Hot to the Touch

by Isabel Sharpe

  He pictured Bev, Chad’s wife, her peaceful smile, her welcoming home, the constancy of her attention and devotion to her husband.

  Troy would be bored to death.

  He sat up the last time, grinning. To death. He’d come home to Jan who had a hot dinner waiting, smiling welcome, and he’d just dissolve into a puddle of boredom and cease to be.

  Whereas Darcy… Coming home to her… Now that would be a hot dinner.

  He got off the slant board and down to the showers before his shorts took on a peculiar shape.

  Troy had learned his lesson dating Debby. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. But that didn’t mean he had to go in the opposite direction and set a life course with Donna Reed.

  He wanted Darcy, to the exclusion of any other type of woman he could imagine. There was no point trying to drive himself crazy going against his instinct.

  The only trick going forward was to make sure Darcy kept wanting him.

  9

  MARIE WAS NEARLY READY. OH, MY Lord, nearly ready and shaking from nerves, and furious with herself for being at all anxious. How many times had she been out alone with Quinn? Practically every week since they’d officially introduced themselves in January, five months ago at the Roots Restaurant and Cellar bar. When had he ever been anything more than an easy, comfortable companion? Just because they were going to be meeting at a different restaurant didn’t mean anything else would change.

  Except he’d never asked Marie to a place this fancy before. And he’d never asked Marie out dancing. And Marie had never been this close to admitting to him how deeply she felt.

  She stalked over to her full-length mirror. Yeah, admit that she was in love with him and watch him recoil in horror. She reminded him of his sister, right? Angela. Which was ridiculous, because Marie had met Angela. She was slender, dark and lovely. Marie was short, plump and…

  Hmm. She couldn’t help grinning at her reflection. Funny that she’d be thinking of Angela because the first time Marie saw Quinn’s sister, Marie had been wearing this dress in a doomed attempt to get Quinn to notice her sexually. She’d shown up at Roots, decked out in this blow-him-away finery, and had seen Quinn with his arm around a beautiful woman. Assuming he was in the midst of a seduction, Marie had turned tail and run, unnecessarily devastated.

  Silver lining—Quinn still hadn’t seen her in this dress, which would be perfect for tonight. And yes, she still looked wonderful in it. The white cotton knit bodice criss-crossed over her generous breasts, giving him more of an eyeful than she was used to showing, but inflicting maximum cleavage on people seemed to be the style now, so why not?

  Under her breasts, a band of solid blue, then a cascade of blue lining and a blue-green floral overskirt to just below her knees. The dress worked. It slimmed her, complemented the auburn shade she’d chosen for her hair, and made her skin look fresh and alive, bringing out good colors in her hazel eyes. Add the miraculously easy-to-walk-in blue heels and matching purse, and she was dressed to kill in a way Quinn had never seen. He’d better react.

  Another look, turning this-way and that-way, enjoying the swirling folds of fabric. Would she be the sexiest woman there? Not by a long shot. Would she be the most beautiful? Ha! Not even close. But did she look about as good as she could? Absolutely. Which was all she wanted tonight.

  Um, okay, that was a bald lie. She wanted a hell of a lot more than that tonight. When she opened the door to Quinn, she wanted his eyes to widen in astonishment, then narrow with lust. She wanted him to take her arm possessively, use any excuse to touch her, growl at other men who might glance her way, hold her too close while they were dancing, and leave early to get her into his bed where he’d declare undying passion before making love to her with every part of his body and his heart and his—

  Wake up, Marie! Back to reality. Tonight she’d be thrilled with attentiveness, admiration and the pleasure of his company. She did not want to set herself up for feeling the evening was anything but a huge success.

  One step forward and she examined her makeup more closely in the mirror. Maybe a touch more of the blue-green liner around the corner of her eyes, though excitement had made them large and shining. So maybe she’d—

  Her phone rang; she crushed down the dread that it was Quinn calling to cancel. No negative thoughts tonight. None. Everything low-key and calm. That was the only way she’d get through this intact.

  “Hey, it’s Kim.”

  “Kim, hi, how’s it going?” She grinned at her reflection. The date would go on.

  “Everything is going great! Nathan got a job with a local firm specializing in green architecture. We were on our way to meet with the caterer and he just got called.”

  “How fabulous!” Marie’s shriek startled her gray tabby, Jezebel, who’d been sleeping on the bed. She gave Marie a withering look and settled back down. “I’m so happy for both of you.”

  “Yes, it’s wonderful. He starts next week. It’s done a lot for him.”

  “I can imagine.” Marie gave a secret smile. Nathan had done some impressive growing up in the last few months. “And what about your job? How is the Carter website coming along? They liking your designs?”

  “Loving them. The bureaucracy is making me want to tear my hair out, but artistically it’s really satisfying.”

  “I am thrilled for you, Kim. Sounds like life is shaping up.”

  “It’s pretty great. I’m calling also because Candy’s crazy busy this week, but she wants to set up a meeting with Darcy to go over the Milwaukeedates party plans she emailed you, look at menus, and so on. We wondered if Monday at 10:00 a.m. would work for you?”

  “Hang on.” She went over to her bag, dug out her iPhone. “The seventh? Looks fine.”

  “Good, I’ll let Candy and Darcy know. Thanks. Are you relaxing tonight?”

  “No. I’m going out.” She couldn’t stop the smile.

  “Really? With whom?”

  “A friend.”

  “Quinn!”

  Marie started. “How did you know?”

  “You sound so happy. Is this a date? Where are you going?”

  “Dream Dance. And I’m not sure.”

  “Dream Dance?” She sounded as if she was going to have an apoplectic fit. “And you’re not sure? Marie, men don’t take women there as friends. Trust me on this.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Nathan is nodding like crazy. He says coffee dates for friends. Dream Dance for girlfriends.”

  “You are not helping.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The only way I’m going to get through this night is not to think that—”

  Doorbell. Invasion of serious nerves.

  “Oh, my God. He’s here. I have to go.”

  “Have fun! Call and tell us all about it.”

  Marie groaned. Kim would tell Candy, Candy would tell Darcy, they’d be wondering all night what was happening. Like she needed this pressure?

  No. No, Marie Hewitt was stronger than this. Marie Hewitt had survived infidelity and divorce, and had started her own successful business out of nothing. Marie Hewitt could get through a date.

  She stood tall, eyes closed, body centered, and took two deep, calming breaths.

  There. Marie Hewitt was ready.

  She picked up the blue purse and matching light jacket, hoping it would be enough to keep her warm in this cool weather, and forced herself to walk with calm dignity down the stairs, for her own peace of mind and so she wouldn’t trip and end their date in the emergency room before it even began.

  The bell rang again. Oh, impatient man. If only he were that impatient for her, and not just results.

  She put on a smile and opened the door, making sure her expression was friendly and casual, because it would be pretty pathetic to greet him with all the anxiety and hope she was feeling.

  The smile, however, dropped. Quinn stood there, the epitome of magnetic masculine success in a charcoal suit that fit flawlessly over
his broad shoulders, and over a white shirt and classic burgundy-and-blue tie. He was freshly shaved and smelled incredibly sexy. For a too-long moment she was overwhelmed, then forced herself to put her tongue back into her mouth, figuratively speaking, and collect herself.

  “Hi, Quinn.” She managed to focus properly and noticed with a tiny kick of excitement that he seemed a little dazed himself.

  “Marie.” He gestured to her dress. “You look…stunning. Beautiful.”

  “Oh, hey, thanks. You do, too.” She threw out the words, nonchalance personified, turned to lock the door behind her and let a full grin have its way as soon as her face was safely hidden. She’d worship this dress for the rest of her life, build a shrine and leave money for its preservation in her will. “I’m looking forward to the evening.”

  “Same here.” His low, deep voice made her shiver and her resolve to be cool faltered again. She had a feeling the entire evening was going to a series of similar battles.

  Bring it on.

  They drove to Dream Dance, located in the Potawatomi Casino, southwest of downtown Milwaukee in the Menomonee River Valley, a fortress of a building with four towers topped with round dishes containing leaping orange flames, a dramatic statement in the dark even with the copious lighting around the stark stone walls.

  Quinn turned his silver Lexus sedan over to valet parking and gallantly escorted Marie through what seemed a random door, but which turned out to be conveniently opposite the restaurant entrance. Did he ever miss a beat? Stumble? Look like a dork? It would actually make her feel better. Maybe she should steal his wallet so he’d be caught thinking he had no money to pay for the meal.

  They pushed through the doors and over a short tiled hallway into the restaurant’s foyer, where they were greeted and welcomed into the dining room, whose white-clothed tables sat widely spaced for privacy. Marie and Quinn were shown to a table embraced by a semicircular high-backed banquette on which she and Quinn sat next to each other and faced the room. The noise was low, waiters moved around leisurely attending the well-dressed patrons. Marie felt like royalty.

  “Do you come here often, Quinn?”

  “Not very.” He turned slightly so he could face her. “Have you been here before?”

  “Oh, sure, once a week at least.” She sent him an acerbic glance that made him chuckle.

  “I’ve been here a few times. Always had excellent meals. But my theory is that if you do special-occasion things too frequently, they lose some of their magic.”

  “I agree.” She hated that she was already wondering what woman he’d been here with and how special she was to him.

  “I’ve only been here with clients. This is my first social visit.”

  Had he read her mind? The violent blush threatening to climb up her face would have been humiliating if the waiter hadn’t chosen that moment to introduce himself, welcome them, hand them menus, Quinn a wine list, and suggest drinks.

  Quinn quirked an eyebrow in her direction. “Champagne?”

  Marie smiled sweetly, as if she was offered the stuff every day, wondering how much a bottle went for in a place like this, then deciding she didn’t want to know. “Can anyone say no to champagne?”

  “Not anyone I’d like to know.” He turned back to the waiter and pointed to the wine list. “How about a bottle of the Perrier Jouët?”

  “Certainly.” The waiter nodded politely and strode off.

  “Are we celebrating something?” Marie asked.

  “Of course.”

  “What?”

  “Hmm.” He looked pensive. “I give up. Do we need a reason?”

  Marie laughed. How about the deep love that you’re about to confess you feel for me? “Not at all.”

  Another server came by with a crystal tulip glass for each of them and a footed metal bucket to keep the champagne cold, draped with a white linen towel. Marie couldn’t stop smiling. Everything about the place felt luxurious, relaxing and totally indulgent, from the soft cushioned back of their banquette to the small light hanging over their table dripping sparkling crystals, to the bevy of waiters working to make them comfortable and satisfied. But she’d probably feel pampered and indulged in a cafeteria with Quinn, too. Every second in his presence felt like a special event.

  “So how goes your matchmaking with Darcy?”

  She regarded him suspiciously. “Do you really want to know or are you going to lecture me again?”

  “Lecture?” He put his hand to his chest, the picture of wounded innocence. “Is that what I did?”

  “Um, yeah?”

  He dropped the act, gave a genuine smile. “Marie, I have tremendous respect for you, even if I don’t love all your methods. If I lectured, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” She put her hand on his forearm, and wanted to leave it there. She got the chance when he covered her hand with his and squeezed, making it very difficult for her to keep her mind on what she wanted to say. “As for matchmaking, I assume it went well, because Darcy hasn’t called to scream at me again and it’s been three days.”

  Quinn lifted his brows. “From what you said, she’s the type who’d have no problem screaming if she thought she was entitled.”

  “Not the slightest. But I haven’t heard a word, which I’m daring to hope is because she’s embarrassed it worked, rather than so furious she’s not speaking to me.”

  “Any way you can find out?”

  “I could…” Marie made a face. “A roundabout way, through Justin and Candy and Troy. But believe it or not I’m trying to respect her privacy.”

  “What?” Quinn faked convincing shock. “When did you come up with that novel idea?”

  “Ha…ha.”

  The waiter returned with the champagne in a green bottle with gold foil, hand-painted with a spray of white flowers. He removed the cork with a discreet thunk, and poured an inch for Quinn to try. On approval, he poured cold bubbly magic for each of them and nestled the bottle into the ice bucket.

  “Cheers, Marie.” Quinn lifted his glass. “Here’s to us. To the past few months of friendship and to the rest of our lives.”

  “Hear, hear.” She clinked, smiled and sipped, thrilled by the “rest of their lives” concept, determinedly refusing to listen to the little voice repeating Kim and Nathan’s opinion about men taking women to Dream Dance. Marie could do a lot worse than be friends with this man for the rest of her life, and that was going to be the focus from now on or she’d implode from anxiety.

  “Tell me something, Marie.”

  “If you ask maybe I will.”

  “If money and time were no object, where would you most like to go in the world?”

  “Oh, I love this kind of question. It always fits my budget.” She put her champagne down and clasped her hands under her chin. “Sydney. No, London. No, Paris. No, all three.”

  “Really?” His eyes were amused. “Not some tropical resort?”

  “No, no.” She waved the idea away. “If I’m spending imaginary time and money, I want to see the world, not lie on a beach. Though it’s not like I’d fight to leave a tropical resort if I landed there.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “What about you?”

  “Sydney, London and Paris sound perfect.”

  “So—” Marie lifted her shoulder in a nonchalant shrug “—when do we leave?”

  Quinn chuckled and lifted his glass for another clink. “Next month. This one is busy for me.”

  “July.” She clinked and drank rapturously, loving the fizz of bubbles on her tongue and the clear, smooth taste.

  “You know where else I want to go? To Gladiolas. Darcy promised us a meal. I say we take her up on it.”

  “Oh, yes, the food there is wonderful.” Marie patted her stomach rapturously. “Her menu ideas and titles are so creative and funny. People really enjoy them. Though if her ex-employee Raoul has his way, she won’t be so original anymore.”

  “What’s that about?”

  She told him the
gist, tickled when he responded with anger. Protective men got her juices running. That he was protective not only of her but of her friend…

  “Women have it tough in the restaurant business. A lot of prejudices. Classic case of having to work twice as hard to be considered half as good.” He looked thoughtfully at the table, moving his silverware back and forth. Marie waited patiently, happy to admire the sexy gray touching his temple, and the fine line of his smooth-shaven jaw.

  “That’s double reason we should go, then.” He looked up, features set in resolve, and she had to look down at her own silverware, because sometimes he was just too sexy for her to handle without disgracing herself. “I’ll do some investigating. Maybe I can put some money into Gladiolas and help her compete if it comes to that.”

  Marie’s eyes shot wide. “You’d do that for her?”

  “And for you. But also for business. The restaurant would have to be a good risk.”

  “Of course.” She drank champagne, drank more, moved beyond anything she wanted to show him. Talk about a knight in shining armor. “When did you want to go?”

  “This week.” He hauled out his iPhone; she dutifully hauled out hers, giddy from champagne and Dream Dance and Quinn. This week? She was seeing him tonight, then again at Gladiolas, then Saturday for their Chicago trip…

  They made a tentative plan for the following Wednesday. The waiter refilled their glasses. And again. The rest of the champagne disappeared leisurely, accompanying an appetizer of yellowfin tuna that was out of this world. With Quinn’s steak and Marie’s lamb tenderloin, they shared a bottle of exceptional Bordeaux from Chateau Mouton-Rothschild, which probably cost more than Marie’s entire outfit. But oh, it was something. Dry, smooth and delicious not only with the meat, but with the selection of Wisconsin cheeses that followed the entrée. By that time Marie was feeling no pain, but considerable smug satisfaction that her dress wasn’t tight. For dessert they split a fruit sorbet and had coffee, Quinn paid and they staggered to the restaurant exit.