TOUCHED

Chapter 14

Rating: T (Cover your eyes while you're reading this! No, wait, I didn't mean that!)

Author: AlyshebaFan2

I didn't expect some of this to happen, but this afternoon while pretending to work, some ideas came to me and as soon as I got off I had to hammer this one out. But then I had to eat and watch "Cake Boss", so I didn't finish this until midnight. I just hope it doesn't go into M territory, and I did my best to be tasteful and leave a bunch to the imagination, rather than go for full disclosure. If it does, I apologize to anyone who might need a drink of water or something.

A cookie for whoever finds the reference to The Princess Bride!

Murdock somehow managed to get Alexandra back into her seat, and after gently slapping her cheek a few times she finally opened her eyes and looked down at him. When her finally focused, she smiled goofily at him.

"Hi!"

"Hi. Are you in there?" He was crouched beside her chair, looking up at her and studying her carefully for signs of head injury. Fortunately, as his grandmother had always said, God takes care of drunks and children.

"Yep!" She giggled happily. She started to list to starboard, so that he had to grab her and pull her back into a seated, rather than slumped, position, and she put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. "Hmm…nice shoulders…nice muscles…"

"Er…yeah. Think you can sit up for a few minutes, while I go get Face and Charissa?"

"Who?"

"Face and Char-…never mind. I'll be right back. Stay where you are, okay?"

"You're sho shexy," she said, touching his cheek. He didn't move, staring up into her beautiful, albeit slightly glazed-over, blue eyes. "Kish me…please?"

"Okay." He moved up a bit and kissed her softly, and her lips parted sweetly and he forgot who Face and Charissa were, too, and frankly couldn't have cared less about either of them, and took a champagne-flavored taste. He forgot pretty much everything else around him, too, but the spell was broken somewhat by Alexandra tipping forward. She bonked her head against his and fell onto his shoulder, asleep. He caught her before she could slide back to the ground, and gently settled her back into the chair, ignoring the canaries now flying around his head.

Her fall a few moments before had been amazingly elegant – like something right out of Swan Lake, if the swan was on a bender. Several restaurant patrons had been concerned, but he had refused their offers to help her back into her seat. He picked her up again and eased her back into the seat, and her head popped up. She gave him a beautiful, goofy smile. "Hi!"

"Indeed. Listen, I want you to stay here and be a good girl while I go get Face and Charissa…okay?" He wagged his index finger at her, and she followed it with her eyes, still smiling. "Can you stay here for me?"

"I'll be right here!" she said cheerfully, pointing at the table in front of her.

"Good. I'll be back."

"Hasta la vista, baby!" she crowed, and laughed like a loon. Murdock stared at her, blinking and shaking his head in amazement before going off to search for Face.

Alexandra liked how the lights twinkled and the wineglasses sparkled, and how the dancers swayed in spite of the constantly tipping dance floor. She vaguely recognized one of the couples, but couldn't quite place them, and trying to figure it out only made her head fuzzy. She thought about James and looked across the table, expecting to see him sitting there, looking beautiful, and frowned unhappily when he wasn't. Where was he? She had misplaced him! She looked around, wondering where she had last seen him.

Getting up, wobbling a little, she started toward the maitre'd's little wooden stand. He, too, wasn't where he was supposed to be, but then again, what with the floors being so bloody tilted, she didn't blame him for abandoning his post. She wouldn't report him, even if the ship hit an iceberg, she decided. She saw that there was a microphone there, and smiled. She would call James and he would take her home, and maybe – hopefully – he would kiss her some more.

"Face! We need to go."

Face had his namesake buried into the crook of Charissa's neck and only half-heard his friend, but there was no mistaking being kicked in the ankle. He almost dropped, and whirled around to glare at Murdock. "What the hell was that for?" he snapped.

"Alexandra is drunk, and we need to get her home."

Charissa, flushed, looked toward their table. "Where is she?"

"Alexandra doesn't drink," Face pointed out.

"Yes, and that's why she's drunk, and what do you mean, 'where is she'?" Murdock rounded on Charissa, agitated.

"Where did you leave her?" Face asked, looking toward the table as well.

"Over by the albino, I think" Murdock said through clenched teeth, having still not taken a look for himself. "At the table, you moron!" He whipped around, expecting to see his wife where he'd left her, but she was gone. "Oh, shit! Where is she?"

"I just asked that question, and the answer remains, 'I don't know'," Charissa said, annoyed with both of them.

Just then, the maitre'd's mike made an ear-splitting screech, and everyone in the restaurant turned to look.

Alexandra waved at them all. "Oooh…is this thing on? Hi! I seem to have…to have been lost. I am with the Meck and Purdock party. Would shomeone pleash she that I am returned?"

Charissa was having a lot of trouble keeping from laughing. The looks on their faces were priceless – she wished she had brought a camera. Murdock was trying to explain the destroyed fish tank, but the maitre'd was not amused, and neither were all the poor dying fish scattered all over the floor, along with thousands of shiny blue and silver pieces of glass that had once decorated the bottom of the tank. Along with about forty gallons of water, some kind of really disgusting kelp, a treasure chest, a pirate's skeleton and a broken castle.

Face was just doing his best to keep Alexandra propped up in a chair near the cloak roam, and was talking gently to her, trying to keep her awake and delay the mother of all hangovers. She saw Murdock whip out his wallet and knew he was going to have to write a good-sized check for this one.

Finally, the maitre'd was placated, and Murdock, rubbing his temples, stepped carefully through the water and glass and fish and peered down at his wife, who was dozing. "Baby, it's time to go home, before they call the cops."

"Pretty koi…" she said dreamily. "Why are they all over the floor? Ooh, look at that one! He's all polka-dotty! But he sure is breathing hard…"

Murdock didn't tell her. Charissa figured he would save that for when she was good and lucid. She followed them out into the night, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Who knew English aristocrats could be so much fun?

It took some creative thinking to get Alexandra into the car – the fresh air outside seemed to revitalize her, but she became a little uncooperative, stamping her foot and insisting that she had called her own bloody cab. She finally got in, but only when Murdock finally just opened the door and said, "Madame, your chariot awaits." That did the trick – she plopped in and promptly fell over. Murdock got in on the other side, Face revved up the 'vette and they started back toward Beverly Hills.

In the back seat, Alexandra's mild belligerence had been replaced by something else entirely. She had scooted over to sit close to Murdock, and Face nearly wrecked the 'vette when he looked back there through the mirror and saw her start nibbling on the pilot's earlobe. Murdock's cheeks reddened, but other than that, Peck couldn't tell that he was resisting her advances.

"Alexandra, behave yourself," Murdock chided. She finally obeyed him by falling into his lap and going to sleep, and she did not awaken until the 'vette pulled into the mansion's driveway, when she sat up and said, "Four-eighteen Grosvenor Square, please," and went back to sleep. He got out and went around to drag her out of the car, and carried her like a bride up the path to the door. He was at a loss as to how to get it opened, though, until Face came bounding up, grinning from ear to ear. "Keys, bud," he said, waggling them at the annoyed pilot. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, but made no effort to assist the pilot as he carried her over the threshold and into the house.

"I guess if this mansion's a-rockin', we shouldn't come a-knockin'?" Face called, and got a well-known hand gesture in response. He laughed, tossed Murdock's keys into the house, made sure the door was relocked, and pulled it closed. He galloped back to the 'vette and hopped in, cackling gleefully. Charissa raised her eyebrows.

"You know, I like that woman," Face said, starting up the engine. "I really do. She's fun!"

By the time Murdock had Alexandra upstairs and into her bed, she was asleep and pretty much dead weight, so that his arms and shoulders were killing him. He stared down at her as she slept, bathed in silver moonlight and so beautiful it almost hurt.

Sitting down beside her, he removed her shoes. He studied her small, perfectly formed feet and ankles and shins and knees, smiling a little when he came across a tiny run in her silk stockings. He finally decided that it couldn't be comfortable, to sleep in those things, so he carefully – making sure he didn't touch anything he shouldn't – reached up and finally found their waistline and gingerly tugged. She made a little whimpering sound in her throat, and he took advantage of that, by giving her hips a little lift. A disgruntled look crossed her face, but he finally had success and dropped the stockings to the floor by the bed, next to her shoes.

Suddenly feeling overheated, he pulled his jacket off and threw it to the floor, not really giving a damn if it got wrinkled. Face would have a fit, but Face wasn't here in this room with Alexandra…and Murdock would be damned if his friend ever set foot in here, either, under any circumstances.

Succumbing to temptation, Murdock removed Alexandra's skirt and dropped it to the floor onto his jacket. She was wearing cute little white cotton panties with pink and yellow stars all over them, and he couldn't keep from laughing a little at them. He stopped there, though, and took a deep breath. She sighed softly and murmured something unintelligible, and Murdock let himself go completely astray. He undid the buttons on her blouse, starting at the bottom, saving the best for last, until the top one was undone. She muttered again, and he laid a soft kiss on her lips. She sighed into his mouth, and he pushed the silk blouse apart, revealing her lace-and-silk-clad breasts.

"Damn…" he moaned, lifting her up so that he could remove the blouse entirely. It too landed in the pile by the bed, and he stretched her out again, across the bed, rubbing his cheek against hers, finding the silk of her skin intoxicating. He tested other patches of her skin, heading downwards, and felt her fingers stroking his hair, but when he glanced up, she was still sleeping, mumbling softly.

He knew he should stop. Knew he should get up and leave, so she could sleep in peace. He'd put on some good strong coffee and crack a raw egg or two and sober her up first thing. But he was only a man – just as human as the next one, and this was his wife. He had some rights…didn't he? He looked down at her again, dazzled. Her breasts weren't large, but were full and soft and round and womanly, and he knew they would fill his hands perfectly. The thought of that made him ache, and he forced himself to look at her face again.

For several moments, he just watched her, feeling like a total bastard, not strong enough to do the honorable thing and leave. He finally dragged himself out of the bed, cursing under his breath. He kicked off his shoes, yanked his socks off, and pulled his shirt off over his head, making a mess of the perfectly coiffed cut from Raoul or whatever the hell his name was. He threw the shirt into the pile of clothes by the bed, and thought about the consequences. It only took him a second to damn the consequences.

He gave Alexandra a gentle shove, and she barely stirred. A few more strategic pushes finally had her stretched out on the bed, facing him. He decided he'd better just leave his pants on, all things considered.

After a couple more deep breaths, he climbed into the bed with her, telling himself that he probably should sleep with her anyway, as she might go wandering and bonk her pretty head on something, or fall off the bed and hurt herself. Yes, that was an excellent reason, and he'd tell her that if she asked. He lay down, facing her, watching her sleep. He brushed her hair back, and slowly traced the line of her jaw to her chin, and lifted her face to him. He kissed her softly, and she sighed again as her lips parted. "James…mmm…."

"I don't envy you the headache you're gonna have tomorrow morning," he told her softly, before kissing her again, only needing to use a little suction to get her to kiss him back through her haze of sleep and alcohol. He did his best to not touch her otherwise – no way in hell was he going to make love to a drunk, unconscious woman. If and when he ever did that with Alexandra, she was going to be wide awake and sober, and the lights were going to be on until he was damn well finished.

"I'll get up early, baby," he told her, between breathless kisses, letting his hands start to explore at last. "You won't know I was ever here."

Alexandra figured she had pretty much blown it with James now.

They had been married five days, and she had been drunk for two of them - right after giving him that pious schpiel about how she disapproved of alcohol and wanted none of it in her house. Granted, she hadn't actually brought any in, but she had been put to bed drunk twice.

She had awakened to a headache that really ought to have just killed her. She lay on the bed for a long time, trying to think up some kind of excuse for getting schnockered last night. She had wanted to loosen up and relax? Well, sort of. She did want to cast off some of her inhibitions, but she had lost count of the number of glasses of champagne she had consumed, so it was really a wonder she hadn't cast off her clothes and dove into the wading pool, like she had done when she was six and had snatched a bottle of schnapps from the cabinet at some birthday party. She hadn't known about that stuff back then, but she certainly knew about it now.

She pulled the sheets up over her head, blocking out the sun. Try as she might, she could not remember anything of what she had done last night. Not even little snapshots were coming to her. She remembered the shopping spree with Charissa, and James singing that beautiful song, but after that everything got terribly blurry.

Finally, she got out of bed and was startled to see that she was wearing nothing but her bra and knickers. She blushed, and looked around the room, as if expecting someone to be standing there leering at her. But what surprised her most was that her skin seemed to be a little chapped – her shoulders and her chest…and her breasts, as if something slightly rough had been rubbing against her. She went to the cheval mirror and peered at herself, bewildered, and saw that her skin was indeed a little pink down there. Weird. Must have fallen down kind of hard on some kind of carpet, in my drunken state, she thought, and sought out her silk bathrobe. The material rubbing against her made her flush, and through her headache she recalled being kissed, and gentle hands caressing her, and a warm, pleasant weight on her body.

Alexandra shook her head and decided she must be at her time of the month. Why else would she be having such crazy fantasies? Granted, she thought as she tied her wild hair back and went out into the hallway, she was married to a man she found extremely attractive. But she knew that even if he had been doing that to her, she would have finally freaked out, sober or drunk. So far, James had not pushed that issue with her at all, but she knew she still had those issues, and they weren't going to go away any time soon. No amount of being sexually attracted to him could make things that simple. She just wondered how he would react when she finally did freak out.

She smelled bacon frying, and coffee brewing, and was surprised that she didn't feel nauseated at the scent. She headed downstairs, and winced when she heard James banging a spatula against the edge of the frying pan, muttering to himself in what sounded like Spanish.

"Hi."

He jumped, startled, and turned to stare at her, a cautious expression on his face. He was wearing jeans and a grey cotton dress shirt, but it wasn't tucked in, and she knew there was no way anyone would wrestle him into a tie today.

"G'morning," he said, swallowing. "Hungry?"

"I am, actually. Uh…I guess I got…drunk…last night." She looked at her feet. When she heard him snort with laughter, she looked up, immediately ticked. "You find that amusing?"

"Well…kind of. But it's okay. Everybody gets drunk sometime. Or, well, almost everybody. I've been drunk a few times m'self. And I've done some outright dumb things in my life, baby. One time, I rented an apartment in Austin, right before I enlisted, and decided I'd paint the floors, but I accidentally painted myself into a corner. Missed Christmas." He turned back to his frying bacon and used a fork to flip the pieces, and yelped when some grease popped and burned his hand. "Don't worry about it."

"But I don't like to drink," she told him. She spotted the coffee pot and made a beeline for it. After pouring herself a cup, she sipped silently, watching him. He slipped the fried eggs onto a plate, added three strips of bacon, and handed her the plate.

"Eat, woman," he told her. "Protein's good for ya, when ya have a hangover. I was thinkin' about makin' you swallow a raw egg, too, but that's just a bit much, even for an Englishwoman getting over a bender."

"Thank you, kind sir," she said with some asperity, and sat down at the table. "I take it Nick is still at B.A.'s?"

"No, he is now with Face and Charissa. I have a feeling they're practicing or something. Either that, or they're corrupting him. Let's hope it's the former."

She watched her husband pour himself a cup of coffee and lean back against the counter. "So…what, exactly, did I do last night? Don't spare me the details, Captain. I can take it."

"Well…first you stripped and performed one of those Riverdance routines."

She fixed him with a narrow glare, and he snorted with laughter again. He sat down across from her, and tipped the chair back a little, holding his cup in the palm of his hand. His green gaze made her suddenly flush and pull the top of her robe closed, and the memory of that first kiss came back to her in full force. When she finally was able to look at him again, his eyebrow lifted.

"Actually, you just commandeered the maitre'd's mike and requested that you be returned to the Meck and Purdock party, as you had been lost."

She sighed. "I see."

"Then you insisted on looking into that big fish tank…you know, the one by the door?…and I'm afraid you lost your balance, and in your efforts to get straightened out, you kind of…pulled it down. I have to say, Alexandra, if you ever start getting high and mighty with me, I'll just have to bring back the memory of you, spread out on a bed of dying koi, singing "Under the Sea"."

"Oh my." She covered her face with her hands and would have laughed if it weren't so awful and embarrassing. "And…and how much did that cost?"

"Roughly a thousand bucks." He took another sip of his coffee. "I offered to sing for my supper every night for a few weeks, to cover the bill, but no dice. The restaurant owner was apparently very attached to that lionfish."

Alexandra was appalled. "I'll…I will pay you back somehow, James. I promise."

"Pay me back?" He shook his head, laughing. "I'm your husband, not your debtor. Eat your breakfast," he said, pointing at her plate of eggs and bacon. "So…anyway…how're you feeling…otherwise?"

"I'll be all right. Eventually." She looked down at her robe, and remembered that underneath it she was wearing nothing but her underwear. "I don't even recall…uh…getting undressed…for…for bed. I must have been really pissed."

"As a newt," he nodded, but his face took on an odd expression. She could have sworn he looked guilty, but for the life of her, Alexandra couldn't figure out why. She ate her bacon and eggs and relaxed, watching James do a crossword puzzle in the paper, occasionally supplying him with an answer to a clue, but otherwise recovering from her hangover and enjoying the quiet morning.

He refreshed her cup of coffee and went back to his puzzle, filling in most of the clues himself but sometimes asking her opinion. As she ate and tried to think of the name of Gwyneth Paltrow's mother, a memory suddenly came to her, and it made her sit up straight and look at her husband.

He had undressed her last night.

James finally looked up at her, and his brow furrowed. "What?"

"N-Nothing…" she whispered, and stood up. "I had better go get dressed."

"Something's wrong. What's wrong?" He sounded alarmed, and looked suitably worried. Of course he ought to be worried, she thought, trying to stir up some outrage with him. But now other memories of last night were coming to her. Of his kiss, and his touch, and how warm and safe he had made her feel. Try as she might, she couldn't make herself angry at him for that…or anything else. But he had taken liberties! Outrageous liberties!

"So…did you sleep well last night, James?" she asked him mildly.

"Uh…yeah. I…sort of. Kind of. Why d'ya ask?"

"Just wondering. You look a little…weary. And you need to shave."

His expression was a mixture of surprise and embarrassment, and she lifted an eyebrow. He shuffled the newspaper and cleared his throat. "Right. I'll get right to that." But he didn't move. He was pretending to read the paper, but she caught him looking at her again. If she had been a bolder person – or drunk – she would have let the robe slip off her shoulders and let him take some more liberties. But as it was, she was not bold and she still had plenty of inhibitions and hang-ups and secrets that were starting to make themselves present again, like the cruel, hateful little bastards they were. Bloody good timing they had, too!

She left him to his puzzle, but at the top of the stairs, she remembered. "James?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Blythe Danner!"

Once in her room again, Alexandra sat down at her vanity table and stared at herself in the mirror. Up until now, she hadn't let herself think much about the past. Frankly, she had been too busy with just trying to live and move forward to let her mind go back to the events following her wedding. In fact, she had blocked it all out, until she had almost convinced herself that she had forgotten it all. Lately, living with James, she had even convinced herself that she was on her way to being normal.

But there it all was again - the fear and the pain and the humiliation. The exhaustion from running, and how cold she had been, and the wild drive through the near pitch-darkness, and hysterically praying for something no sane person would ever pray for…