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Authors: Tamara Sneed

At First Touch (9 page)

BOOK: At First Touch
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“You told her that?” The disbelief was evident in his voice.

“Of course I did,” Quinn said, pretending moral outrage. “You have made it more than clear that you want Dorrie, not me. I want you to be happy. And if Dorrie makes you happy, then she's who I want for you.”

Dorrie sneezed again, and Wyatt and Quinn both turned to her with guilty expressions. Wyatt had momentarily forgotten that Dorrie was in the room. Judging from Quinn's smirk at him, she obviously had not.

“So how about the three of us go to lunch?” Quinn asked, grinning as she turned to Dorrie.

“No,” Wyatt practically screamed. Dorrie and Quinn both looked at him with surprised expressions.

“You don't want to have lunch with Dorrie?” Quinn asked innocently.

“Of course, I want to have lunch with Dorrie. Dorrie and I have a lunch date
alone
,” Wyatt snapped. When Quinn pretended to pout, Wyatt turned to Dorrie, who appeared to be trying to breathe while sniffing into a tissue.

Dorrie started to speak, but instead unleashed another torrential sneeze. Her eyes watered and she reached for another tissue.

“Wyatt, you're going to send the poor thing into a seizure,” Quinn said, while pulling him toward the door. “Maybe you should try lunch tomorrow.”

“Dorrie—”

“She's right,” Dorrie said, nodding at Wyatt with an apologetic smile. “I need to take my allergy medicine and lie down for a few minutes. I'm so sorry.”

Wyatt silently cursed while Quinn squeezed his arm. He tried subtly to shake her off, but she clung to him.

He turned to Dorrie. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure, Wyatt. And for the record, I believe Quinn.”

Wyatt smiled and moved towards her to hug her, but a resounding sneeze stopped him. He held up his hands in surrender, then walked out of the office with Quinn close on his heels.

“Well, since you're busy—” Quinn screeched when Wyatt grabbed her arm and led her to the SUV.

He yanked open the passenger door and practically threw her inside. He stormed around to the driver's side, stopping briefly to toss the flowers into a nearby garbage can. He slid behind the steering wheel and slammed the door.

“Where are you taking me?” Quinn demanded.

“You wanted to have lunch, so we're having lunch,” he growled and then reversed out the parking spot, leaving tire tracks in the street. He ignored her protests and slammed down on the gas pedal. He noticed several neighbors turn on the sidewalk to stare at his SUV. For once, he didn't care.

Chapter 9

A
t some point during the hour-long ride where Wyatt sat in silence, glaring at the road, Quinn quit being scared and just enjoyed the scenery. The cool winter air blew into the car through the lowered windows. Wyatt had conceded to some noise and allowed her to turn on the radio, and there was nothing for miles and miles except trees and grass. It was kind of nice in a backward, country way.

She would never admit this to Wyatt, but for the first time in a long time she felt completely relaxed. She didn't have to worry about her makeup or her clothes or her hair. And she couldn't study her lines, or worry about the movie or her sisters because she was being kidnapped. No one in the world knew where she was.

Sure, Quinn had been a little frightened of what Wyatt had intended during the first two silent-filled minutes of the ride. Then she realized that no matter how angry Wyatt was with her, he would never hurt her. It wasn't in his genetic makeup. She didn't know how she knew that, but she did. And there was a certain level of comfort in that knowledge that made her lean back against the seat and just enjoy the moment.

A few minutes later, Wyatt turned off the highway and into the dirt parking lot of a brick building. It appeared to be a restaurant, but there was no name on the building. Cars and trucks were packed on the lot around the building and smoke billowed from the back of the building. The distinct smell of barbecue and cooked meat filled the air.

Wyatt stood from the truck and slammed the door. Quinn scrambled after him, smoothing her hair behind her ears and then moving it back.

“You really are taking me to lunch,” she said, surprised.

He looked at her for the first time since he had thrown her into the SUV. “What did you expect?”

“You were trying to scare me,” she accused.

He smiled, making that jolt of emotion quiver through her that only came up when he was around. “Nothing could scare you, Quinn. I think you Sibleys are incapable of feeling fear.”

Quinn studied him for a moment, then smiled back. “You're right.”

He shook his head, then walked into the restaurant. Quinn hesitantly followed him and stepped into another time. She glanced around the one-room restaurant filled with men in overalls and cowboy hats and knew that the place had never heard of trans fat and didn't give a damn about low-carb.

Wyatt waved to a man who appeared to be in charge, since his T-shirt looked a little more clean than those of some of the patrons. The man nodded in return, then motioned to a wood booth near an open window. Wyatt slid into the booth, and Quinn hesitantly sat across from him, wondering how she could sit without actually touching anything.

“So this is lunch?” she asked, glancing around at the other diners, who appeared more interested in their food than her. That was the first time that had happened. Ever. Quinn always made an entrance.

“Why did you tell Dorrie that we were just friends?”

“Classic bait-and-switch maneuver. Sephora used it many times on
Diamond Valley,
” she said, distracted, as she brushed crumbs off the table and then wiped her hand on her skirt.

“Bait-and-switch.”

“Tell the mark exactly what she wants to hear, then do exactly what you want, which is more often the exact opposite. When Sephora wanted the countess to sell the Irresistible perfume line to her, Sephora pretended not to want it. It worked like a charm. The countess actually begged Sephora to buy the line because she was convinced it was on the verge of folding and she would not be able to keep up the family castle. Of course, the countess didn't know that her husband was embezzling funds, but Sephora knew—”

“Dorrie is not a mark, Quinn,” he interrupted, shaking his head.

“I wasn't talking about Dorrie. I was talking about you.”

“Ah. You do realize that Dorrie is a human being with feelings, and that your manipulation of those feelings could be considered cruel and callous.”

“And this explains your participation in the bet how?”

“I was asking Dorrie out before you came to town. The fact that my pursuit coincides with making you eat crow is just icing on the cake.”

Quinn slowly leaned across the table closer to him. She smiled when his gaze dropped to her mouth, but resisted the victory dance. She had him exactly where she wanted him. She lowered her voice to a seductive whisper. “There's one way to end this whole charade. Allow Helmut to film the movie in your home.”

“Nice try,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Then the challenge continues,” she said simply.

“But how did you know I'd be there?” Wyatt pressed.

“You're very predictable,” she responded with a shrug. “I knew you'd do something predictable in order to apologize to Dorrie, although I might add that you have nothing to apologize for. And I figured you'd try to take her to lunch again, so I just got to her office a little early and made small talk until I saw your car drive by.”

“You think I'm predictable.”

“Most men are. It's not meant as an insult.” Before she could stop herself, she tucked her hair behind her ears, then realized what she was doing and instantly rearranged her hair.

“Why do you do that?” he demanded, looking annoyed for some reason.

“What?”

“You always move your hair behind your ears, then quickly move it back, as if you're trying to hide something.”

“I am. Big ears,” she admitted. “I have freakishly large ears, so I try to never wear my hair back. You'd be surprised how much the camera magnifies a person's ears.”

“I don't think your ears are freakishly large. Maybe strangely large, noticeably large, but freakishly…I wouldn't go that far. In fact, some people—y'know people with ear fetishes—would think your ears are just perfect.”

Quinn's mouth dropped open in surprise. Then she realized that Wyatt was laughing.

She smiled. “Wyatt, I do believe you're demonstrating signs of a sense of humor.”

He sent her one of his knee-shaking grins. “Just signs, huh?”

Quinn pretended not to be affected by his smile as she murmured, “I'll need more proof to determine if you actually have one or not.”

When he only stared at her in response, with a slight smile, Quinn averted her gaze. There was something about the way he stared at her, as if he wanted to know every single detail about her and could learn it all just by looking at her.

“Is there a menu?” she asked abruptly.

He stopped staring at her to glance around the restaurant. “The menu stays the same. Ribs, potato salad and beer. Or chicken, potato salad and beer. And then there's the steak, potato salad and beer—”

“I'm sensing a high-caloric theme here.”

“And the best part is that you never know what you're going to get. Cletus, the owner, brings you whatever he feels like bringing you or whatever happens to be ready.”

“Sounds charming,” she muttered dryly.

“My dad always brought me here. And his dad brought him here. It's almost as much a Granger tradition as the mortuary.”

“And your mother?”

“Wouldn't step foot in this place to save her life,” he responded, laughing, then studied her obvious discomfort. “You two probably have more in common than either one of you realize.”

Quinn shuddered to think that she had anything in common with Beatrice Granger. The woman looked brittle enough to break. She also had wrinkles. Quinn religiously checked her face every night for wrinkles because the moment one appeared she planned to hightail it to the nearest plastic surgeon.

“So…is your mother's distaste for this place the reason your father likes it so much?” she asked.

Wyatt laughed, then shrugged. “He'd never admit it.”

“I don't think I've ever met your father. Did he come to Graham and Charlie's wedding?”

He hesitated, then cleared his voice and murmured, “He died when I was twenty. Cancer.”

Quinn swallowed hard at the obvious pain on his face. “I'm sorry. I didn't know…” Her voice trailed off as she realized that there was no way she would know because she had never asked Wyatt a personal question in the time she had known him.

Wyatt cleared his throat again. “You'd think that eleven years later I'd be able to talk about him without choking up.”

“I wouldn't think that.” He sent her a grateful smile but continued to stare out the window at the parking lot. Quinn said softly, “Tell me about him.”

He turned back to her, surprised, and Quinn suddenly felt guilty that she had been so dismissive of him for so long.

“It's just I don't talk about him much. I realized a long time ago that it made my mother too sad to think about,” he said, quietly. “He was just a good man. You know that saying…
he never met a stranger?
That was my dad. He could talk to anyone about anything, get along with anyone, and he would give a stranger the clothes off his back. He was a good dad. A great dad, actually.”

“He was a mortician, too?”

“He actually liked it,” Wyatt murmured while shaking his head. “And he was very good at it. He always knew exactly what to say, when to be gentle, when to tell someone to snap out of it. He just made people feel comfortable.”

“It must be a hard job.”

He studied her for a moment, as if looking for her next joke at his expense or insult, then said, “It is. Being that close to people in so much pain is…It's a constant reminder of what's important in life and how none of us are promised tomorrow.”

“And makes you want a wife and kids as soon as possible,” she added, gently.

He suddenly looked nervous. “That's not why I want a family, Quinn.”

“I know,” she murmured, only because he looked so panicked at the thought. She took a deep breath, then said, “My parents died when I was seven.”

The sympathy in his eyes felt like a physical thing that reached across the table and touched her. “Graham told me.”

“I barely remember them,” she admitted. “Even before they died, my sisters and I spent most of our time with Grandpa Max. Our parents traveled a lot. Not for work, but from one party to the next. I try to miss them. I really do, but I…Charlie and Kendra remember them, but I don't. Sometimes I try to imagine how different things would have been if they had lived. Grandpa Max probably wouldn't have been so hard on us because he wouldn't have been so scared that we'd end up like them. Maybe I wouldn't have been an actress and then all of this wouldn't have happened…”

Her voice trailed off and she started to laugh. He quirked one eyebrow and asked, “What?”

“I always complain about your silence, but I guess the positive side is that you're very easy to talk to.”

“First you admit that I
might
have a sense of humor. And now you actually admit that I'm easy to talk to.”

“It's all the grease in the air,” she quickly explained. “It's warping my normal brain functions.”

“Obviously,” he murmured, amused.

The large man with the stained and torn T-shirt walked over and placed two heaping plates of food in front of them and two frothy jugs of beer on the table. Quinn forgot to be disgusted at the sight of heaps of meat smothered in barbecue sauce and the mound of potato salad, greens and bread, because everything just smelled so delicious. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since the greasefest last night.

The man towered over them for a moment until Quinn looked up at him. He was staring at her with a blank expression that reminded her he knew where to hide bodies after he killed them. Quinn glanced across the table at Wyatt, who shrugged in response to her silent question. Quinn glanced back at the man.

“Hey, Cletus,” Wyatt greeted. “How's it going?”

Cletus ignored Wyatt and grunted to Quinn, “I stopped watching
Diamond Valley
after they kicked you off. You were the best thing on that show, and it was their loss.”

Without another word, he walked away, making his way through the tables and other customers, who looked over in awe at the person who had made Cletus talk.

“That's the most I've ever heard him say at one time in years,” Wyatt whispered to her, his eyes wide.

“Sephora fans are intensely loyal.”

“Obviously,” he said, still staring in awe after Cletus. He shook his head, then pointed towards the plate of food. “Dig in.”

Quinn hesitantly complied and dug into the plate of food. At the first taste of real food—not diet, low-carb, low-fat gunk—on her tongue, she closed her eyes in sheer ecstasy.

“It is delicious,” she sighed, opening her eyes.

The food became a lump in her throat as she met Wyatt's suddenly hot gaze. He wanted her. And for the first time that knowledge didn't make her uncomfortable or annoyed. She wanted him, too.

BOOK: At First Touch
13.94Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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