Beyond Touched

by Ashley Logan

  “It happens pretty quick,” I argue, knowing he can get me off faster than I’d ever imagined possible before I met him. “I know you don’t need anything in return, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to give it, so suck it up.”

  “Suck it up?” he says, advancing on me. Stopping just in front of me, he frowns, as if torn. Bending down, he kisses me gently on the lips, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth momentarily before releasing it. “You are too delicious for your own good, Alexa Carrington. When we start having sex again, I’m going to keep you very busy for a while, so you should prepare for that. Make sure you clear your schedule ahead of time.”

  “Is that a threat or a promise?” I ask, moving behind the car door to put a barrier between us.

  “Oh, it’s a promise,” Damon says, smiling to himself as he walks back around to the driver’s side. “It might take weeks. We might need to organize membership to somewhere that offers intimate delivery, just so we don’t starve.”

  “Or we could just do it in the kitchen,” I suggest with a shrug.

  Laughing, Damon dons his hooks and pulls back onto the road. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you’re weird? Or do you only do it in beds?”

  “Not always,” he says defensively. “I did just suggest the hood of the car, remember?”

  A small tremor runs through my body as I recall the heat and the vibration. Although he’d sort of pinned me with his body, Damon hadn’t freaked me out at all. Quite the opposite, actually. Looking out the window, I cross my legs. “I’m looking forward to that.”

  Damon curses under his breath and then sighs. “It’s going to be a long, hard drive to Mom and Dad’s, Alexa.”

  Turning back to eye the clock, I find we’ve been driving nearly two hours. “It’s only about half an hour more isn’t it?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “Oh,” I reply with a smile as my eyes drift from his tense jaw to his crotch. “It might be a long, hard weekend.”

  Breathing out roughly, Damon clears his throat and keeps his eyes straight ahead. “Or week, or month, or year.”

  “A year?! Damon, I don’t think we’ll be able to hold out that long. In fact, I can’t even remember why we stopped.”

  “Because you get confused by sex and think you need to use it as currency, and while I enjoy that currency immensely, I don’t want you to keep a tally, or feel as if you owe me for some pathological need to feel safe. I want to make you feel safe, but you owe me nothing for it. I’m trying to convince you that I genuinely care for you and enjoy your company, and I do not need you to pay me for mine.”

  Folding my arms over my chest, I look out the window again. “I know you’re right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to manage this... feeling.”

  “No,” he agrees, adjusting himself in his seat. “It doesn’t.”

  “YOU GREW UP HERE?” I ask as Damon’s car creeps up the tree-lined driveway. Bursts of autumn color peek through the evergreens and the stark limbs of those trees already naked.

  “Nah,” he says with a shrug. “We used to have a standard suburban three bedroom closer to town. The girls were so happy when I left for college and they didn’t have to share a room anymore - they’re not very similar. Mom and Dad shifted to this place shortly after my accident. Dad had always wanted a huge vegetable patch and Mom loves beautiful, old country houses. They used to take us for drives in the country, dreaming about the day they’d win some lottery to be able to live somewhere like this. I spent some time convalescing here, so it kind of feels like home, but it’s the people that make it that way, right?”

  Nodding, I say nothing, because a rather grand country house has just become visible across a park-like lawn. Shrinking a little in my seat, I stare wide-eyed, pondering which Jane Austen novel it belongs in.

  “Alexa?”

  Damon’s voice is loud and tinged with concern, as if he’s been calling me for a while. Blinking, I realize I’m alone in the car and he is standing next to my open door.

  “Sorry. What?”

  Holding his elbow out, he nods for me to exit the car. “May I escort you to the front door?”

  Unsure of why I agreed to come on this road trip to spend time with a family I don’t know, in a house made for grand people, I step out slowly, practically clinging to Damon once I loop my arm through his elbow.

  “You don’t need to be scared, Alexa. We’re good people.”

  My throat is tight, and I’m breathing too fast, but I nod and let him lead me up the path to the door.

  A million thoughts run through my head as I try to imagine all of the possible interactions between myself and Damon and his family. Will he knock, or walk right in? Which one is better? Will it be warm, or too warm inside? Two of the chimneys are smoking, but maybe that means it’s cold. How will they be dressed? Looking down at my jeans and boots and coat, I try to remember what layers I have beneath.

  “You look beautiful and I love you,” Damon says, kissing my temple as he helps me up the steps.

  The front door opens before we can get close enough to knock and a pretty, middle-aged woman, with auburn hair several shades lighter than Kat’s, beams at us as she closes the distance and hugs us both at once.

  “Hey Ma,” Damon says, and I can almost hear him rolling his eyes. “It’s nice to see you too. Happy fake Thanksgiving.”

  “Oh shush, you,” she says, standing back and taking us in. “It’s so lovely to meet you in person, Alexa. Please, come in out of the cold. Damon will show you around. I take it the drive was alright?” she asks, not really waiting for an answer as she scrunches her nose at Damon. “At least there is less traffic on the road at fake Thanksgiving time, right?”

  Chuckling, Damon drops his arm to the small of my back and ushers me inside. “Yes Mom.” Hanging his shoulder bag on one of the hooks inside the door, Damon shrugs out of his jacket and helps me out of mine before hanging them both.

  “Sorry,” I say into the space between Damon and his Mom. “I, um... you have a very nice home, Mrs. Shermansky.”

  “Thank you Alexa. Please don’t be overwhelmed by the house though. It’s Damon’s fault. We’re very simple people really. Please, call me Leigh.”

  Nodding, I send a questioning look at Damon, but he just shrugs and smiles, turning away. I can’t keep my eyes from roaming the high ceilings, woodwork and paneled walls, and the warm creamy tones that accentuate the many paintings that fill the walls, not unlike Damon’s apartment. In fact, some of the paintings look to be Damon’s. Removing my boots, I notice Leigh is wearing jeans and a sweater, and I relax a little more.

  “Do you have bags?” she asks, looking around us.

  “I’ll get them later,” Damon says, nudging his shoes aside with one foot. “Where’s Dad?”

  Damon’s Mom looks towards the grand oak staircase. “Last I saw, he was traipsing mud through the living room. He’s been sent upstairs to shower.”

  “What is it this time?” Damon asks with a smile. “Mice in the shed?”

  “Rabbits,” his mom says with a giggle. “In his veggie patch. He wants rid of them, but refuses to kill them. They’re liable to abandon the place soon though. He’s exposing the entire warren out of curiosity. Given them all names from Watership Down and everything. The man’s a worry.”

  “Who’s a worry?” Coming downstairs, still drying his hair with a towel is a man that could be an older, darker-haired, beardless version of Damon. Pushing his glasses on, he moves the towel to one hand and offers me the other. “You must be Alexa,” he says with a grin, his scruffy hair all at wayward angles from rubbing it dry.

  “Hi,” I manage to squeak, holding a plastered smile on my face as his hand engulfs mine.

  “Glen,” he says, releasing my hand and leaving me wondering if Damon’s hands would be that big if he still had them. Shuddering, I step back ever so slightly to hide behind Damon as his father pulls him into a big warm man hug for big, warm, over-sized men.r />
  Laughing a little, Leigh waits for them to finish hugging before tugging on her husband’s sleeve. Bending to kiss her, he’s held back as she shakes her head at him, and begins tidying his hair. “I don’t know what to do with you, Glen-jamin. Did you leave the bathroom in a right state?”

  “Ah... no?” he says smoothly and clears his throat as he moves back towards the stairs. “Nice to meet you, Alexa. I... forgot something upstairs. I’ll see you later.”

  When he disappears, we all laugh a little and Damon kisses his mom’s cheek. “The house already smells awesome, Ma. Where are the girls?”

  “Harriet’s in the den, I think, and Dad’s going to get Lara from the airport in a few hours.”

  “Do you need any help in the kitchen?” I offer, suddenly overly aware of the amazing smells of holiday cooking, and wondering if the Shermansky family kitchen is like the ones I’ve seen on TV in those happy holiday movies.

  “You’re helping with dishes,” Damon interjects before his mom can say anything. “That means you’re exempt from other forms of helping. Come on,” he says, guiding me away. I look over my shoulder apologetically, but his mom just grins and waves before disappearing in the opposite direction.

  Leading me through a series of halls and rooms, including one lined with bookshelves filled to bursting, Damon comes to a stop and holds a stump to his lips in a ‘sh’ kind of way. Quietly peering beyond him, I see a teenage girl wearing headphones, lounging in a bean bag with her back to us. Spinning a drumstick in one hand, her head bobs along to the music playing in her ears as her other hand holds an open book and her feet tap the floor.

  Impressed that she could do so many things at once, I consider Damon briefly and guess that the ‘busy gene’ must run in the family. Damon’s head is moving to the beat of Harriet’s tapping feet. There is a clear rhythm to her movements and I find myself doing the same. Damon notices and grins, but we both turn back to Harriet when her movement catches our eye.

  Tossing the book aside, she jumps up from the bean bag. Having grabbed her other drumstick from somewhere, she begins playing the air drums as she bops around in front of the huge picture window. Damon silently begins to make his own movements - only more pronounced and outrageous. Looking to be enjoying himself immensely, he invents comical moves with pure joy, inspiring me to join in. Soon we’re all three of us dancing to music only Harriet can hear and it is the most bizarre and goofy thing I can remember doing. Ever.

  I forget sometimes that Damon was once a musician himself, so find myself almost surprised that he actually has rhythm, though his moves are highly unconventional and hilarious. As much as I try, I can’t match him for crazed seizure-like activity and soon fall back to classic, though equally impressive moves. It isn’t until we’re doing the twist and the swim that we jump around to find Harriet watching us with amusement.

  “Hey guys. Great moves Damo, but I get the feeling your girlfriend could dance circles around ya,” she says, walking over the couch to get to us. Damon grabs her in a headlock and noogies her with his stump as she squeals.

  “Haz, this is Alexa. And she could dance circles around everyone we know,” he says, pulling Harriet back upright and evading her lunging attempts to seek revenge. Harriet’s short, dark hair has become wild, revealing her striking similarity to her father.

  “Hi Alexa!” she calls as she catapults herself off an armchair to land on Damon’s back. Locking her long legs around him, she tries to access his ticklish sides as he gallops around the room twisting and squirming to prevent it. Both of them end up in a giggling heap on the floor by the bean bag.

  Looking up at me, Damon laughs and disentangles himself, pulling Harriet up after him. “Alexa doesn’t have any siblings,” he whispers loudly to Harriet. “I think we’ve scared her.”

  “Well if she didn’t run screaming when she met you, I doubt I’ll bother her,” Harriet whispers back with a grin.

  “Watch it squirt,” Damon says, pushing her so she falls back onto the bean bag.

  Leaping over the couch, Damon whisks me out of the room. “C’mon, stunned mullet. I’ll take you on a tour.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  DAMON

  “Damon!” Lara and Mom yell at the same time as I start strapping on the serving spoons for the stuffing; for the fourth time.

  “I was going to offer if anyone else wanted some!” I lie, tightening my fastening straps with my teeth. “Alexa, would you care for more stuffing?” I ask politely as she shakes with silent laughter beside me.

  Shaking her head, she takes a settling breath. “No thanks. I’m full up to my eyebrows. This was amazing. Lara, your gravy tastes as good as my mom’s used to, and Haz, that apple-pineapple salad is to die for.”

  My sisters glow from the compliments and I use the distraction to load more stuffing onto my plate in peace.

  “So Lara,” I say, as I unstrap the servers and reach for the gravy boat. “Mom says I’m not allowed to give you a hard time, but who’s so important you had to ditch us on real Thanksgiving? He better be an astronaut or something awesome.”

  “Shannon is doctor; and she’s pretty awesome, yeah.”

  The spoonful of stuffing stops on route to my mouth as Lara stares at me. My eyes do a quick scan to see if I’m the only one who thinks this is news. I am. Everyone else looks bored and even Alexa is raising an eyebrow at me.

  “Well kiss my grits. You like chicks? What a relief!” I say leaning back in my chair with an easy grin. “I like chicks too. A doctor, huh? Does she treat you nice?”

  Blushing, Lara nods and takes a long drink of her wine.

  “And what about you?” I say, turning to Haz. “Sausage or Taco?”

  “Damon!” Mom and Lara cry out in unison again as Harriet turns beetroot.

  “Um, I haven’t tried either,” she says with a giggle as she throws one of Dad’s homegrown beans at me. “Who cares?”

  “I do. Guys are douche-monkeys and I’d rather not worry about you being subjected to their... bananas.” Most of the table erupts in snorts and snickers and Dad silently lowers his head and raises his hand for the conversation to be over. Alexa leans away from him slightly, shifting nearer to me in an almost imperceptible way, but I pick up on it loud and clear when Dad lowers his hands out of sight and she relaxes again.

  “You’re not a douche-monkey,” Harriet says, interrupting my thoughts. Blinking at her, I re-run her statement in my head and smile sympathetically.

  “Oh Haz. Aren’t you so sweet and innocent, and not at all naive.”

  “She has a point,” Alexa pipes up. “Aren’t you proof that not all guys are bone-heads?”

  “The exception to the rule,” I say with a stern look at Haz. “Don’t trust any of them.”

  “Except you?” Alexa continues, a sly smile working its way onto her lips.

  Taking a moment to admire her gorgeous face, I consider her angle and decide to steer her away from the dark side. “You can trust him,” I say, gesturing to Dad. “And Bruno. But not Brad, okay?”

  Laughing, Alexa nods. “Okay.”

  “Ooh, how is Brad doing?” Mom asks, leaning in. “Is he over that horrid girl yet?”

  Nodding as I finish my mouthful, I take a drink of water. “I think he might be turning a corner, yeah.”

  “Well good for him,” she says, nudging my Dad with an elbow. “Isn’t that good news, Glen? The man can finally start moving on.”

  “Mm,” Dad says in a non-committal, half listening way as he stares off into space. “Do you think if I sink the garden fence into the earth a few feet, the buggers will quit trying to dig their way in?”

  “Just kill the flippin’ things!” Mom says with a sigh. “They’re everywhere. If you don’t want them eating your prized vegetables, then shoot them. You could eat them. It would be poetic.”

  “Apparently they taste like chicken,” Dad muses, then shakes his head. “They’re too cute.”

  “That’s not what you said last we
ek,” Haz says, starting to stack empty dishes.

  “Don’t start that just yet, Harry. We haven’t said what we’re thankful for,” Mom says, her hands fussing and shooing Harriet back into her seat.

  I sneak a peek at Alexa and find her risking a glance at me. I stifle a laugh and she bites down on her smile as her cheeks build to a sexy blush.

  “Private joke?” Lara says from across the table.

  “I was just thinking how thankful I am that Alexa is here to help me with the dishes,” I respond, trying to keep my voice even.

  Clearing her throat Alexa nods. “And I’m so grateful for being part of a family Thanksgiving again, that I’m happy to do dishes.”

  “Well you’re welcome any time, dear. I’m thankful that my children are healthy and happy. Lara?”

  Shrugging, Lara set down her empty glass and smiles. “I’m thankful that Damon will no longer be lecturing me about men, and I’m also thankful there’s more wine. Dad?”

  “I’m grateful that I was on clean up last year,” he says, eying the vast array of dirty dishes both on the table and in the kitchen beyond. “Haz?”

  “Apart from Mom, your shares are all lame,” she says, leaning back in her chair and casting a shaming look over us all. “I’m thankful that we’re all able to be here - including Alexa,” she adds, flashing a smile in her direction. “I’ve never seen anyone beat Damon at chess so many times in one afternoon, and I’m really glad he’s finally met his match. How did you get so good?”

  Alexa shrinks a little, but puts on a brave face. “I used to spend a lot of time in libraries. I’ve read a few books and I also used to hang out at a few parks where people played. Sometimes they’d let me play too.”

  “I thought you were going to say you were a school champ. Damo was, but your story’s better,” she says, pulling a face at me when I poke my tongue out at her. “Like a self-taught genius. Awesome.”

  Alexa smiles politely and wrings her hands in her lap under the table.