Touch Me Softly Read online

  Touch Me Softly

  * * * * *

  By

  Stacey Darling

  Kindle Direct Publishing Edition

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  BOOKS BY STACEY DARLING

  Published By:

  Stacey & Tim Darling on Kindle Direct Publishing

  Copyright © 2013 by Stacey & Tim Darling

  WARNING: This Ebook contains sexually explicit material. Adult reading only. Must be eighteen (18) to read and or purchase.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales are purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  I hope you enjoy the book.

  Love you all – thanks.

  Prologue

  For some of us love strikes in an instant. For others, it’s a series of events that lead us down a path where the prize awaits us. For even fewer, love is an adventure that consumes us. It can start with the most subtle of glances, or the softest touch. It can grow slowly like a spark into a wildfire. The pleasure comes from being consumed with passion, with lust, with giving into that underlying animalistic urge to take what you want.

  Chapter One

  The bright light of the morning sun woke me. Slowly, I opened my eyes as it peered through the soft, white curtains of my bedroom window. My eyelids felt stuck; almost like glue held them shut. In addition, my head felt as if someone had dropped a brick on me. That's it, I'm never drinking again. I thought to myself as I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom for some aspirin. The throbbing pain in my head was momentarily interrupted as my bare feet reached the cold tile of the bathroom floor. Shivers shot through my body and in my state, half-asleep and hung-over. It finally dawned on me I was completely nude. Oh God, what have I done? Slowly, I turned to see who was in my bed. Son-of-a-bitch. I thought to myself as my eyes focused on the familiar tattoo scrolled across his shoulder, a bald eagle grasping a police badge in one talon and handcuffs in the other. Ignoring my pain, I slipped into my robe and snuck out of the room. Each tiptoeing step announced my walk of shame throughout the house, as the old wooden staircase creaked and moaned under my feet.

  "Good morning, sunshine," Cindy echoed with laughter as she made breakfast. "I thought you had given up on my brother?" She added.

  "What the hell... When did he get here?" I whispered walking into the kitchen.

  "Ahh... I guess about two in the morning."

  "Why?"

  "You called him, not me," Cindy smiled.

  "Oh God... I did."

  Cindy Blake was my best friend, roommate and I had known her all my life. We had grown up across the street from each other. Her older brother, the naked guy in my bed, had always been a pain in the ass. That is, until I started liking boys. From that day on, he was my sole crush. When I was seventeen we started dating, and for five years, we were an on-again-off-again thing. When I was twenty-one we broke it off for good, or at least that's what I thought. For the past year or so, we have had this, friends with benefits, thing going on. A month ago, I made a promise to myself that our relationship was over. There wouldn't be anymore momentary lapses in judgment. No more late night booty calls. I was twenty-four years old, and I needed to get my act together. Having the occasional one night fling with Robert was holding me back. It was unfair to both of us; it stopped us from moving on with our lives, and it needed to stop.

  So to say, I was a little upset with myself when I woke up naked next to him, would be an understatement. Robert understood how I felt. He even claimed to feel the same way. So why would he even answer a phone call from me at two in the morning? Everyone in his or her right mind knows that's a booty call. Angry and hung-over, I stormed back into my bedroom. "Hey asshole," I muttered loudly as I slammed my bedroom door. "Grab your gun, grab your badge and get out." I yelled as I stood next to the bed, arms crossed and peering down at him.

  Rolling over slowly, Robert looked up at me and flashed a smile with his perfectly white teeth. "Calm down would you. Why are you pissed?"

  "I told you... This was over. We're done playing this game. I don't want to do it anymore."

  "Listen, you called me. All I did was show up," he said as he stood, "So if you want to be pissed off at someone, go look in the mirror."

  Robert was right. This was my fault. After all, I called him, and asked him to come over, not the other way around. "Look, I'm sorry I yelled at you, but I have a massive hangover. And yes, I know this is my fault, and yes, I am pissed at myself. But can you please grab all your stuff and go," I said as nicely as possible.

  "Sure, but remember one thing. It's not me, it's you," he said laughing as he pulled up his pants.

  Ignoring Robert's attempt at humor was easy; I had actually gotten very good at doing so over the years. As he dressed, I went into the bathroom, shut the door and turned on the shower. It was already ten o'clock in the morning and I was running late. My mother and I were supposed to have Sunday brunch, but it looked as if brunch would have to be lunch. There was no way possible I would make it on time.

  After rushing through my shower and quickly getting dressed, I was out the door and on my way to meet my mother. She had already called my cell phone three times. She couldn't stand when someone was late to meet her, but at this point, there was nothing I could do. I was already late. Driving the ten miles to meet her wouldn't take too long so I didn't call her back. I simply sent a text message telling her I would be there in a few minutes. It wasn't until the second mile that my self-deprecating anger set in again. Each time I caught a glance of myself in the mirror, it felt as if my inner self was looking back at me and judging. I simply couldn't believe that I called him again. What was wrong with me? Why did I constantly make the same stupid decisions when it came to my love life? Every other part of my life was going great. I had a good job as a paralegal, at a highly respected law firm. My best friend Cindy and I had purchased an investment house together and were living in it as roommates. Nevertheless, I cannot seem to make the right choices when it comes to men or sex.

  Luckily, my time of self-examination was over. I arrived at the hotel and nervously prepared myself for my mother's weekly judgmental, inspection. It was our weekly ritual that we rarely missed. Every Sunday we met for brunch; during which, my mother would probe my social life, comment on my professional life and roll her eyes at my love life. Don't get me wrong, I love my mother, but she can sometimes be a little overbearing. Matter-a-fact, she can make you want to jump off a bridge. I guess that’s why people say you choose your friends, but not your family.

  Walking into the hotel restaurant, I could see my mother patiently waiting for my arrival. She was her predictable, proper self as she sat there with perfect posture and etiquette. I knew this particular gathering of ours wouldn't go well. After all, I was late. I was dressed wrong and I was hung-over. "Mom, I'm so sorry for being late," I said as I bent down to kiss her hello. The judging didn't take long at all.

  "Quinlyn Wittmyer, I can't believe you walked out of the house looking like this," she muttered, as she looked me over from head to toe. "You look like you're going to the gym... Not meeting your mother for brunch."

  "I know, Mom. I'm sorry... Really I am."

  "Well sit down. It's best not to draw attention to yourself when you're dressed the way you are."

  For the next hour, I sat and listened to my mother’s version of what my life should be like. According to her, I should be married to a lawyer, not employed by one. In addition, he should be someone from a good family with influence and have political aspirations. The thought of such a life actually made me puke in my mouth a little. My mother had such a life, and my father was a good man, but I
hardly knew him. I want more... I want love, adventure, excitement and I want to enjoy every second of life to its absolute fullest. Is that too much to ask? As our time together came to an end, she finished with her signature line. "Honey, you know I only want what's best for you." As her only daughter, how could I argue?

  "Mom, I know, but you have to trust me," I smiled and kissed her cheek. "Trust in the fact that you and Dad raised a strong, intelligent woman that's not afraid of the world." My mother smiled back at me, almost as if she knew this battle of wills was over. Nevertheless, the truth was it would never be over. She had her ideas of what my life should be like, and I had mine.

  Fortunately, I had the rest of the day to myself. Tomorrow was a big day at work and I wanted to go shopping for a few new outfits, so I headed to the mall. Four hours, and eight hundred dollars later, I was home. Walking in the door with bags smacking against the wall drew Cindy's attention. Quickly jumping from the couch, she skipped over to help me with my bags. "Wow, so what did we get that's good?" She asked jokingly.

  "Don't get too excited... It's all work clothes."

  "That's okay. You always buy the sexiest work clothes."

  Rolling my eyes, I simply glared at her. Sexy? Is that how I dressed to go to work? I didn't think so. Men didn't seem to flirt with me at the office. The last thing I wanted to be known as was the office slut. "Sexy... I don't wear sexy stuff to work. What are you talking about?"

  Cindy giggled, "Oh, okay... You usually look like a model when you walk out the door in the morning."

  Ignoring her, I carried my bags to my room and started laying my new outfits out on the bed. Looking them over closely, I decided I would wear my new blue skirt with a three-inch black belt and the white, silk blouse. It was professional, not slutty in any way, shape or form. The last thing I wanted to do was look like slut tomorrow. Meeting a new client was important. You only get one chance to make a first impression and all that crap... Not to mention, it was rare for a paralegal to be invited to meet a new client. Therefore, it was extremely important for me to be at the top of my game.

  Chapter Two

  Once again, Murphy’s Law roared its ugly head. Already running late for my nine o'clock appointment, I caught every single traffic light. Then to top things off, the parking garage was closed so I had to park more than a block away from my office. When I finally arrived at work, it was twenty after nine. I quickly put my things in my office and headed to the conference room. My assistant fell right in behind me and briefed me as we walked. "Let's see... His name is Jareth Summerfield. He's..." she trailed off.

  "He's what?" I asked in a panicked voice as the stress was starting to get to me.

  "That's just it... Everything is blank. The client brief sheet is completely empty. All it has is his name."

  "Fine, give it to me," I said as I turned and snatched it from Lisa's fingers. "I'm sorry, Lisa. Go ahead back to your desk," I said nervously as I stood in front of the conference room door. Collecting myself with a deep breath, I lightly, tapped on the door and walked into the room. There were four people in the room; my boss, Mrs. Lancaster sat alone on one side of the large heart pine conference table. Mr. Ross and Mr. Kane, the two head honcho’s of the firm, both sat across from her. A fourth person, a man, stood at the wall window that overlooked the city. He didn't move at all, he stood perfectly still, with his hands in his pockets as he looked out over the city. It was obvious from their angry glares, they were not happy with my tardiness. Mrs. Lancaster looked at me with disappointment and irritation. The tense look on her face said it all... Not showing up would have been better than showing up late.

  "Miss Wittmyer, we won't be needing you this morning. You can return to your office," She muttered with her raspy voice.

  My only choice was to turn and walk out the door as fast as I could. An apology wouldn't serve anyone at this point. Matter-a-fact, it would most certainly make things worse. Turning to walk out the door, I heard him. His voice was soft, almost boy-like, and he spoke in a low tone with a distinct accent. Possibly British. "I would very much like it if Miss Wittmyer was permitted to join us." I was unsure as to what I should do, and my heart rate quickly doubled. I looked to Mrs. Lancaster for approval, but it was Mr. Ross who gave me the nod of acceptance I needed to sit down. I quickly took a seat next to Mrs. Lancaster and waited for the meeting to resume.

  "Mr. Summerfield,” Mr. Ross said. "The young woman who has joined us is Miss Quinlyn Wittmyer. She is a paralegal with my firm, and is one of the best researchers I have ever seen."

  I looked on and waited for Mr. Summerfield’s response. Several seconds went by, and suddenly he turned, pulling his hands from his pockets and placing them behind his back. I was shocked. I expected someone in his forties, maybe late thirties, but Mr. Summerfield wasn't even close to that. He was closer to my age — maybe even younger. Intently, he looked at me for several seconds, and I found myself lost in his features. He was extremely attractive. Not too tall, about five-foot-eleven inches and athletic looking. He really didn't have a hairstyle, unless you consider uncombed a style, it was dark brown almost black. Not too long, it fell over his ears and had a strange part, not on the side, but not the middle either. None of that came close to his face. Chiseled, with smooth features it was trusting and made you want to stare at him for as long as possible. So much so, that I almost over looked his beautiful, bright green eyes. That is until he walked over to me and introduced himself.

  Holding his hand out for mine, he looked down at me and spoke. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Wittmyer," he said as a smile flashed across his face. "I look forward to working with you," he added as he took my hand in his. Taken off guard by the feeling of his touch, I said nothing in return. I simply sat there, staring up at him as if I was a love struck teenage girl. His eyes danced over my features, and I found myself wondering what he was thinking. That was enough for me to snap out of my momentary lapse of coma.

  "I'm sorry," I stuttered as I cleared my throat. "Mr. Summerfield, it's a pleasure to meet you as well."

  "Please... Call me by my given name... Jareth."

  "Certainly, Jareth."

  "Well then... With the introductions complete, let me explain why I have called on your firm Mr. Ross and Mr. Kane," He said as he walked to the head of the conference table and sat. "My family had many holdings in prewar France. Unfortunately, we lost millions of dollars when Germany invaded."

  Mr. Ross started to speak. "Mr. Summerfield, if I may interrupt..."

  "Sir, I would appreciate it if you did not," said Jareth, in a polite, but commanding voice.

  As I was saying, my family lost much during this time in history. I come here today to ask for your assistance in retrieving one item."

  Intrigued, I spoke up. "Mr.Summer... I'm sorry. Jareth, this item you seek. It must have great sentimental value to your family."

  "Miss Wittmyer, what makes you make such an assumption?" He asked smiling.

  "Simple. It's one item. If it was money or land there are other avenues," I answered.

  "Miss Wittmyer is correct. This item has a great amount of sentimental value to my family."

  "What would this item be, Mr. Summerfield?" Asked Mr. Kane.

  "A very old painting, Sir. Very old."

  Once again, I couldn't help myself. Curiosity killed the cat and one day it just may be my downfall as well. "Jareth, why now? What's so important about the painting that would cause you to look for it now?" I asked.

  "The painting is very important to my family. It's of a family member from a long time ago, and is from a series of family paintings reaching back centuries." Unexpectedly, Mr. Ross excused himself from the meeting. He advised Mrs. Lancaster to take the case if she wanted too, but he didn't see how the firm could be of much help with such a matter. Personally, I was excited about the case, and the chance to work with Jareth. Suddenly, Jareth picked up a black briefcase and set it on the table, as he stood. "Mr. Kane, Mrs. Lancaster... I a
m prepared to leave you with a retainer of one hundred thousand dollars. I feel it's important that you understand my commitment, excuse me, my family’s commitment to the recovery of this painting," he said as he opened the briefcase to reveal one hundred thousand dollars in cash, all one hundred dollar bills.

  Mr. Kane resembled a dog salivating over an old bone, and Mrs. Lancaster quickly shuffled through paper work searching for a client contract. The money meant nothing to me; actually, it raised questions. Why would you pay such a large retainer in cash? Where was the rest of Jareth's family and why weren't they here as well? I couldn't help feeling that the whole situation was strange. The doubt must have been written all over my face, because Jareth addressed me right away. "Miss Wittmyer, you appear troubled by something," he said as he sat down. "I am happy to address any concerns you may have."

  "She's a paralegal... She has no concerns," Mr. Kane said as he glanced in my direction.

  "No sir, no concerns at all," I smiled.