The First Touch (Templer Series)

by Duka Dakarai

  I grind the coffee beans and flick on the kettle. Reaching for two mugs, I’m muttering to myself and shaking my head. I don’t care how beautiful you are. I need you gone, and soon. I turn to the fridge and almost jump out of my own skin as I swing into a solid chest. My breasts collide with him and I mentally berate myself for not wearing a bra at this very moment, my nipples suddenly twitching erect through my old t-shirt. It’s only in this flash moment that I realise that I’m only wearing boy shorts panties as well. Christ, I’m virtually naked in front of this stranger!

  “I didn’t mean to startle you…I thought you might want a hand. You’re still unsteady on your feet. Are you still in a lot of pain?”

  “It’s much better, thank you.” I mumble. “And I’ve just realised I’m not dressed fully” Fuck, did I just say that out aloud? I can feel the cringe creep across me but I feel welded to the spot.

  “Oh, I hadn’t noticed…..honestly” he laughs and as I peek up, I see his eyes are wide and playful.

  I rush through finishing the coffee, slide a bagel each onto tea plates, and usher a motion to him to return to the lounge. Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, I sink my teeth into the bagel, suddenly just needing food more than fuelling more embarrassment. I can’t be more self-conscious than I have been over the last few minutes, and as I’ll never see him again, I give in to it, accept my humiliation and dive in to the delicious smelling breakfast. Oh, this is seriously good, and I’m unaware as I release a loud groan.

  “This is….are you ok?” I shoot him a puzzled look and he’s shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes wider than ever and staring fully at me.

  “I’m good…good” he coughs brushing an invisible crumb from his chest.

  “Oh, ok…I was just saying…this bagel is seriously good. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Look, I think I need to shoot…um, get to work” he stands swiftly to his feet, dropping his half eaten bagel back onto his plate. Quick strides and he’s swung my front door open. Turning back towards me, he shuffles slightly.

  “I still feel crap about yesterday. Can I apologise properly? And then I’ll be out of your hair for good, I promise.”

  Raising my hands in frustration, I shake my head at him “I don’t need any more apologies…please…get to work, I’m fine.”

  “Please? I’d like to say sorry properly. Cook you a meal. I do a mean steak. Do you like steak?” Again, his head lops to the side and the impish grin is back.

  Now I’m shaking my head vigorously. “No, no…I don’t….don’t”

  “It’s not a date…just a meal. Then you’ll never have to see me again.”

  I sigh deeply and somehow I hear myself reluctantly agreeing to see him again. Tomorrow night. At Seven Thirty.

  “I’ll get Thomson to pick you up, ok? Seven Thirty. That way if you want a glass of wine, you don’t need to worry about your car or driving. Until tomorrow then” and before I can utter a response, he strides down the path and is gone.

  Why would his friend pick me up? But then he called him Sir yesterday so is he an employee or colleague? Maybe I’ll ask him tomorrow night.

  Chapter Four

  I stare at my reflection in the full length mirror in my bedroom, twisting for a back view, and turning back again to face myself. It’s 7.00pm so I have another half hour to decide the finishing touches, accessorize, or change again. This is my third outfit. I’m having dinner with the most beautiful man on the planet, and pride makes me want to at least try to look my very best. I know I’m not beautiful, and certainly couldn’t compare to Mia my stunning former top model best friend forever, but I am pretty, or so I have been told.

  I step closer to the mirror and stare at my face, wrinkling my nose at my damn smattering of freckles. I have chosen to leave my hair down, straightening it within an inch of its life, so it swings curtain-like to a few inches past my shoulders. The hair mask has done its trick and it shines with pearl blonde highlights. I have done a smoky eye, not too much, but enough to draw out the green from my iris. My lips are nude, bar a slick of rose gloss.

  I settle for the third outfit. A simple black wide leg trouser pant and a matching black silk halter top. At five foot five, I can just about get away with a wide trouser, without drowning my frame. I search for suitable foot wear. Simon, my cheating, miserable ex, was generous with gifts and showered me with expensive shoes and handbags probably to distract me from his screwing around! So I plump for the Oscar de la Renta gladia cut out leather sandals teamed with my black Marni clutch.

  I start to make my way down the stairs as a polite two taps on my door stops me momentarily. Suddenly, I feel nerves drying my mouth and consider backing out. I’m still raw from Simon and it feels too early to be in the company of another man. It’s not a date. Not…a…date. Another two taps on my door. I take another gulp of air and blow out harshly, opening the door. Another gulp of air and I’m gawping, yes, gawping…

  Thomson is stood, suited and booted, gesturing toward the Gullwing door of the passenger side of a SLS AMG Mercedes. It is sleek, very sleek, and I’m smart enough to know it’s VERY expensive. I’m still gawping, catching the glint of a smirk on his face.

  “Good evening, Miss Teague”

  “Um, good evening, Thomson” I finally breath out words and slide into the car. The inside is sleek pale grey leather, soft and warm to the touch, the seat almost wrapping itself around my small frame.

  We head out of the village and there is silence between us. I’m mentally still taking this in. Whose car is this? Is it Drew’s? Finally, a question escapes from my lips.

  “Um, is this your car?”

  “No, Miss Teague, this is Drew’s driving car” he’s staring directly ahead at the road.

  “So he doesn’t drive the campervan every day then?”

  A small almost laugh before “No, Miss, only to the beach” he’s abrupt but polite, obviously not a conversationalist. I press for more.

  “Do you work for him? What does he do for a living?” Mental note to self…why didn’t I Google and Facebook search him before agreeing to get in this car…I’m so stupid….I broke rule number one

  “I am employed by Mr Templer, Yes, Miss”

  “And the next part…you didn’t respond to that? What does he do for a living?”

  “Perhaps you should have Googled him, Miss” again abruptly but this time throwing me a side glance. I flush as though he has managed to read my mind.

  “Ok, then. Where are we going?” I’m huffy now and a bit more than edgy.

  “Mawgan Porth”

  What! Mawgan Porth? That’s just over twenty five miles away! What if…what if I need to run….I’m mentally berating myself again. Stupid. Stupid. Suddenly, I feel a need to feel safe and reassured.

  “If…if I want to leave early…will you return me home as soon as I ask?”

  “Of course” nothing more is offered but somehow it is enough.

  The next twenty minutes pass by in total silence. Somehow I already understand that conversation isn’t part of his job description and so don’t push it. And before many minutes more we are pulling up alongside a magnificent house, perched right on the edge of the beach. Adjacent is the only other building in the vicinity, and I note the name, the Scarlett Hotel. Thomson offers me his hand out of the car and leads me to the back of the house.

  I take in the glorious view of the wide expanse of beach directly before us before looking around at the grounds of the property. Garden lights and lanterns frame the back of the house. A low seating area with two wide sofas surround a deep fire pit. There is decking leading to an eight person dining table topped by a pergola covered with vines. And then I see him, with his back to me, and I drink him in. He is dressed less casually than previously in black trousers and a crisp white dress shirt. He is tall, and broad, and very, very male. He is in deep concentration at the biggest gas barbeque I have ever seen.

  Thomson coughs lightly beside me “Miss Teague, Sir”
<
br />   “Hello,Tilly…I’m glad you…” he turns to greet me and stops dead.

  Fuck. Fuck she’s pretty.

  “Thank you, Thomson.” He is almost abrupt, breath hitching at his throat. I’m wondering if he’s regretting this offer of a meal already, and shuffle slightly on my suddenly too high heels.

  “You look very pretty, Tilly. Come. Please take a seat. I’ll finish up seasoning the steaks. Would you like a glass of wine?” Again, almost abrupt and definitely more formal than our previous encounters.

  “Um, thank you. And yes, wine would be nice. Red please”

  I sit where I am gestured and watch him stride purposely into the house. A sense of dread hits me low in the stomach. This evening is going to drag, I just know. He arrives back and begins to pour me a glass from a bottle which has obviously been allowed to breath. I take a large sip nervously. It’s delicious and soothes my dry mouth.

  “Do you like it? If not, I have other bottles.” He is standing almost over me now, close enough that I am reminded of the scent of him. His face is passive, non-committal.

  “It’s delicious. What is it?” And I mean it.

  “Chateau Bel – Air Graves d Vagres futs de Chene” The words roll off his tongue fluid and poetic. And for a brief moment I am aware of the heat spreading down through my body and pooling at my sex. I try for another sip but gulp instead, somewhat undignified.

  “Would you like a tour of the house…or would you prefer to eat?” Friendlier this time but formal still.

  You’re not taking me near your bedroom. You…are…not taking me near your bedroom! I feel panic rising.

  “Oh, eat please. It smells wonderful and I’m famished.” I force a relaxed smile and stay rooted to my seat.

  “Ok, how do you like your steak cooked? And I’ve prepared a simple salad as a side. I wasn’t sure if you are carb eating lady or not…”

  I laugh outwardly at that and he returns my laugh, seeming to relax a little.

  “I do carbs. And medium rare please”

  The meal passes by quite pleasantly. He is indeed a good cook and the steak cuts as easily as butter. And before long we are deep in conversation. He seems genuinely interested in my fundraising and event planning. He tells me he builds hotels, sometimes offices and health facilities. It is a family business spanning several generations and their first completed project was the very hotel next to us, the Scarlett.

  “So you build hotels? All over the world or Europe only?”

  “We’re international. Templer Industries. Our last project was the Hyatt Regency TamayaResort and Spa inSanta Ana Pueblo, a 350 room destination resort. It was the first project we have showcased our new BIM technology.”

  “BIM technology?”

  “Building Information Modelling. Allows us to incorporate 3D and 4D modeling into virtual spacing…..and… do you really want to hear this?” He searches my face for signs of glazed eyes and yawning.

  The wine has kicked in now and I’m feeling playful. I mock cross my eyes at him.

  “I’m following your every word” But I can’t suppress the giggle.

  He raises an eyebrow. “You’re teasing me, Miss Teague”

  “Not at all, Mr Templer. So what is your role in Templer Industries? Don’t tell me, let me guess….you’re the big chief!” Again a girlish giggle.

  “Actually, yes I am. CEO. The big chief as you so aptly put it” His voice flat, humourless, and now I feel foolish. Silly. Cheeks warming with flush.

  “Oh, but it’s a family business? What about your father? Aren’t you young to be a CEO?” I’m trying to claw back some sincerity.

  “At thirty, I suppose I am. My father died four years ago and I took over the position.” His face is tense now, his jaw set hard in his face.

  “I’m sorry about your father. I feel foolish. And your mother?” I’m not sure if I should be pressing for information, but the air is suddenly strained, and I can’t seem to shut my mouth up.

  “I don’t talk about my mother.”

  “Oh, look maybe I should go. I’ve upset you”

  “No. It’s not your fault. Why don’t we change the subject, away from work, and all things serious. How about a stroll on the beach for a few minutes?”

  I grab the chance to change the direction and tempo of the mood, and nod in agreement. He takes my elbow and guides me to the edge of the veranda towards some steps leading onto the beach. I stop to remove my sandals as there is no way I walk in sand in these. We walk for a few minutes in silence. I stop and take a big breath of air, flinging my arms wide, embracing the saltiness.

  “Beautiful…don’t you think?”

  I turn smiling towards him and realise he is standing incredibly close to me now. So close I can almost feel his warm breath.

  “Indeed. Beautiful” And as the words exit his mouth, he takes a firm hold of both my arms, drawing me close into his chest. I put my hands up to push him away, to distance us.

  “What are you doing?!” I stare up at him. His eyes are hooded now, darker, matching my intense stare. He pulls an arm around my waist, the other tilting my chin towards him.

  His mouth finds the corner of my mouth, kissing feathery touches across my bottom lip. I’m wriggling now away from his hold but he increases the tightness of his hold on me. His mouth finds mine deepening the pressure, searching for a gap with the tip of his tongue. I gasp as I feel the air being sucked out from inside my lungs. I hear him groan against my mouth.

  “I want you”

  He growls deep onto my lips and I feel the vibration of his words, sending heat surging through my body. My body disobeys me and arches towards him. My lips part against the increasing pressure of his tongue and suddenly he is inside of my mouth, tickling and dancing sensually. A groan escapes from my mouth, my tongue finding his. He sucks the tip of my tongue building the heat to my sex. I can feel his erection building hard against my thigh. I reach out for the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper into me….suddenly I jerk away. I don’t know this neck…I don’t know these lips….I don’t…..

  “Stop! Stop…I don’t want this….I can’t” I’m breathless, almost panting, pushing against his solid wall of chest. He releases me instantly and I sag. Scraping my hand across my mouth, I scowl at him. I turn to run and he grabs my arm. I shake him loose violently beginning to stride towards the steps leading back to the house.

  “I want to be taken home. Now!” My shout is almost a squeal, high pitched and shrill.

  He matches my pace and is behind me. I can hear his voice on his mobile.

  “Thomson. Get the car ready now!”

  I run to the front of the house and almost throw my body in the awaiting vehicle. Tears threaten at my eyes, my body warm and shaking. I throw a glare sideways and see him rigid a few feet away, frantically running his right hand through his hair.

  “Don’t come near me again….I don’t want to see you ever again” I shout at the car window, hoping he can hear me. And I turn away from him, curling myself into my seat, letting the tears free.

  Fuck. Fuck….she kissed me back…I’m sure…she kissed me back….why did she run… Drew is pacing back and forth, back and forth…pulling at his hair through his hands, back and forth, back and forth. He is still there outside on the veranda when Thomson returns almost an hour later.

  “Miss Teague is safely home, Sir and the car is garaged for the evening…. Will there be anything else?” His face is flat, emotionless.

  “No…nothing” Drew growls at him, “Is she ok?”

  “Yes, I think so, Sir.” And with that, he turns to take his leave.

  Chapter Five

  “What an arrogant asshole! How dare he lay a finger on you!”

  I can feel the heat of Mia’s anger through the phone. Since my split with Simon, her friendly protectiveness has increased tenfold. I almost raise a laugh, instead a smile comes in its place. Several days have passed since my incident with Drew, and I’m relieved that he has made no attempt to c
ontact me.

  “Please, Mia, I’m never going to cross paths with him again…so can we please drop it?”

  “You’d better hope I never fucking cross paths with him! I don’t care who the fuck he is!”

  “Mia…Red…it’s gone. Can you talk about you now? What are you up to? Any more lovers on the scene?” I don’t call her Red very often. I gave her that nickname at school to stop the boys teasing her about her shock of auburn hair. Red seemed almost sophisticated for a seven year old. And dramatic.

  From that naming declaration in those early days, until today, we have been inseparable. With her fiery temper and wild eyes, she was…is my protector, and with my brains and ambition (her sentiment), we dragged and pulled each other through schooling and university. While I love my family, it is Mia I turn to in times of need, and it is her I hold dearest in my heart. I have watched her grow from an awkward and tall teenager into the startling beauty she is today….into top level modeling….and crying with joy together when she graced the front cover of Vogue for the first time. Any other woman would have raised feelings of envy and insecurity within me, with her porcelain skin and incredible body, but not Mia. She brushes it off with total disregard…a means to an end to get her through modeling…until she carves a path in her true passion, photography.

  I hear a deep sigh on the end of the phone. And wait patiently as I always do for her to begin to recite detail by detail her recent adventures. And adventures they always are. Nothing is ‘normal’ for Mia. Her life is adventure after adventure.

  “Well, don’t ask me about lovers! Huh, men….is there no-one interesting out there? Sorry, honey…I’m not meaning to….”

  “Go on…”

  “Well, since we last caught up, I’ve met two men, pah, boys….and both turned out to be pussies. One was a lowly royal from some godforsaken European backwater with a dick the size of a chipolata, and wouldn’t know how to give a woman an orgasm even if I’d written him step by step instructions and the other guy….pity, he was really cute and oh god could he give good head!”