The First Touch (Templer Series) Read Free Page B

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”
    “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