Touch Me: A Forbidden Romance

by Jenika Snow

  “Here, you’ll feel better after you’ve taken these.”

  Freya opened her eyes, took the pills and water he offered, and once they were swallowed, she rested her head on the couch. For a second, she just stared at him.

  “Why do you stay with her? She’s such a bitch.” Freya didn’t care if she was being bold. She might have thrown up until nothing was left, but she was still pretty buzzed and wanted to know.

  He didn’t answer right away, but he did sit across from her and brace his forearms on his thighs. He stared down at the ground for what seemed like forever and then ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

  “I don’t know if she ever planned on telling you this, or if even I did. I know you’re leaving for college in the fall and getting away will be so good for you.” He leaned back on the chair with dark hair mussed from running his fingers through it. His eyes seemed lighter, more sympathetic even. “We aren’t staying together. In fact, I’ve already gotten the paperwork for a divorce. I’m already looking for another place because I can’t stand to be here with her anymore.”

  She sat up a little straighter. “She didn’t act like you guys were getting a divorce, not with her screaming at you even.”

  He shook his head. “I was going to give them to her tonight and explain it all, but she started acting like, well, herself.” He exhaled again. “I haven’t been happy for a long time, and although I shouldn’t even be telling you these things, I know you haven’t been happy either. We’ll both be breaking away, Freya.”

  She didn’t say anything because she didn’t know what to say.

  “She never treated you right,” Freya finally said and leaned back again. “No one deserves to be trapped with her self-righteous, self-absorbed ass.”

  He smiled lightly, but rather than it be from humor, it was kind of sad. “She has some self-esteem issues, and I think once she addresses those, she may be able to have a good life.”

  Freya rubbed her eyes. “I don’t care if she ever has a good life. She’s an awful woman.”

  “You’re drunk—”

  “And you think that’s why I’m saying it?” she said and dropped her hand to the couch, staring at Elijah again. “No, I’m not so drunk that I don’t know what kind of evil bitch she really is. You deserve better than her. My father deserved better than her. And I deserve better than having to live with her.” The sadness of bringing up her father slammed into Freya harder because she was drunk, but she held back her emotions. “I should go to bed.” She stood, surprised she could stand fully.

  She looked over at him and saw that he watched her with this guarded, hurt, and angry expression on his face. “Good night, Elijah,” she said softly. He smiled, but once again, it seemed a little forced, a little sad, as if he were doing the act for her benefit. “I’m really sorry things aren’t working out with Meghan. I meant it when I said you deserve better.”

  “Thanks, Freya, and I’m sorry, too.” He didn’t have to say why he was apologizing because she knew. Neither of their lives had gone the way they planned or wanted, but they would make it work. They had to because if they didn’t, then what was the point?

  2

  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 began at the university, but her mind had been so focused on 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, and she turned her back on everything without once looking back.

  No conversation with Meghan, no thinking about what she was doing, how things were going with her, or if she’d ever see 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 the grueling twelve-hour trip back from the university, which they decided to do straight through. She looked over at the guy who had befriended her; her geeky but lovable friend who she’d lost her virginity to one drunken study night, a night neither really remembered but hadn’t the desire to repeat. 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 gone to school, and it had been in the form of a surprise call from him. He’d been checking up on her a few months after she’d settled into her dorm freshman year. But ever since their conversation when she’d been drunk and he admitted his divorce to her, there was just something about him that she hadn’t been able to shake.

  “Not weird, just kind of depressing,” she said. Looking out the passenger window, she pushed 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 the concerned look on Maurice’s face in the reflection of the passenger side window and knew he’d try to comfort her because 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, at least 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 and even welcomed it. There were times she had hated the solitude that 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, adjusting herself on the seat as she stared straight ahead. For four years, she’d stayed away, but she honestly didn’t have any reason to come back.

  Finally, Maurice pulled to a stop in front of the house where 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 stepmoth
er. Maybe that was why Meghan hated her so much? Maybe that was why she’d seen Freya as nothing but a nuisance, a child who 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 who was not even hers all because of a legally binding marriage.

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

  “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. I just haven’t been here in a long time, 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. But she was thankful things had ended amicably and she could have him as a close friend.

  He was heading home and had a girl he’d been talking with for the past year waiting for him. Freya was glad he had plans, and he was happy.

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

  She knew he was. He’d always be there for her, just as 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 back seat, she stood there for 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, where an elderly couple who 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 to his parents’ house, which was another five hours from here.

  They walked up the front path, climbed 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 because she had loved the design in it.

  “I’ll warn you that 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 the house had been professionally cleaned when Meghan had moved out after she met her now third husband. As far as she knew, all 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, she felt her heart race, her palms sweat, and this strange sensation move through her as 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 streaming in from outside, washing around her and into the house, made the dust particles in the air stand out in stark relief.

  When she stepped inside, she 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. 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 when, 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 cleaning this place,” Maurice said in a teasing voice.

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

  3

  “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, and the money was rolling in, yet he was more stressed out than he’d ever been in the past four years.

  Turning in his chair, he stared out the window of his office. From fifteen stories up, he 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. After not moving for what seemed like several long moments, 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, she carried 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 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 his life was 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, 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 recall.”

  “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 and how pathetic it was 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 past four years, he’d become more successful th
an 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 their interests lie 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.

  4

  Elijah pulled his Mercedes onto the cobblestone driveway of the cabin about two hours from the city. Franco wasn’t there yet, but Elijah was 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 on ten acres of thickly wooded acreage, and was the farthest thing from simplistic Elijah had ever seen, and he’d have his space.

  That was 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, taking in the two-story structure, the arched windows, modern construction, and the professional landscaping. It was a gorgeous house on an ideal piece of property and exactly what Elijah was looking for.

  The sound of an approaching car had him turning on the porch and looking at the BMW that pulled up beside his car. When Franco stepped out, he was speaking on his Bluetooth, his voice angry as he yelled Portuguese at the person 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 would be found in the middle of the woods.