At First Touch

by Tamara Sneed

  Wyatt swallowed the lump in his throat and met her gaze. Everything about her screamed sex, but the look in her eyes twinkled with something else. Mischief.

  “Quinn,” Wyatt greeted carefully.

  “Mind if I join you?” she purred.

  Without waiting for a response, she slid into the booth next to Wyatt, her thigh pressing into his. Wyatt grimaced and moved farther over until he was pressed against the window, but she only followed him until every inch of her thigh pressed against every inch of his. Quinn had never willingly sat next to him, let alone touched him, since he had known her. Something was definitely up, and it had nothing to do with what was in his pants.

  Quinn smiled at Dorrie, who looked transfixed with awe, and offered her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Quinn Sibley. I hope I’m not intruding.”

  Dorrie stared at Quinn for a moment, then appeared to snap out of whatever daze she was in and shook Quinn’s hand. “I know who you are. I watch Diamond Valley, or…I used to, until they killed you off.”

  Quinn’s pleasure was evident as she said, “Really?” Quinn playfully jabbed Wyatt in the arm and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were having lunch with a woman with such good taste?” Wyatt narrowed his eyes at her, and Quinn turned to Dorrie. “Sometimes Wyatt has the worst manners. What is your name?”

  “Dorrie Diamond.”

  “What a beautiful name,” Quinn gushed, obviously not remembering her comic book comment from yesterday. “You stopped watching Diamond Valley because of me?”

  “Of course,” Dorrie said, nodding eagerly. “Sephora was the best part of that show. The only reason to watch it.”

  “I thought so, too,” Quinn agreed.

  Wyatt decided that whatever game Quinn was playing had gone on long enough, especially since she had placed her elbow on the table, touching his.

  He cleared his throat and said, “Quinn—”

  Dorrie interrupted him, her gaze still on Quinn. “Ms. Sibley—”

  “Please call me Quinn,” Quinn said, patting Dorrie’s arm.

  Dorrie gave Quinn a wide smile that she had never given him. “Quinn, I always wondered, what is Gregory like in real life?”

  Quinn laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder in a cascading waterfall of brown silk. “I’m not surprised. Every woman in America wants the lowdown about Gregory Rotelle. He seems so debonair and sophisticated on television, but believe me, honey, the man deserves an Emmy for even being able to portray a human. In real life, he’s an ass. He spent more time in hair and makeup than most of the women. And, for the record, the hair is not real.”

  Dorrie giggled, her pale skin coloring slightly. “No!” she gasped, moving her hand to cover her mouth.

  Wyatt grew more annoyed. He still hadn’t gotten a laugh out of Dorrie.

  “Oh, yes. His real hairline starts somewhere around the top of his ears,” Quinn said with a conspiratorial wink, causing Dorrie to collapse into laughter.

  “Quinn,” Wyatt said in a low, quiet voice that neither woman could ignore. Dorrie glanced at him and stared back down at her plate, her smile disappearing, while Quinn looked at him with an innocent expression that would have fooled only a blind man. He clenched his teeth and demanded, “What do you want?”

  “Wyatt!” Dorrie admonished in a whisper, as if Quinn wouldn’t be able to hear her.

  “It’s all right, Dorrie,” Quinn said sweetly, patting the woman’s arm again. “I’m used to Wyatt’s moods.”

  “Moods?” Dorrie repeated hesitantly.

  “Quinn,” Wyatt said, a little louder this time. Quinn sent him another innocent smile. “What are you doing here?”

  “Wyatt, I’m not sure I like your tone,” Dorrie said, sounding offended on Quinn’s behalf.

  Quinn bit her bottom lip to hide her smile from Dorrie, but she didn’t hide the twinkle of amusement in her eyes as she turned to Wyatt.

  Dorrie sent Wyatt a death stare, then smiled at Quinn. “I apologize for Wyatt’s behavior. You’re obviously here for lunch and just stopped by to say hello. That’s very nice—”

  “I’m not here for lunch, unless they’ve changed the menu to include items that don’t automatically turn you into a cow,” Quinn said, then turned to Wyatt with a lovestruck look in her eyes. She placed a hand on his arm. “I came here because I heard that Wyatt would be here. He and I had a small argument this morning and I wanted to apologize.”

  Wyatt could almost hear some cheesy soap opera music playing in the background. He glanced at Dorrie. She looked as if she had swallowed something distasteful. And Wyatt instantly knew what Quinn’s little show was about.

  Wyatt narrowed his eyes at Quinn, who blinked at him. He moved his arm from her touch. “Apology accepted, Quinn. You can go now.”

  “Will I see you later tonight?” Quinn waited a dramatic beat, then added, “When Graham and Charlie get here.”

  “Quinn, we’ll talk later,” he replied tightly. “You can go. Now.

  Quinn jumped from the booth, pulling down the skirt that had ridden up her thighs. Then he got distracted by the fishnets. He gulped. Hard.

  Quinn avoided his eyes and smiled at Dorrie, who was looking at Quinn as if she wasn’t her favorite soap actress anymore.

  “Dorrie, it was wonderful to meet you. Maybe we can get together and I’ll give you more dirt about the show.”

  Dorrie murmured noncommittally, then sent Quinn a wan smile. Quinn glanced at Wyatt, then quickly turned and nearly ran out the diner. Wyatt would have felt some satisfaction, but Dorrie was looking at him with a strange expression. Two steps forward and twelve steps back.

  “Can we go?” Dorrie asked, glancing around the diner for the owner, Annie. “I have a client coming at one-thirty.”

  “Of course.” Wyatt pulled out his wallet, dug out enough cash to cover the bill and stood.

  He offered his hand to Dorrie, but she ignored it and stood on her own. She grabbed her coat from the booth, then walked out the diner without another glance in Wyatt’s direction.

  “Nice going, Wyatt,” someone yelled out dryly.

  Wyatt ignored the catcalls that followed and shrugged into his own coat before he hurried out the diner after her. Dorrie was already halfway down the street to her office. He ran to catch up with her.

  Quinn had said that it wasn’t over, and obviously it wasn’t. She was now determined to ruin his life.

  “Dorrie, wait,” he said, grabbing her arm.

  They stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. The withering look Dorrie gave his hand on her arm made him quickly release her. She relaxed a fraction, then glanced around Main Street. Thankfully, the street was almost deserted. Most people had gone back to their ranches, farms or stores. The lunch hour—as much as there was one in Sibleyville—was over.

  “I told you that I have an appointment,” Dorrie said stiffly.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said, motioning back toward the diner. “Quinn and I had a little argument this morning when she stopped by the house—uninvited, I might add—and that’s all. There was nothing more to it.”

  “Quinn’s reaction to you didn’t seem like nothing,” Dorrie said quietly, avoiding his eyes.

  “Quinn is an actress.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Wyatt,” she said icily, her cheeks flushing with anger. Wyatt didn’t know whether to feel excited that he had finally gotten a reaction out of Dorrie or worried. “I saw the way you looked at her, and I saw the way she looked at you. The whole diner did.”

  “Quinn and I are friends,” he said, attempting to carefully walk through the minefield without losing any limbs.

  She snorted in disbelief, then appeared surprised that she had done anything so unladylike. She shook her head as the anger slowly drained from her face. “I don’t know why I’m getting so upset. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Not yet.”

  Her expression grew guarded as she studied him. “What do you mean?”

  “I
think you know how I feel about you, Dorrie. I really like you. I think you and I have a lot in common and want the same things for the future. I want to get to know you better.”

  A smile bloomed across her face and she instantly stared at the ground, as if she hadn’t meant to smile like that. Wyatt smiled, relieved.

  “I want to get to know you better, too,” she said softly.

  “Lunch? Same time tomorrow?”

  “I’d like that,” she said, finally meeting his eyes again.

  She waved, then walked into her office. Wyatt waited until the door closed, then cursed. Quinn wanted to know if he ever spoke. Well, he now had plenty to say to her. A lot, in fact.

  Chapter 6

  Quinn didn’t like to reward herself with food, but sometimes only the ability to eat anything she wanted could sufficiently reward a woman who normally ate no more than fifteen hundred calories a day. Quinn bit into the oversized cheeseburger she had picked up from another diner outside town, then stuffed several French fries in her mouth. She moaned in pleasure and leaned back against the pillows of the porch swing on the back porch of the house.

  She would never admit it, but this was her favorite spot in Sibleyville. Two large trees shadowed the back porch from the overhead sun. There were gentle rolling green hills as far as the eye could see punctuated by little bursts of wildflowers that bloomed in the summer.

  This afternoon there was a chill in the air, but the sun shone and the all-encompassing quiet was only interrupted by the occasional shrill of a bird call.

  She had changed out of her come-hither clothes into a pair of comfortable, worn jeans and one of Graham’s sweatshirts. As a result, she was warm for the first time since she had driven into Sibleyville last night. And she was actually eating. Real food. She almost felt content; maybe Sibleyville was not exactly the pit of hell she had always pictured. But then again, she was drowning her insides with fat and grease, and a girl was liable to feel anything under that influence.

  She chuckled to herself as she remembered Wyatt’s expression in the diner. An hour later and she still got a good laugh out of it. He had been furious. Annoyed. Pushed to the limit. Completely outmatched. By the time Charlie and Graham arrived in town in another few hours, Wyatt would have admitted defeat and Quinn would be packed and ready to return to Los Angeles. Of course, Kendra would not be happy to arrive here and not find Quinn, but Quinn would thank Kendra in her Oscar acceptance speech.

  Quinn smiled again, then lifted her wineglass to her imagined enraptured audience. No, she would first thank Wyatt in her Oscar speech. He could fume while he changed all those babies’ diapers he was so looking forward to changing.

  “Celebrating something?” came a dry voice.

  Quinn screeched in fear at the sight of Wyatt standing in the yard. She screamed again when she realized that she had spilled wine all over her jeans. She jumped to her feet and swiped at her jeans with the towel she had been using as a napkin.

  “Damn it, Wyatt. You scared me,” she snapped, annoyed.

  She glared at him and was surprised by the sudden shiver that raced through her body. He was gorgeous. All brown skin and denim-clad legs and eyelashes. It was ridiculous to think of a man as simply legs and eyelashes, but she did. And he even wore a tan cowboy hat. And he didn’t look ridiculous in the least.

  “Where are the fishnets?” he demanded, walking up the porch stairs to tower over her.

  Quinn ignored him and quickly walked into the house to the kitchen. He followed her.

  “These jeans cost one hundred and fifty dollars,” she growled as she wet the towel and began to blot the stains. “Not to mention I spilled wine all over my lunch.”

  “One pair of jeans and a burger and fries for my future with Dorrie. It’s a good start,” he said flatly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your little act in the diner,” he said angrily. “I have to admit, it was a brilliant performance, Quinn.”

  She threw the towel in the sink disgustedly, giving up on her jeans and then glared at him. He was much closer than she had realized. And there was that scent again. The Wyatt scent. Her nerves tingled.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she managed.

  He laughed in disbelief and sat at the table to lean back and study her. She refused to believe that she was nervous in the least. But she sure felt something akin to nervous. Very nervous.

  “I know you think that all Sibleyville natives are hicks, and maybe you’re right. We are. But this hick knew exactly what you were doing when you sauntered into the diner in those fishnets.” He paused in his speech to sputter, outraged, “Fishnets, Quinn? It’s nearly fifty degrees outside. You’re going to catch pneumonia.”

  For some reason, she found it amusing and a tad touching that he was so focused on her health. She hid her smile and said, while pretending to stifle a yawn, “You’re really going to have to stop speaking in codes because I have no idea what you’re talking about and I’m getting bored.”

  Wyatt’s eyes narrowed and Quinn wondered if she had finally pushed him too far. He stood and moved across the kitchen toward her. Actually, he stalked across the kitchen to her. She took a defensive step back and bumped into a counter. She placed her hands behind her and tried to hold Wyatt’s dark gaze.

  “You upset Dorrie today, and you pissed me off with that little show,” he said in a low voice that threatened either ecstasy or hell. “If you think that I’m going to roll over for you because you attempt to throw a little wrench in my budding relationship with Dorrie, then you don’t know me very well. If anything, you’ve made me more resolved than ever to date Dorrie and you also have made me more resolved than ever to make certain that you and your film crew never set foot in my house.”

  “That’s not fair,” she squeaked.

  “Not fair,” he repeated, in disbelief. “After your performance in the diner, Dorrie and half the town think you and I are sleeping together. By the end of the day, the entire town will think we’re on the verge of getting married. That’s not fair, Quinn. You know that I’m trying to build a life with Dorrie. She walked out on me in the diner and almost walked out on me entirely.”

  “Almost?” Quinn repeated, disappointed.

  “Yes, almost. I managed to salvage our growing friendship, no thanks to you. But even though she pretended to believe me, there was doubt in her eyes that was not there before.”

  “I see I’m not the only one bitten by the drama bug around here. All I did was act a little friendly, Wyatt.”

  “Do you really think that I’ll talk my mother into letting you use the house just because you’re threatening to sabotage my relationship with Dorrie?”

  “That’s exactly what I think,” she said flatly. He appeared surprised, as if he didn’t expect her to admit it. She smiled. “You know I can do it, Wyatt. One smile. A well-placed hand or, a kiss even, and Dorrie will never talk to you again.”

  “Are you threatening me?” he asked in disbelief.

  “Whatever you think of me, I am an actress. An extraordinary actress, actually. I can make anybody believe whatever I want, which means I can make this town—including Dorrie—believe that you and I are having a torrid, no-holds-barred affair and that we’re madly in love,” she said simply. “Without any participation from you. And no one will believe your denials because everyone knows how you’ve followed me around like a puppy ever since Graham and Charlie met.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, I would. I intend to, actually, unless…well, you know what I want,” she said then lifted her left eyebrow in challenge. When he only stared at her, his face a blank mask, she sighed in frustration. “Come on, Wyatt. Why put me through this? Just give me what I want—the house for the film—and I’ll be out of your hair, and you and Dorrie and continue your inevitable march toward white picket fences and dirty diapers.”

  He stepped closer until the heat from
his body mingled with hers. She suddenly found herself breathing hard. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she found herself licking her lips.

  “You have gone too far, Quinn. This is war.”

  “War?” she croaked. She shook her head confused. “I don’t want—”

  “War, Quinn. You want a battle. You have a battle.”

  She choked out a nervous laugh. “Be reasonable, Wyatt.”

  “I’m done being reasonable with you. You don’t understand reasonable. Here are the rules of engagement. One week. One week for you to try whatever you can to turn Dorrie against me. If you succeed, then you’ll have the mortuary for your film because you’d have done me a favor in showing me that Dorrie is not the woman I thought she was. If, on the other hand, Dorrie ignores all of your underhanded attempts, then you’ll never mention that film or my house again.”

  “Wyatt, I’m not—”

  “Is it a deal or not?” he demanded, moving even closer.

  They stared at each other for a moment. Then his gaze subtly dropped. To her breasts. Even though she wore a sweatshirt at least two sizes too big, she felt vulnerable and dainty. It made her instantly more nervous.

  She crossed her arms over her breasts, and Wyatt instantly lifted his gaze to hers. He didn’t smile this time. He just watched her. Waiting.

  “You’re really confident in Mission—Find a Wife, aren’t you?”

  “I’m confident in Dorrie.”

  “I watched you two before I walked into the diner. It looked painful. When you’re the big talker at the table, there definitely is trouble.” Her eyes widened as Wyatt leaned even closer and placed his finger on her lips, effectively silencing her.

  “Don’t worry about my relationship with Dorrie,” he said quietly, his eyes boring into hers. “You should be worrying about finding your next movie role. Do we have a deal or not?”

  She couldn’t resist the grin that spread across her face. “A Sibley always gets what she wants, Wyatt. You’re in over your head.”

  She placed her hand in his to shake on the deal. Wyatt laughed, seeming almost as delighted as she was. And there it was. The two were smiling at each other. Enjoying each other, even, with the threat of mutual destruction.