At First Touch (12 page)

“Kendra—”

Kendra ignored Quinn and walked into the house, closing the screen door behind her.

 

“How do I look?” Quinn asked Graham as she spun around the kitchen in a sparkling silver minidress that showed off her best assets and hid her flaws.

She had spent over an hour on her makeup and hair and had washed, scrubbed and polished every inch of her body until she practically glowed. She had made up her mind. She wanted Wyatt. And whether he was ready or not, she was going to have him. Tonight. He was just another man; there was absolutely nothing special about him. Quinn would have slept with him a long time ago if she hadn't spent so much time being annoyed by his existence. He was gorgeous, had a great smile and was obviously interested in her. It was a wonder that she had held out this long.

“Great,” he responded, absently. She noticed that he didn't even look at her as he continued to pour ice into a cooler on the kitchen floor.

“Do you need any help?” When Graham looked up at her in disbelief, she shrugged and said, “It's the thought that counts, right?”

“Sure, Quinn,” he muttered, then began to stick various soda cans into the chest.

“So who did you invite to this soirée?”

“Half the town.” Graham paused in his preparations to stare at her for a moment before he said, a tad too casually, “Wyatt left me a message on my cell phone that he's not coming tonight.”

Quinn felt as if her entire body had deflated. She hadn't realized that she had spent the last two hours getting ready just to see Wyatt until that moment. Realizing that Wyatt would not be there made her feel there was no reason for her to go to the party. How pathetic was that.

“Did you invite Dorrie?” Quinn asked Graham.

“Of course.”

“Did you tell Wyatt that you invited Dorrie?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“And he told me that he had a lot of work to do for the new drain,” Graham said with a shrug, then went back to stocking the cooler. “I've known Wyatt a long time and I've never known him to pass up a chance for free beer and free food. Something or someone is keeping him away from the party tonight.”

“Is that a hint?”

Graham laughed. “I didn't think I was being subtle enough to call it a hint. What exactly happened between you two this afternoon? He wouldn't tell me.”

“That's because there's nothing to tell. We just ate lunch.” She rolled her eyes, annoyed as Graham continued to stare at her. “If you want me to drag him to the party, just say so.”

“He's my best friend. I don't get to spend enough time with him. I want him here.”

“I need the keys to your car. My car is still downtown.”

Graham grimaced, but dug into his jeans pocket to toss her a set of keys. “Be gentle. I just got this one.”

Quinn waved a hand in dismissal and then walked out of the house, excitement once more humming through her body.

 

Wyatt stepped out the shower and began to towel himself off. He had spent an hour in the greenhouse, another hour in the backyard turning over the hard dirt and still he hadn't been able to distract himself. Every moment from that afternoon with Quinn continued to play through his head like a slow-motion movie. He couldn't go to the party, see her and not show how much he wanted her. Dorrie would know, Quinn would know. Damn, the entire town would know.

His plan was simple. He would let Quinn do whatever she wanted with the house, then ignore her for the rest of the holiday. She'd be gone in another two weeks and his life would return to normal.

His heart stalled in his chest at the sound of a knock on the front door of his apartment. He knew that knock. It had started this entire nightmare. He thought about ignoring her, but he knew that Quinn would probably figure out a way to pick the lock and barge into his apartment and Wyatt definitely didn't want her to find him cowering in his closet because he was too chicken to face her. He muttered a curse.

“Wyatt, I know you're in there,” Quinn called through the door. “Open the door.”

Wyatt gripped the towel tighter around his waist, then walked through the small apartment to the front door. He froze in his tracks in the middle of the living room when he saw Quinn standing on the other side of the glass door. Her hair was down and shiny and a mass of loose curls. And her dress…She was killing him in that dress. Every part of her body that he had imagined and caressed in his dreams for so long was on full display.

His breath caught in his throat, as every second from their kiss that afternoon replayed in his head. He could practically taste her even now on his lips. He had been able to taste her for hours afterwards. How in the world could any man ignore this woman?

“Open the door, Wyatt,” Quinn commanded since he continued to stand like a gaping idiot in the middle of the living room.

Wyatt shook his head to clear his thoughts, quickly walked to the door and opened it. Quinn walked inside the house, brushing past him, leaving a lingering scent of…something delicious. It was a mixture of flowers and cookies and cakes and…motor oil for a high performance car. Every scent in the world that made him salivate.

Quinn pointedly glanced around the small living room. Her gaze lingered on the riot of green indoor plants throughout the living room, then she walked closer to the built-in bookshelves to examine the book titles. His gaze instantly dropped to her ass. The dress stopped just mere inches below that gorgeous, plump ass. He licked his lips and his hands tingled. If he had the time, the things he could do with that….

She turned to him, and he prayed that she hadn't seen him examining her ass in minute detail. Or notice that he had loosened the grip on the towel so that it would camouflage parts of him that were growing too hard too fast.

“You only have gardening books,” she noted, appearing oblivious to his in-depth perusal.

“
A Tale of Two Cities
is up there, too,” he said, defensively. He wouldn't tell her that he had gotten that book from the library in high school and had never returned it.

Quinn laughed in disbelief. “
A Tale of Two Cities?
I never did finish that one. I blame Jerry Buchalter for that.” At the questioning arch of his eyebrow, she explained, “He sat next to me in senior English. He wrote a book report for himself and a book report for me for every book. He was very sweet.”

“Poor slob. He never had a chance, did he?”

“No, he didn't.” She studied his face, and Wyatt grew more and more self-conscious the longer she lingered on him without speaking. Quinn was not exactly known for enjoying silences.

“What?” he demanded, unable to stand it any longer.

“Why aren't you coming to the party tonight?”

“Because I'm not giving you an opportunity to humiliate Dorrie and sabotage my chances with her,” he said simply. And he also hadn't wanted to see Quinn again until he could get his emotions under control. With visions of having his mouth on every single part of her body running through his mind every second, he decided it was best to probably stay as far away from her as possible.

“Is that really the reason?” she asked uncertainly, looking slightly guilty.

“Yes,” he lied.

She crossed the living room and stood mere inches from his bare feet. For the first time, Wyatt noticed her stiletto sandals and bright red painted toenails. Whatever composure he had managed to gather in the last few seconds instantly disappeared.

“How about a truce for tonight?”

He drowned for a second in her beautiful eyes before he remembered that she had said something. He repeated dumbly, “A truce?”

“I'll stay out of your way, and you can use the night to try your charms on Dorrie.”

“I don't believe you,” he said suspiciously.

She frowned, then asked, “Why?”

“Because you wouldn't be wearing this dress if you were planning to stay out of any man's way.”

Anger flared in her eyes and, for some reason that made Wyatt feel even more out of control. For so long, she had ignored him and now he had her attention. He felt his muscles tighten with the need to grab her and drag her to the nearest flat surface.

“Don't flatter yourself, Wyatt. I wore this dress because I like this dress.”

“You wore that dress because you knew that I would not be able to take my eyes off you in that dress. Especially after that kiss you laid on me this afternoon. What was that about?”

She flushed slightly, then snapped, “If Dorrie is the love of your life as you claim, then you should have no problem having eyes only for her. And, if I recall correctly, you kissed me first.”

“Work with me here, Quinn,” he practically begged. “You know that your body…your body…” His voice trailed off as his eyes zeroed in on her breasts.

Quinn's jaw clenched, which he should have taken as a warning sign for the impending eruption and apologized. But it was too late.

“You ass,” she spat out.

“Quinn—”

“If you don't want to sully your precious Dorrie with your dirty thoughts about me, then maybe you should find someone you can sully your thoughts with, instead of pretending that I'm this big temptation. I'm not the problem, Wyatt. You are. Instead of admitting that maybe, just maybe, you don't want Dorrie, and that you should find someone who you could have the picket fence and family without her being boring as plain toast, you blame me. This afternoon in her office, I had to resist the urge to take her pulse to make certain she was still breathing. My God, Wyatt, how do you stand it?”

“I take full responsibility for the fact that I am easily distracted by you in a dress like that. Any man would be. But you could also admit the truth. You wore that dress with me in mind.”

She sputtered in outrage, “What do you want me to do, Wyatt? Should I wear jeans and a sweatshirt? Would that make you feel better? Maybe I could wear a pair of your overalls? You do have overalls, right? All cowboys have overalls—”

Wyatt couldn't take it anymore. Her eyes were flashing; her honey skin was flush with anger and maybe the same undeniable heat and lust that he was feeling. He cursed and closed the distance between them in two long strides. She must have seen the intent in his eyes because she looked momentarily panicked and tried to step back from him. Wyatt forgot the towel, grabbed her arms and slammed his mouth against hers at the same time that he molded her body against his.

Quinn gasped, and he took the opportunity to ram his tongue into her mouth. To plunder her mouth. To crush any resistance she may have thought of having. He was tired of being the nice guy around her. No more. Not until he had gotten a good taste of her. And he did. All the strawberries and honey he could want.

 

One second, Quinn had been fighting the need to run across the room to grab Wyatt's towel and see if the rest of his body matched his impossibly sculpted chest; the next, she was in his arms, with his tongue inside of her. And it was like being quenched with water after being thirsty for years.

When she had walked into his apartment, she hadn't expected him to be half-nude and dripping with water, like her own private adult entertainment show. He had a body that should have made every personal trainer in Hollywood cry in envy. Miles of gleaming brown skin, well-defined arms, a narrow waist and long lean legs. He had hidden all of that underneath his denim and tacky shirts. The man had been rocking the towel like a Calvin Klein model and looked good enough to eat.

His mouth continued to devour her, his tongue continued to demand more. The muscles, the hardness under her hands. She moved her hands around to his chest. His pectoral muscles flinched under her touch, and his nipples beaded against the palm of her hand. She moved her hands lower to his stomach and realized that the towel had slipped and was in danger of slipping farther.

His hands moved to stop hers. “We should stop, Quinn. We have to stop,” he groaned against her mouth, his voice impossibly deep and sending rumbles of ecstasy against her mouth.

“No,” she whispered. He stared at her for a moment, then devoured her mouth once more with a passion that slightly scared her. No man had ever wanted her this much. No man had ever looked at her the way Wyatt had looked at her.

Wyatt plunged his hands into her hair, almost to the point of pain. His tongue plunged into her mouth over and over, his teeth nipped at her lips. His hands moved roughly from her arms to her back and down to squeeze her behind. Quinn moaned and moved closer to him, cursing the towel that prevented her from feeling every single inch of him.

Through mutual, unspoken consent, the two stumbled into the bedroom, lips and arms jumbled and entwined. The world shifted and they were in the middle of Wyatt's king-sized bed. Wyatt moved in between her legs, fitting perfectly, more perfectly than she thought possible. Her hands wrapped around his back to his lower back, to massage and knead, to push at that cursed towel.