Touch: The Complete Series

by Cara Dee

  Last time I tell my assistant I can fetch something myself.

  Fetch, dog.

  I wince at the memory of Angel emptying her drawer of lingerie on the floor in their playroom. With a "Fetch, boy" that packed one hell of a punch, she and Ryan had watched as I returned the lingerie to the drawer. With my teeth.

  I swallow uneasily and automatically check my phone. They had me download an app for group chats when we started seeing each other. I haven't deleted it yet, and I check it too often. Our little chat is still there.

  They've forgotten me and moved on, I'm sure.

  In a weak moment last week, I found myself in their bar, not really knowing why. Not that it mattered. Tory informed me Ryan and Angel were on vacation.

  "Goddammit." I scrub a hand over my face, my blood sugar dropping. It's impossible to work when I'm hungry, and I need to sleep. If only I didn’t have those fucking dreams. Punching the intercom, I bark out at my assistant. "Get me something from the cafeteria, Sally."

  Then I slump back and release a heavy breath.

  *

  Ted and Seth, my brothers, subtly suggest I leave work early today. I don't have the energy to argue, so I leave the office and make my way home. Abby should be out of school, so maybe I can spend some time with her and then crash.

  If I'm well-rested, I can always return to the office tonight.

  When I eventually pull into our driveway, my forehead creases as I take in the sight of our front yard. There are usually a few of Abby's toys littered about. Her bike almost belongs in the middle of the path that leads up to the house, yet now there's nothing. Has her babysitter not played with her today?

  Unbuckling my seat belt, I check my phone and the haunting group chat just because, and then I grab my briefcase and brave the crappy weather. A company was here last week to put up Christmas lights and a couple of decorations, and I side-eye a plastic Rudolph on the way to the door. Christmas is Abby's favorite holiday; perhaps I should've ordered more decorations…? Except, no. It's easy to spoil her, but it's not good in the long run. Balance is key.

  I escape the cold and am met by the smell of Christmas in the hallway. "Hello?" I remove my coat, taking a whiff. Cinnamon, vanilla, apple, and what I can only describe as cookies tickle my nose.

  "Daddy!"

  There's a voice I'll never tire of. I smile tiredly and squat down as she runs out from the kitchen.

  "You're early." She attacks me in a hug, and I give her a warm squeeze.

  "Uncle Seth called me cranky. Can you believe that?" I kiss the top of her head and grin at her furious nod and giggle.

  I catch movement in the doorway to the kitchen and immediately straighten, nodding once to Abby's babysitter. "Hello, Evangeline. How are you today?"

  "Good, thank you, Mr. Cooper." She smiles politely. "You?"

  "I'm well, thanks." Fucking exhausted, hanging by a thread, take your pick. Setting aside my briefcase, I remove my shoes and then grab Abby's hand. "Have you been home long?"

  "Only an hour or so." Evangeline gives me space to pass her to the kitchen, and my eyebrows lift at the sight of the table. It's full of things for making… Well, whatever it is, it's the source of the Christmas scents. "We're making holiday potpourri and scented oils."

  "Interesting." I pause at the table, deliberating. Crafts. That's good for a child. I nod, approving. "Any homework?" That needs to be finished before anything else.

  Abby's a year ahead as a second-grader, and complete dedication is required. Discipline, variety, creativity, mental stimulation—I'll never budge on that.

  "No, sir. Her teacher made the class cheer when she told them there wouldn’t be any more homework until next year."

  I smile faintly, eyeing the table, and then I continue to the fridge. "Fair enough."

  "We're making cookies, Daddy."

  I can see that. "Sounds fun, darling." My stomach tightens in hunger, the pathetic sandwich Sally got me nowhere near enough, and that was a few hours ago. "Don't forget that she needs to help with the tidying." I gesture at the counter before opening the fridge. My wife's left me a plate from dinner last night, so I put it in the microwave.

  "Of course." Evangeline takes her seat at the table with Abby again, and I observe the young lady while I wait for my meal. Perhaps this one can last longer than a month or two. Abby's previous babysitters have always left much to be desired. But so far, Tess and I haven't caught Abby in front of the TV while Evangeline's with her. A movie here and there is acceptable, but cartoons won't be the substitute babysitter, not in my house.

  Evangeline quickly makes space for me as the microwave dings. Food in hand, I set it on the table and smooth down my tie as I take a seat.

  "What's next on the recipe, sweetie?" She points at a notepad for Abby.

  Biting her lip in concentration, Abby reads from the recipe. "Two table…tablespoons? Um…lemon. Two tablespoons of lemon."

  "Lemon peels." Evangeline nods with a smile. "That’s what you grated earlier." She reaches for a little bowl of lemon peels and lets my daughter apply the correct amount in another bowl. It looks to be filled with apple cider and spices.

  I chew slowly, savoring the taste of my wife's baked salmon and her special dill sauce. I think she may have picked a good babysitter this time. I fill my fork with mashed potatoes and peas as the oven timer goes off, and Evangeline's quick to check on the cookies.

  Abby flashes her dimples in a smile to me. "I'm making Christmas presents."

  "Oh, really? That’s kind of you, darling." Since no one is watching, she and I exchange a funny face that’s just for us. It's our thing, and she giggles behind her hand after uncrossing her eyes. I grin.

  "Uncle Ted is getting a bottle with, um…" She grabs a slip of paper off the littered table. "Pine, cran…cranberries, and cinnamon. Aunt Jessica is getting this." She shows me a bowl of potpourri wrapped in cellophane with a red bow. I nod along appropriately, happy she's enthusiastic. "But Uncle Mark's gift smells the best."

  I suppress a sigh at that, though my smile doesn’t falter. It's not her fault she's so attached to Mark. She's a child. She doesn’t know better. One day, I'm sure she'll realize my heathen brother isn't quite as good as she thinks.

  "He'll love it," I tell her, gathering the last of the food on my fork.

  Milk and cookies are next, though I decline the offer to taste the oatmeal treats that admittedly smell heavenly. With a pat to my stomach, I say I need to watch what I eat. Which is another new development. We have good genes, yet meeting Ryan Quinn made me incredibly self-conscious. He has a few years on me, but he's built like an athlete.

  I've started going to the gym since then, though I don’t go as often as I should. I don’t have the time, and I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. He and Angel are not part of my life any longer.

  *

  Despite going to bed at seven that night, I sleep through the night and don't wake up until my alarm goes off at six. I'm disoriented and drag my ass into the shower where I squint due to the harsh lights, then make a face at the mirror. It puts a rock in my stomach to see the last of my bruises have faded.

  I double-check, twisting my upper body to inspect my back in the mirror, and nothing.

  Nothing.

  No reason to wear pajamas in bed anymore. There's nothing to hide.

  "Just as well," I whisper to myself. It was only a foolish indulgence. It had to end at some point. I didn’t get much of the suffering, anyway. The damn Quinns care too much. Hell, they made me care. I shouldn’t. I sure as hell shouldn’t miss them.

  It's been weeks…

  Stepping into the shower, I do my best to wash away the self-pity. It's another day. Work calls. Abby has piano practice; if I can get away from the office, I can take her and give Evangeline the afternoon off.

  Once I'm finished, I return to the bedroom where Tess is still asleep. I pick out a suit and smack some sense into myself. New day. Work calls. Priorities. Abby.

  *


  "What do you mean, off the books? Is that some sort of joke?" My lunch meeting with Ted and a client of ours turns sour right fucking there. "We won't have much of a defense if you can't provide what most companies today flaunt online for the world to see." They're quarterly reports, not the Holy Grail.

  You never meet the CFO of a large corporation alone, so of course he's flanked by an advisor and two useless representatives from his own despicable legal department. If they'd been doing their jobs, we wouldn’t be in this mess. I think they might be toddlers.

  Ted clears his throat. "Technically, they weren't audited before the—"

  "Seriously," I say irritably. "The prosecution already has two separate cases of reports where the numbers don't add up, and that’s just what they've shared with shareholders." I slide my client a firm stare. "Mr. McKinney, full disclosure is of the utmost importance, and you're already facing—goddammit, pardon me." My emergency phone buzzes, so I put the napkin on the table and tell Ted to take over. "This better be important," I answer the call on my way out.

  "You know it is, sir," Sally says. "I have your daughter's teacher on the line. Please hold." Fuck. I wait impatiently in the entrance of the restaurant and pinch the bridge of my nose. A beat later, she comes through. "Mr. Cooper?"

  "Yes, is Abigail okay?"

  *

  Two hours later, I take the elevator back up to my office. My stoic expression feels forced, so I can only imagine what it looks like. Straightening my tie, I step out of the car and stride through the cubicle area. I check my watch. Definitely working late today.

  What a fucking day.

  And my poor girl… My wife couldn’t get away from the hospital until later, so I drove all the way to Sausalito to pick up a feverish Abby, brought her home, waited for Tess to get there since Evangeline was unavailable, then now, back to the office. At least Ted settled things with Mr. McKinney at the meeting.

  Coming to a halt next to a cubicle, I blanch at the goddamn equality symbol someone's using as a screensaver on their computer. For chrissakes, this is a law firm, not a soapbox. Since the cubicle is empty, I don’t know to whom it belongs, so I shake my head and continue toward my office.

  I smooth down my suit and nod at Sally, then come to a stop again. Oh, fuck.

  "She doesn’t have an appointment, sir—"

  I cut Sally off with a dismissive gesture, my chest seizing painfully, and stare at Angel. What the hell are you doing here? She can't be here. She can't even know I work here. Rising gracefully from the small waiting area, she quirks a brow and smirks faintly at me. Why are you so fucking beautiful? I suck in a slow breath, willing the pain in my chest to fade. This is my domain. My scene. She sticks out like a sore thumb in her tight jeans and equally tight leather jacket which actually shows cleavage. Lord. It's almost freezing outside. And her heels. Blood-red and glossy, matching her lipstick and the new color of the lower ends of her hair.

  She's deadly, and I'm fucking seething all of a sudden.

  I can't find my words, so I give a curt nod at my door and usher her inside my office.

  "Hold my calls, Sally." I close the door behind me.

  Angel saunters in like she owns the place. This…this young little slip of a girl.

  "How did you—"

  "Google." She wipes a finger along a shelf with old cases I haven't shipped off to the archive. "I know your name and profession. Turns out there aren't many Greg Coopers who practice law—corporate law, excuse me, and…who turn up at a banquet with his lovely wife on his arm in the image search."

  My stomach drops, and I slowly make my way to my desk. I sit down in my chair and try that breathing thing again. I hear it's vital.

  If she were anyone else, I'd be boiling and calling for security. The fucking audacity… Showing up at my work. Interfering with my life. My personal life. But she's Angel, and I'm not calling for security. I'm not even seething anymore, which wasn’t necessarily directed solely at her in the first place. My cowardice knows no bounds around her and Ryan. I lose my assertiveness around them.

  Problem is, I adore it.

  Angel approaches my desk, eyes on the handful of picture frames. One of Tess and me. A family photo including Abby. One of Ted, Seth, and me. Two others of only Abby.

  When we hire someone at Cooper Law II, or someone gets promoted and is granted their own office, family pictures are highly encouraged. It shows family orientation and traditional standards.

  "Your daughter takes after you. Gorgeous." Angel touches the photo, tracing the copper waves of Abby's hair, same color she inherited from me. "Same hazel eyes. What's her name?"

  "Abigail." My mouth's run dry, and information I would've avoided giving before tumbles out. When she asks Abby's age, I tell her she's almost eight. Next, Angel calls my wife pretty.

  "Thanks," I answer automatically.

  "You didn’t make her pretty. Don't take credit."

  "I didn’t mean—"

  "Quiet. You ruin so much when you speak."

  I smash my lips together and tense up, humiliation washing over me. How on earth does she do it? I have at least fifteen years on her, yet she commands my mind and turns me into trash without effort.

  "Do you remember when we met?" she muses, unzipping her jacket. "You were so nervous." While continuing to survey my office, she drapes her jacket along one of the two chairs in front of my desk and adjusts her snug top. "Impressive." She's found the diplomas on my wall. "Stanford, huh?"

  I rub a hand over my mouth, unsure of whether to answer. It seemed like a rhetorical question. So I keep quiet.

  "You said…" She taps her chin, then faces me with a wicked glint in her eye. "You said you wanted to suffer. It's what gets you off, you said. No, wait. You said it's what arouses you." She evidently finds my vernacular amusing.

  I stare at her, wondering what her agenda is. She's caught me. I did lie to her and Ryan. Knowing the gist of BDSM from my little brother, a quick online search brought me to a community that he wasn’t part of. I went there for a public event and kept to myself until I saw Ryan and Angel demonstrating choking to their friends. I was sold. I found my targets and managed to stammer out what I wanted. I lied. Although…it did turn out to be true; I know, weak defense, but nonetheless. Suffering has an indescribable effect on me. No one was more shocked than me to learn it would draw out another side of me, one I've grown to crave.

  Now what? Is she going to out me? Ruin my reputation? Blackmail me?

  "You're suffering right now, aren't you?" She tilts her head at me.

  I don’t reply. I fucking can't. My throat's closed up, and I can only watch as she inches closer and closer.

  "Answer me, subbie."

  I tense my jaw and manage a jerky nod, at which she sighs and fingers the armrest of my chair. She tells me to scoot back, and I obey. Then she jumps up to sit on the desk and encourages me to roll forward again.

  "You're punishing yourself for something." She slips a finger under my chin and lifts it enough that I must look her in the eye. "Is it because you're cheating on your wife?"

  I'm not cheating…technically. I hesitate, wanting to explain, then shake my head.

  "I see." Urging me even closer, she cups my face gently, her gaze softening. Jesus, she's going to break me. "Talk to me, little boy. What hurts so much?"

  "Everything." The word gusts out of me without permission, causing the levees to break. My eyes burn, and my breathing becomes choppy.

  "Oh, honey. Come to me." She hugs me to her, and I bury my face against her chest. My arms sneak around her middle. I hold on for all I'm worth. "You've made quite the mess of yourself, Greg."

  I'm very aware.

  I don't see it changing, though.

  And by God, it looks like I'll never stop crying in Angel's presence. Or Ryan's, for that matter. It mortifies me to realize I've wept like a child in front of them more than I have during my entire adulthood before I met them.

  She drags her fingernails a
long my scalp gently. "Can you confirm you sought out pain to punish yourself for something?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "Silence. No buts. Master and I aren't blind. We know when you're excited and revved up. And what gets you there."

  I shudder and squeeze her to me. "I'm sorry, Miss Angel."

  "Not sorry enough," she replies softly. "Otherwise, you wouldn’t keep doing it." She pauses. "Or is it something in the past? If it's not infidelity or anything ongoing…"

  It's…Christ, so complicated.

  "Greg…?" She grips my chin and forces me to look up. I blink hard, and then a twenty-something-year-old wipes away my tears. It's supposed to be the other way around. I'm a grown man. "Would you say you're a bad person?"

  Her question takes me aback, and I have to think about it. And if I have to think about it, doesn’t that say enough?

  "I'm a good father," I croak.

  She hums and drops a tender kiss between my eyebrows. "What else are you good at?"

  I'll answer in a minute. Her comfort is too delectable to resist. I blanket myself in it for a brief moment, savoring each brush of her pouty lips on my skin. My eyelids, my cheeks, my nose.

  My mouth.

  My eyes flash open in shock. A fierce bolt of desire pierces through the fog of misery, but I can't act on it, can I? It's not the right time, and I wouldn’t disrespect Ryan. Kissing—no. It hasn't ever been on the table for us.

  She kisses me again, and I manage to force out Ryan's name.

  "Oh, honestly." She nips at my bottom lip. I grip the desk, my self-restraint slipping. "Would I betray the love of my life? I think not."

  "Then why are you—"

  "Because I want to. Because I'm allowed."

  "Jesus," I breathe. I'm there in a flash, carefully cupping her jaw before I kiss her back. I kiss her deeply and hungrily. Sweet mercy, I didn’t know how much I've ached for this.

  Angel fists my tie and lets out a breathy moan that goes straight to my cock. I taste her; in slow, passionate strokes of my tongue, I taste her sweetness. She's a drug. A dangerous, dangerous drug. Much like her husband.