Touch Me (2 page)

Chapter
Three

Four years later

It
had been a long time, forever it almost seemed, since Freya had been back to
her hometown. She’d finished college, but was taking a few months off before
she started job hunting. She may have been undecided when she came to the
university, but her mind had been clouded with the thought of just escaping.
After she left home, she hadn’t thought twice about the woman or the house
where she’d spent so many years.

But
the months leading up to her departure had been tense, heavy, and heated.
Elijah had finally moved out, gotten that divorce he’d spoken to Freya about,
and then it was just Freya and Meghan. But Meghan hadn’t even paid attention to
Freya, not when she found a new guy not even a month after Elijah had left. And
then Freya had finally left, turned her back on everything, and hadn’t looked
back.

No
conversation with Meghan, no thinking about what she was doing, how things were
going with her, or if she’d ever seen her again.

That
had been four years ago. Freya was now twenty-two, had her nursing degree under
her belt, and was doing something she never thought she’d do. She was heading
back to her hometown.

“I
bet
it’s
weird coming back here after all these
years?” her friend Maurice said from beside her. He was driving them back from
the university, which was a grueling twelve-hour trip, which they were doing
straight through. She looked over at the guy that had befriended her, her
geeky, but lovable friend that she’d lost her virginity to one drunken study night,
a night neither really remembered, but hadn’t repeated. He’d even gotten into a
fight defending her honor. He was a good guy, and all those things had made her
love him so much. But that was also in the past. They were just friends, the
best of friends, and she didn’t know what she’d do without him.

His
dark blond hair was short, but long enough in the front that it kind of swooped
over his forehead. He wore these thin black glasses, and his blue eyes always
seemed to regard her as if he knew what she was thinking. He was the total
opposite of Elijah.

God,
why was she even thinking about him?

She’d
only spoken to him once since she’d been gone to school, and it had been in the
form of a surprise call from him. He’d been checking up on her, and it had been
a few months after she’d settled into her dorm freshman year. But there was
just something about him that she hadn’t been able to shake, hadn’t been able
to get rid of ever since their conversation when she’d been drunk and he
admitted his divorce to her.

“Not
weird, just kind of depressing,” she said and looked out the passenger window,
pushing everything Elijah out of her head, but it was hard. She knew he still
lived in town, and that his business had grown exponentially and
internationally. He was wildly successful now, even more so than he’d been four
years prior.

Stop thinking about him. Stop it.

She
could see Maurice’s reflection in the passenger’s side window, saw the
concerned look on his face, and knew he’d try to comfort her. He was a good
friend like that. He also knew everything about her and her past. She hadn’t
kept anything from him.

They
were approaching the city limits of Grapplers Corner, the town she’d been born
in, grown up in, and vowed never to come back to. But this was her home, no matter
how long she stayed away, and she’d told herself, though not out loud, that
even if Meghan had ruined the memories she had of this place, this was where
she’d spent time with her father and mother.

“Just
take this road about another mile or so. You’ll see a sign for Thorndale
Avenue. Take a left, and follow that for about ten minutes.”

Maurice
was silent as they made the rest of their drive, but she was glad for the
silence, welcomed it. There were times she had hated the solitude being
orphaned, alone, and having no family provided. It made her feel like she was
just floating through this world with no purpose. But she’d remember all the
good memories, the ones that far superseded the bad, and she knew that despite
having no extended family, she wasn’t truly alone.

“Take
a left up here. When you get to the end of the street take a right. My house is
the last on the left.” She spoke softly, adjusted herself on the seat, and
stared straight ahead. Four years she’d stayed away, and hadn’t come back, because
she honestly didn’t have any reason to.

Finally
Maurice pulled to a stop in front of the house that she’d grown up in, a house
she had hated after her father passed away and she was forced to live in it
until she could escape.

“It’s
a nice house, Freya,” Maurice said, and leaned forward to see better out of the
front windshield.

Her
father had left her the house. He’d made sure in the event of his passing that
when Freya reached adulthood it would go to her. It was paid for, and even
though he had been married, Meghan had gotten nothing aside from what would
afford her living expenses. And in the event Meghan got remarried, all income
from Freya’s father’s account would cease being distributed to her stepmother.
Maybe that’s why Meghan had come to hate her so much? Maybe that’s why she’d
seen Freya as nothing but a nuisance, a child that had taken everything from
her? And in essence Freya had, she supposed. Her father had left everything to
Freya, every single dime, every single possession, but then Meghan was still
strapped with the child that was not even hers all because of a legally binding
marriage.

They
sat there for a moment, neither speaking, but both looking at the house.

“You
don’t have to stay here, Freya,” Maurice said softly. “We can get a couple of
rooms at a motel. You don’t have to do this, Freya, not if it’s too hard.”

She
shook her head. “It’s not too hard. It’s just been a long time since I’ve been
here, and it’s a little sad thinking about everything. But my dad wanted to
make sure I had some place that was mine.” She looked at Maurice. A piece of
blond hair fell over the top of his glasses, and she smiled. He was such a good
guy, and she was sorry things hadn’t worked out for them, that he couldn’t have
been the one. But she was thankful things had ended the way they did and she
could have him as a close friend.

He
was even going back home and had a girl he’d been talking with for the last
year, waiting for him. Freya was glad he had plans, that he was happy.

“As
long as you’re sure,” he said and smiled. “But I’m here.”

She
knew he was, knew he’d always be there for her, just like she’d be there for
him.

“I’m
sure.” She took a deep breath, and climbed out of the car. After getting her
bags out of the backseat, she stood there a moment looking at the house. The
yard had been tended to recently, but it wasn’t because they’d paid for anyone
to do it. She looked at the house next door, knew the elderly couple that had
been good friends with her mother and father had likely been the ones to cut it
while they did their own lawn work. It warmed her heart that after all these
years they were looking out for even the smallest things.

“When
is the moving van supposed to be coming?” Maurice asked and stepped up beside
her.

“Tomorrow
morning.” He held his bag as well, but although he’d driven her home, he wasn’t
staying. He’d only be here long enough to help her get settled in, something
he’d insisted on, and then he’d be on his way back to his parents’ house, which
was another five hours from here.

They
walked up the front path, moved up the steps to the porch, and she stared at
the red front door. The glass that made up an oblong shape in the center of the
door was in a floral and scrollwork design. Her father had told Freya her
mother had picked out the door, had loved the design in it.

“I’ll
warn you, since Meghan left no one has been in the house. We are talking
years.” She looked over at Maurice and made a face. “I’m kind of afraid to go
in there.” Although she knew when Meghan had moved out after she met her now
third husband the house had been professionally cleaned. As far as she knew all
of her father’s furniture was still in the house. She grabbed her key, rubbed
her finger over the faded and dull brass coloring, and breathed out. “Let’s do
this.”

She
walked up to the front door, put the key in the lock, and turned it. Grabbing
the handle, feeling her heart race, her palms sweat, and this strange sensation
moving through her, she pushed the door open and stared inside. There was the
stench of musty, boarded in age that came to her. The curtains were drawn, but
the light that came from outside, washing around her and into the house, made
the dust particles in the air stand out in stark relief.

She
stepped inside, felt the rush of memories wash through her, and the urge to
cry, maybe because she was happy, or sad, or just because she hadn’t been here
in so damn long,
took
over her.

“You
doing okay?” Maurice asked, and she nodded without looking behind her.

“I
am.” And although she felt like crying, she was happy to be here, because as
strange as it was, she wasn’t thinking about Meghan or her father dying, but
about the memories she had before Meghan, before her father’s passing, and
before she felt like she was trapped. She thought about the good times, the
ones that had her smiling. Yes, this was what she’d been missing, and how
insane was it that she’d stayed away this long, thinking it would feel
horrible, but in fact she felt good?

Setting
her bags on the floor, she looked around. To her left was the living room, in
front of her the stairs, and to her right the hallway and kitchen.

“We
are going to have our hands full getting this place cleaned,” Maurice said in a
teasing voice.

She
looked over her shoulders, keeping her emotions in check, and nodded. “Yeah,
but I’m looking forward to it.” And she was, and God, did it feel good to want
to do this, to want to be a part of a life she’d wanted to get away from for so
long.

Chapter
Four

“I
want these files completed by five today. They have to be sent over to the
McCain firm. Do you understand?” Elijah said into the phone, feeling his
patience wane, his nerves about to snap, and his anger rise. He slammed the
phone down after the call ended, breathed out, and closed his eyes. His
business was booming, the money was rolling in, yet he was more stressed out
than he’d been in the last four years.

Turning
in his chair he stared out the window of his office. He was fifteen stories up,
looked down and stared at the activity below. Although it wasn’t really that
high, for the town of Grapplers Corner it was considered a skyscraper view.

He
stood, walked over to the glass, and continued to gaze down at the city below,
not moving for what seemed like several long moments, and then he heard a knock
on his office doors. Without turning around he called out for them to enter.

“Mr.
Westgate?” his assistant Brenna said from behind him.

He
turned and looked at her. She held a stack of papers and a manila envelope in
one hand, and in her other hand held a cup of coffee. She set the coffee on the
table and handed him the paperwork.

“You
have three appointments this afternoon, and another one tomorrow. Mr. Jerald
wants to talk to you about the new property development—”

“Cancel
my appointments for the rest of the day and tomorrow.”

She
was silent for a moment. “Okay. Are you feeling okay?”

He
looked down at the files. “I’m fine, but the appointments today and tomorrow
aren’t anything that can’t be dealt with later in the week.”

“Okay,”
she said again, and turned to leave.

Once
the door was shut behind her he sat back down and rested his head back on the
chair. Staring at the vaulted ceiling in his office, he felt strained, pulled
and tugged because of work, because of his life being so hectic anymore. It was
the evil that came with success. It was the strain that came with the payoff,
the loneliness that came with being wealthy.

He
picked up his phone, and dialed the front desk. “Get Franco on the line for me,
please,” he said to Brenna. After a second of silence he heard ringing on the
other end of the receiver. He waited for a man he’d first met years ago to come
on the line.

“Elijah,
it has been too long,” Franco, a Portuguese business investor Elijah had met
five years prior, said in his deeply accented voice.

After
they small talked for about five minutes, Elijah finally got to the reason he’d
called Franco. “You remember that property you mentioned all those years ago,
the one you owned about two hours from the city?” They’d spoken just last month
at a gala they’d both attended, and when Franco had mentioned the property to
another investor Elijah hadn’t been able to help but grow interested.

“Si.
I’ve been in the market to sell it, and was speaking with someone at the gala,
if you remember.”

“I
do.” Elijah turned and stared out the window again. “I’d like to talk business
with you regarding it. Personal business.”

“You
in the market for property?” Franco asked.

Elijah
thought about how lonely he was, how it was pathetic that he went home every
night to his apartment and stared below at the activity on the streets. He
thought about how he had no one, and when he’d been married he’d felt more
alone than when he stood in a room by himself. In the last four years he’d
become more successful than he’d ever thought possible, especially in a city
that wasn’t exactly a sprawling metropolis.

He
had no wife, and the women he associated with weren’t ones he’d be interested
in spending the rest of his life with, not when it was clear they were more
interested in the money he had in his bank account. Yes, he was in the market
for property, one that would give him the solitude and the peace he needed,
even if he’d be alone.

****

Elijah
pulled his Mercedes onto the cobblestoned driveway of the cabin about two hours
from the city. Franco wasn’t there yet, but Elijah was about twenty minutes
early. After cutting the engine he climbed out of the car. Although this was
considered a cabin, was out in the middle of nowhere, sitting on ten acres of
thickly wooded acreage, and was the farthest thing from simplistic Elijah had
ever seen, it was still out in the middle of nowhere and he’d have his space.
That’s what he needed, maybe even just as much as he didn’t want to live this
successful life alone anymore.

He
walked around the outside of the cabin, took in the two story height of the
structure, the arched windows, modern construction, and the professional
landscaping. It was a gorgeous house on an ideal piece of property. It was
exactly what Elijah was looking for.

The
sound of a car approaching had him turning on the porch and looking at the BMW
that pulled up beside his car. When Franco came out, he was speaking on his
Bluetooth, his voice angry as he yelled in Portuguese with someone on the other
end. After a few minutes Franco ended the call, held his hands out, and smiled
widely.

“
Olá
, Elijah,” he said and walked up
the porch. “
Bom
dia. Come, let me show you inside.”
Franco unlocked the stained glass double doors and pushed them open. When
Elijah stepped inside he should have realized this cabin wouldn’t be rustic,
not if Franco owned it. It certainly wasn’t a cabin that one would think was
out in the middle of the woods.

“I
purchased the land about a decade ago, and planned on making this a vacation
spot because of the location and lake that’s in town,” Franco said in his thick
Portuguese accent. He walked into the large, open kitchen, and turned to face
Elijah, a big smile on his olive skin toned face.

They
walked through the rest of the four-bedroom cabin, and Franco took great pride
in explaining everything that was in the house.

“We
finished construction just last year, and everything is brand new, top of the
line.”

“You
never thought of staying here with your family?” Elijah asked and walked over
to the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the sprawling back deck and
woods.

“I
planned on it, but my wife and the children are not ones for rustic living.”

Elijah
looked over at him and lifted a brow. “This is rustic living?” he joked and
smiled.

Franco
started chuckling. “Let’s just say even after it was all said and done they
prefer the villa in Portugal and the penthouse suite in New York over this.”

Elijah
shook his head. “It’s not as simple as I’d initially wanted, but this is
perfect for me, for what I’m looking for.”

“You
wish to bring a wife here, have a family?”

It
wasn’t a secret that Elijah was single, and that he had no family. That kind of
information went through the grapevine and their social circle like gasoline
through a fire. “I don’t think a family and another wife is in my future,
Franco.” He paused a moment, and then looked over his shoulder again at Franco.
“I’ve come to realize that no matter how much money you have you can’t buy
everything.”

And
that was the sad, depressing truth of it all, of his life.