find the right font for your logo. Something sweet and sassy, like you.”

  “While I appreciate your confidence here, Duncan, I think I should stick to what I do best and get back to work, if you know what I mean.” Indeed, I had a client in the afternoon who would be arriving in a few short hours. “These cupcakes are a check off my list, and once my appointments are done, I doubt I’ll have the mental fortitude to design a logo.”

  If I’d had a choice I would fall into bed and stay there for the rest of the day. There was a pint of cookie dough ice cream in my freezer begging me to eat it. In a perfect world, Duncan would join me and we’d while away the afternoon eating and relaxing. I couldn’t picture a more wonderful day.

  Instead, his presence was a punishment. The one person I wanted to escape was planning to linger, for a reason I would rather bury than focus on. It was a double whammy.

  “This will help you strengthen your ideas. Ignite your fire again.” Duncan turned to look over his shoulder. “How are the cupcakes coming?”

  “No peeking. This is going to be a surprise. Since you insisted that I cook for you,” I said.

  Duncan shrugged. “You didn’t want to go out for ice cream. This was the next best thing,” he assured me. “Funny, women and their ice cream. Must be a universal love.”

  “Are you sure your boss won’t mind if you take the afternoon off?”

  “He’ll be fine. This is an emergency.”

  “I appreciated your willingness to dive feet-first into cheering me up.”

  Even if I was unsure of his methods, the zeal was a great change from anyone in the past. The line of stubborn and self-absorbed lovers I’d dropped without a second thought were fading into the annals of history. Duncan would be a tough act to follow and we weren’t even dating.

  “You are too nice to me,” I continued, gripping a wooden spoon in my hand. A splash of vanilla went into the bowl and I began to mix. The batter would go in once the oven finished preheating. While we waited, I focused my attention on the icing. “Taking your personal time to put a smile back on my face.”

  His eyes lit and he continued to fiddle with the program. “It’s my pleasure. You shouldn’t feel blue.”

  “And red, it would seem.” I stopped mixing, leaning against the counter. “I also shouldn’t have tried to burn off my blues in a ninety-degree vehicle.”

  “I know you’re sad, but it’s better to get out there instead of staying in the same old rut. Don’t you think?” Duncan swiveled the screen for my perusal. “You have to keep trying until you succeed. Otherwise there’s no point.”

  “If only it worked that way.”

  “Here. I’m done.”

  His gurgled haw tore across the room and did its duty: captured my attention. My name was splashed across the computer screen in trippy psychedelic colors, with what looked like a blood stain for a period. All it lacked was a murderous cupcake wielding a giant knife.

  “How does this look?”

  I stuck out my tongue. “Nice try, smart ass. Next.”

  Okay, so maybe it was better for Duncan to be here. In a social capacity, I reminded myself. A shoulder to cry on when I would rather molder in the dumps and consume an entire bag of pretzels in a single sitting. At least now I had my mind focused on something else.

  The exact something else I’d tried to outrun in the first place.

  I dipped a finger in the bowl of icing, tasting it for tweaking. A few more sprinkles of nutmeg and we would be good. “You don’t have any allergies, do you?” I asked as an afterthought. “I should’ve asked before, but I’m not in my right frame of mind.”

  Duncan typed away on the keyboard, his shoulders blocking my view. “Peanuts. I swell up like a balloon if I’m anywhere near them. Not life-threatening,” he clarified, “but annoying.”

  “Good to know.” I hadn’t planned on any peanut butter because I personally couldn’t stand the texture. My mood would have plummeted further if I had given him an accidental allergic reaction. “Let’s work on not poisoning you today.”

  “I’d forgive you in either case. You got up the nerve to ask for a loan. I’m impressed,” Duncan continued as he worked. “Anyone who goes into a bank and asks for money deserves a medal.”

  “Even bank robbers?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Hah. It felt more like a grisly joke than a gutsy act.

&nb
sp; “No, it takes a little gas in the car and nothing else. Now there are consequences.” I pushed hair away from my eyes and focused on the icing. What I wouldn’t give for a chance to do this for a living. I couldn’t imagine how it would feel to wake up every day doing what I loved. And I doubted, after years of working for myself, I would be comfortable working under a boss.

  “You hush. I don’t want to hear any more doubt,” Duncan scolded. I could practically hear the cogs turning in his head. “Why did they turn you down? If you don’t mind telling me.”

  Part of me recoiled away from the conversation. Embarrassment didn’t even begin to cover what I felt. “He said his—” I ducked my face to hide my response. There was no way in hell I could tell Duncan the real reason. That I’d been targeted because of our friendship.

  I grabbed several silicone baking cups from the cabinet, doling dollops of orange-colored batter into each one, and managed to finish a muttered response. “Something about not having enough collateral. Or working capital. Or something. Apparently good credit isn’t enough to keep me from being a risk.”

  I was a risk with enemies.

  Duncan cleared his throat. “We’ll work on it.”

  “Sometimes it’s not so simple, Duncan.” With the oven preheated, I slipped the tiny cakes inside and set the timer. “It takes time and funds to offer up sufficient collateral and I don’t have either.”

  “I thought you were an optimist?” he teased. “This is not the Leda I know.”

  “I never said I was ditching the idea altogether,” I said. “It’s just not in the cards for me. I’ll have to wait and work on certain things before I try another bank. Or I could go on a robbing spree.” I gritted my teeth. “I’ll tell them you gave me the idea. Unless you can keep your mouth shut.”

  “My lips are sealed.” He mimed closing a zipper over his lips.

  “I’m not a bad person,” I insisted, sucking in a rough-edged breath. “I’m not.” I couldn’t tell him all the things I wanted to, or he would look at me differently. He would think I’d deserved the rejection from the bank.

  “Of course you aren’t a bad person. But you can’t be content with cutting hair for the rest of your life. Leda, come on now!”

  Giving myself a moment to steady, I retrieved eggs from the fridge. Granulated sugar from the pantry. A meringue to top the icing. “I’m not content at all, but it pays the bills while I work up the courage to try again. How wonderful of you, trying to push me.”

  Duncan took my sarcasm and rolled with it. “I’m a mover,” he insisted. “I do what I can.”

  Once again, the computer screen swiveled in my direction. This time the font was bright candy-pink with a cupcake boasting an I-did-it-and-got-away-with-it grin. He’d put my name in the left corner in illegible script. “What do you think?”

  I used a finger to indicate him turning around and getting back to work. “You know what I think. Try again.” The eggs went into two bowls as I separated the whites from the yolks. “And no, Duncan, I’m not interested in cutting hair for the rest of my life,” I continued. “It’s a steady income, true, and as long as I have goals I will work toward them. It’s simple. Right now, I have to focus on finding a way to save...” ...face. “Otherwise, I have nothing.”

  There was no sense in dredging up internal issues and feeling worse. What I needed was to snap my mouth closed and open my eyes until I learned the necessary steps toward establishing a reliable reputation.

  A steady stream of typing ensued until it stopped, the silence abrupt and interrupting to my internal chastisement. “Leda—”

  Something about the way he said my name caught me off guard. My stomach flipped at the tone, the pitch. The wonderfully delicious cadence. “Yes?”

  Duncan paused, turning around to face me. I bit my lip and thought of all the things I wanted him to say. I want to be with you. I adore you.

  “What?”

  He rubbed his chin and stared out the window. “Never mind. I lost my train of thought for a second.” When he glanced my way again it was with a fresh look on his face. “I must be out of my mind.”

  I interpreted it as his way of using melodrama to keep me in a good mood. Instead of the black pit of despair where I went over my options, what steps to take, what to do next. All with a cartload of care.

  The breeze from the ceiling fan teased the longer strands of his hair. I ached to run my fingers along the line of his scalp. Massage his temples until the tension eased and there was only the two of us. How it would please me to feel him, just once, before I had to let him go.

  I shook my head. What was I thinking? I’d already let him go, hadn’t I? If not, then all those things I said to August meant nothing. There had to be comfort in control, I reasoned. The piece of mind and contentment of loving someone and the willpower and strength to let them leave. There was no point in feeling unsettled and adrift. The one person in charge of my life was me.

  “Tell me the truth,” I said in an attempt to continue our talk. “Would you give me a loan?”

  Duncan looked back over his shoulder. “With my own money? Now?”

  “No, I mean if you were a loan officer in the bank. Would you believe in my start-up to the point where you’d risk backing me financially?”

  He appeared pensive. Inquisitive and full of spirit. When he answered it was without hesitation. “I would, yes. I know you and believe in what you’re doing. However, I don’t have thousands of dollars at my disposal. If I did, then it would be yours in a snap.”

  “Remember that when you hit the lottery,” I warned. “A girl can get used to such chivalry, trust me.”

  Duncan chuckled. “I wish Isabel were more like you.”

  His words had me stopping, mouth open and then snapping closed. At last, I asked, “What do you mean?”

  He must have caught himself, for he followed with, “Isabel is wonderful. I care very much for her. But she doesn’t handle stress...well. Living in the hotel is killing us. We’ve been getting into a lot of arguments about the wedding plans, the house renovations. August.” The fire in his eyes could have sparked a wildfire and burned half a forest to ashes. In seconds the scowl degraded.

  I bent to check the cupcakes, to hide the flash of delight I felt race across my face. “I’m sorry,” I said to the oven.

  “No, don’t be sorry. It’s life and it happens. We’ve just been at each other’s throats and the only person she seems to want to talk to is August.” He let out a gust of air before those hands found their way to the nape of his neck. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  Yes, please. Dear God, let him feel the same way I do. “If you feel comfortable enough letting me in. After me spilling my guts all over the kitchen, I would hope you do.”

  His laughter came again, this time peppered with cynicism. “I’ve known you for how long?”

  “Less than a month,” I answered.

  “Less than a month, and I feel more comfortable around you than I have anyone else before. Family excluded. I’ll tell you a secret.” Duncan tapped the keyboard a final time, a sort of signing-off from his work, and rose on apparently shaky legs.

  Crossing the room took less than a second but more than an eternity, and we stood with the island counter between us. I laid my hands flat on the surface, the gesture mimicking his own.

  “Go on.”

  Tension filled the air between us and I wondered if he did feel the same way I did. No hopeless yearning on my part. No misplaced dreams about ending up together.

  He stared down at the laminate a second longer before meeting my gaze. A girl could get lost in his eyes and in a snap I felt myself falling. A fool to think I could sever this connection.

  “I’m not sure Isabel is ready for a wedding,” he admitted.

  I froze. “Why would you say that?”

  “Maybe it’s my own cold feet talking,” Duncan continued, “but I get the feeling she’s becoming distant. I’ve been thinking, and I wonder if this is what she
really wants.”

  I heard what he didn’t say and my heart flipped. Duncan wasn’t sure if this was what he wanted. Okay, not the secret I’d hoped for, but something I could work with at least.

  I struggled to reassure him and to school my face so when he looked at me, searched for an opinion, there was nothing for him to see. “I’m sure she will be more secure with it in time. After all, she hasn’t told you she wants to call it off. Maybe she’s doing the best she can.”

  He slowly nodded in agreement, arms like yardsticks dangling at his sides. “I know, but I still feel a...resentment toward her. It’s like—and please never breath a word of this to August—I had no idea how happy I could be until now. With you.”

  How long could I hold my breath? I was about to find out, strung tight and waiting, anxious to hear what came next. This was a different Duncan, far from the charming and relaxed man I knew. This was a man struggling to keep his composure.

  My head bowed. “I know what you mean. Which is why I value our friendship.”

  Wait, what? What was I doing? Inner romantic begged me to pour my heart out then, went so far as to tug the strings and have my mouth opening. Ready to say the words. To live happily ever after.

  Instead I snapped tight and shut down. “You’re supposed to be cheering me up.” I lifted my gaze to his, captured the attention of those chocolate-brown orbs. “Remember?”

  Duncan shook himself to clear whatever he’d been thinking about. “You’re right, as usual.” His voice was tentative then. He ran his fingers along the edge of the counter and gestured to the computer. “I don’t know what I was thinking. One last look?”

  I stared at him a moment longer, nodded once. “Sure.”

  He turned the screen toward me for a glimpse of his final banner. I took it in, the sweetness of letters and simple design with a single mint leaf in the corner.

  I smiled, feeling unbearably sad. “It’s perfect.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A week went by in which I spent more time going out to eat with Duncan than I did making appointments with my own clients. In the empty time slots between customers, I carved out pieces of my schedule and gave them to him. The more we got to know each other, the moments I spent in his presence piling higher, the deeper I sank and the further away from my graceful exit I ran.