At First Touch (17 page)

She glared at him and then lightly pushed his arm, a smile playing at the edges of her mouth. “You better be glad I had time to calm down since it took you forever to get over here.”

He grinned and took her hand to place a kiss on her knuckles. “I missed you today, too.”

“I liked them better when they were fighting,” Kendra chimed in.

Wyatt glared at Kendra but didn't comment. Instead, he concentrated on his food and didn't release Quinn's hand throughout the meal. Strangely enough, she didn't try to make him release it, either.

An hour later, Wyatt finally had Quinn alone in her bedroom. He lay on her bed, while she sat next to him with the script in her hands. He had another copy of the script in front of him. He was supposed to be reading lines with her, but instead, he was just enjoying watching her. Everything she did captivated him. Made his heart skip a beat. He couldn't remember any other woman intriguing him so much. The way she flipped her hair over her shoulder, how she crossed her eyes whenever she got a line wrong, the way she bit her bottom lip when she was trying to remember her line. Wyatt was slowly and inevitably falling in love with this woman, and trying to stop it was like trying to stop a runaway train.

“…You did it on purpose, Parker. You knew that I would find out…” Quinn's voice trailed off and she peeked at Wyatt. “Is that right?”

“It would be right in another six lines,” he said with a sympathetic smile.

Quinn groaned and fell on the bed next to him. “It's been so long since I had to remember lines. We had teleprompters on
Diamond Valley
.”

“Let's try again,” he said, nudging her in the side. She groaned again, but sat up. He looked at her seriously, then at the script. “Katherine,” he pretended to read. “I beg of you not to hurt her. Place yourself in the poor girl's shoes—”

“Where are you?” she asked confused, flipping through her script.

“If you knew that you had lost me to Dorrie, you would flip out on her in the middle of Main Street, too,” he finished dramatically.

Quinn screamed playfully, then attacked him, tickling him in every spot she could reach. Wyatt laughed and tried to twist out of her reach, but she showed him no mercy, her fingers poking into his stomach, finding the funny spots. He rolled on top of her and pinned her arms overhead. Their mutual laughter faded as they stared into each other's eyes.

“Hi,” he murmured, placing a kiss on each eyelid, then on the tip of her nose. “Have I told you how much I missed you today?”

“Not nearly enough,” she responded softly, her fingers curling into his.

“Each hour was torture.”

“You sure took your sweet time getting over here.”

He smiled. “You told me dinner was at six. I got here at five forty-five.”

“I would think that a man who was tortured by each hour away from me would have been here at five-thirty.”

Wyatt laughed, then released her hands to lie next to her and pull her into his arms. She cuddled against him. His heart clenched. He had never thought that he would be holding Quinn, or that she would willingly move into his arms. Her denim-covered legs twined with his.

“Are you going to admit that you missed me, too?” he prodded, stroking her hair.

Quinn moved from his arms and hovered above him with a mysterious smile. “I'm supposed to show, not tell,” she whispered.

Her fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. He shifted nervously and glanced at the closed door.

“Let's go back to my place,” he suggested in a hoarse whisper.

“You should have told Dorrie,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “Now, I can't be seen at your house. Everyone will see my car in the driveway.”

Her hands smoothed his shirt as she brushed aside the shirt halves and pulled them off his shoulders. He lifted to help her and she threw the shirt on the floor.

“I'll drive you there,” he said, growing panicked as her hands tangled with his belt. “We'll take one car. I'll drive you home in the morning. Don't start this here, Quinn. Your sisters and Graham will know what we're doing.”

“Not if you manage to keep your mouth closed,” she said in a low, throaty voice designed to drive him crazy. She dropped the belt on the floor, then unbuckled his pants and pulled them down. She tugged at his boots and, after a grunt, pulled off one, then the other. The jeans followed. He trembled under her lithe body as he laid on the bed in his briefs.

Quinn crawled back up his body to plant a soft kiss on his mouth. “Of course, you never manage to keep your mouth closed.”

“You're the vocal one,” he protested, then groaned loudly when one of her hands cupped him.

“You were saying?” she teased.

“This isn't fair,” he complained, but all speech stopped when Quinn pulled off the oversized sweatshirt she wore followed by the tank top underneath.

“What's not fair?” she prodded in a soft voice as she unhooked her bra.

Wyatt gulped as her breasts spilled free. “What?” he asked, blankly.

She smiled, then moved back down his body. Her fingers hooked on the waistband of his briefs. “You know, Wyatt, I've never liked giving oral sex. In fact, I haven't given a blow job since my third year on the soap.”

“A guy can still dream, can't he?” he murmured.

“I mean, have you ever looked at a penis? Would you want to put your mouth on that?”

“Hey,” he said defensively, looking at his still covered penis. “You're going to give him a complex.”

“I mean, everyone can agree that a woman's body is beautiful. It's proportional. Nothing untoward hanging here or there, unless she has some sagging somewhere and then one trip to a plastic surgeon and everything is back where it's supposed to be. But a man. Things are okay, downright interesting, until you get to the penis. It's strange looking.”

“I'm trying not to be insulted.”

Quinn pulled off his briefs and his erection sprang free. Proud and heavy. “He doesn't seem to be suffering any low self-esteem,” she noted.

“It takes a lot to get him down,” he said, then reached for her. He was ready to end the game. He wanted her.

She evaded his hands and placed one hand around his length. He dug his heels into the bed and arched at the feel. He could have exploded from that one touch.

“The reason I bring up my blow job ban is because it's different with you. I want to taste you there. I think you're beautiful all over. Even here.”

He tried to swallow, then gave up and stared at her, posing by his penis, one hand around him, her breasts swinging free and her hair loose and wild.

She suddenly looked worried as she said, “If I do something wrong—”

“You won't,” he quickly assured her.

Her other hand massaged his right thigh. “You'll let me know.”

He nodded quickly, energetically. Then she took him in her mouth. Wyatt grabbed the sheets and nearly tore them in half. She sucked the length of him, stroked him, licked him. Generally made him a slave to her mouth. Her soft, persistent pulls, her hard strokes, had him biting his lower lip, straining to scream her name. Sweat beaded on his forehead, on his chest, between his toes. She was claiming him as her own forever.

She licked the tip of his erection, then gave him a heavy-lidded look that almost sent him over the edge. Wyatt cursed and sprang from the bed, grabbing his jeans off the floor. He ripped open the condom packet and sheathed himself.

“I wasn't done,” she said, disgruntled.

Wyatt didn't have time for talking. He ignored her protests and grabbed her waist, turning her onto her stomach. He ripped off the scrap of lace she called underwear and slammed into her so hard that they both grunted. She was dripping wet and ready. He paused as a force as powerful as a hurricane gathered in the base of his spine.

He absently rubbed her back, forcing himself to go slower. She wriggled against him, staring at him over her shoulder, pleading him with her eyes to go faster. And that was it. Wyatt lost all control. He pounded into her, holding on to her waist as she clung to him. She gasped at each invasion and begged him in between for more.

Wyatt smiled even through the madness and leaned close to her ear. “You're going to bring the whole house in here.”

Quinn buried her face in a pillow, and her muffled screams made him move harder and faster. No matter where he went, she was there with him, clinging to him, driving him on and on. She quivered underneath him, and her body milked him unmercifully. Wyatt bit his bottom lip and finally exploded in a shower of emotion so intense that chills covered his body. He knew that nothing would never be the same after this woman. Nothing.

He still hadn't decided if that was a good or bad thing.

W
yatt took a deep breath for courage, then opened the door to the mortuary the next afternoon. He had barely dragged himself from Quinn's bed early that morning and had started his rounds around town. He had a lot of work to do, but if was being honest with himself, he also had been avoiding his mother.

He passed through the viewing room and the chapel and headed to the living area in the back of the house. He was not looking forward to this conversation. In a perfect world, Wyatt would have been able to tell his mother about Quinn and the movie after taking her to dinner at her favorite steak house in Bentonville. But he lived in Sibleyville, not in a perfect world. And in Sibleyville, Beatrice probably knew that Wyatt had been at Quinn's house the night before, that Quinn had spent the night there, and that
On Livermore Road
would be filmed at Granger Funeral Home.

Wyatt paused in the hallway when he heard voices coming from the dining room. He heard his mother's distinctive laugh, but the other person's voice was too quiet for him to hear. He walked into the dining room and inwardly cursed when he saw his mother and Dorrie sitting at the dining table amidst a banquet fit for a queen—or Beatrice's hoped-for future daughter-in-law.

“Wyatt, you're just in time,” Beatrice said with a smile that was entirely too bright.

“Hi, Wyatt,” Dorrie said with a shy smile.

“Dorrie,” he said, gulping.

“I made your favorite for lunch, sweetheart. Chicken and dumplings,” Beatrice said, motioning towards the chair next to her. “Have a seat.”

Wyatt obeyed his mother's command and sat at the chair she indicated. He watched his mother cheerfully spoon a heaping mound of food onto a plate. She added mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables.

Wyatt noted the elaborately decorated table. The good china. The crystal glasses. A vase of while lilies mixed with white roses. And her best serving platters. His mother had gone all out for Operation: Any Woman But Quinn.

“This is nice, Mother,” Wyatt said in a tone that let his mother know that he knew what she was doing. She had obviously heard the gossip about Wyatt and Quinn and had decided to handle the situation in her own way. Manipulation.

“Thank you, dear,” Beatrice said, smiling.

“Dorrie, this certainly is a pleasant surprise, but…what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Beatrice invited me over,” Dorrie said, almost apologetically.

Beatrice continued with the Clair Huxtable routine. “I heard that Dorrie would be in Bentonville all morning and I figured that she would be exhausted when she returned home, so I thought it would be nice if I invited her over. Since you and Dorrie are growing so close, it was time for the three of us to sit down to a nice meal. I'm not trying to imply anything or pressure you kids because I know young people move at their own pace, but maybe this will become a regular occurrence.”

Dorrie's soft skin flushed and she stared down at her plate.

“That was very thoughtful of you, Mother, but you really shouldn't have,” he said through clenched teeth.

Beatrice pretended to ignore Wyatt's pointed glare and, instead, said, “I also wanted to give Dorrie the recipe for my award-winning apple pie.” Beatrice patted Dorrie's hand and sent her an encouraging smile. “It's rare to find a woman Dorrie's age who cares about things like baking the perfect apple pie. She's a find, Wyatt. Don't let her get away.”

“Beatrice,” Dorrie said, laughing in embarrassment.

Beatrice smiled, then stood to clear the plates from the table. “I'm just stating the obvious. I'm sure I don't need to tell my son what a great woman you are. Excuse me, kids, while I check on the pie.”

Beatrice sent Dorrie a wink, then walked into the kitchen. Wyatt heard the telephone ring and shook his head in amusement, as his mother loudly asked her friend to hold while she took the phone call upstairs. She obviously wanted to give Wyatt and Dorrie time alone.

Beatrice's steps echoed on the stairs and then her bedroom door slammed closed. Wyatt stared at the plate of food that he had not touched, then forced himself to look at Dorrie. She shyly smiled, then ducked her head.

“Dorrie, I'm sorry about all of this,” Wyatt murmured. “My mother can be pushy.”

Dorrie shook her head and said, “Beatrice is sweet.”

He couldn't prevent a burst of laughter. “My mother has been called many things, but I'm not sure if I've ever heard anyone use the word
sweet
.”

Wyatt shifted uncomfortably in his chair and cleared his throat. “Dorrie, I'm actually glad you're here because I've been meaning to talk to you.”

Her smile faded and she became very still. “What is it, Wyatt?”

“The last couple of weeks…What I said the other day…I really like you, Dorrie—”

“I like you, too,” she said instantly.

Wyatt became more uncomfortable. “There was a time when I thought that the two of us…. You and I…. The things I said to you—”

“You're in love with Quinn,” Dorrie said simply.

Wyatt couldn't hide his shock at her instant assessment and his relief that he didn't have to stutter through a breakup speech. “Sort of.”

“You don't have to explain anything, Wyatt,” she said with an obviously forced smile. “I'm not surprised that you're more attracted to Quinn than me. I mean, what man wouldn't be? She looks like herself and I look like me.”

“It's not about looks,” Wyatt said quickly. “I mean, yes, Quinn is very beautiful but she's not the reason that I'm…. I just don't think that we're right for each other. We want a lot of the same things, but I don't think I'm stretching here by saying that neither one of us is in love with the other.”

She stared at him for a moment with a confused expression on her face. Then she abruptly stood and walked into the kitchen. Wyatt quickly followed her. Her movements were jerky as she grabbed her purse and coat hanging on the coat hook near the back door.

“Dorrie, wait,” Wyatt said. He held up his hands in self-defense when she whirled around to face him and rage shot from her eyes.

“What, Wyatt?” she demanded angrily.

“I hope that we can still be friends.”

“Friends? Friends! You just dumped me,” she screeched, then added, as an afterthought, “and we weren't even dating!”

“I really like you—”

“I am not a violent person, Wyatt, but if you say that one more time, I will not be responsible for my actions.” Ice dripped from each word as her eyes shot lasers at Wyatt. She stuck her arms into her coat sleeves and said through clenched teeth, “I was prepared to walk out of here without another word and to preserve our supposed friendship, but why should I be the only one here to show some dignity?”

“Dorrie—”

“You pursued me, Wyatt. You chased after me from the diner. You made that speech about how you wanted to get to know me. What's changed in the last forty-eight, besides the fact that Quinn was seen leaving your house the other day and you were seen leaving her house this morning?”

Dorrie knew. Wyatt felt like an ass. “I didn't mean for this to happen.”

“Of course you didn't,” she snapped dryly. “Men like you never intend to fall for a woman you have no chance with until you actually have a chance with her. Then it's drop anyone and everyone as quick as possible.”

“Dorrie, I swear that I never meant to hurt you. And this is not about Quinn. It's about you and me. You have to see that I'm right. We wouldn't have been happy with each other.”

“Who said that a relationship is about happiness?” she demanded in a high-pitched voice of amazement. When Wyatt sputtered in response, she growled, “Marriage is not about love, Wyatt. It's about commitment and promises. We could have had a good life together. We both want the same things. And you had to ruin it.”

“Dorrie—”

“I really thought you were different, but you're just like every other man. You want the unattainable. The Victoria's Secret size zero model who doesn't talk or think, but just flips her hair and pushes her fake breasts in your face. You want someone like Quinn, not a real woman.”

“Quinn is a real woman,” he protested before he could stop himself.

As the temperature in the kitchen officially dipped to freezing, Wyatt realized that was the wrong thing to say.

“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings—”

She flung open the kitchen door, then turned to glare at him. “You know, I always thought you were gay because you've been single for so long and never have a woman, but now I know the truth. You're an idiot. You think a woman like Quinn wants you? She'll eat you alive. Everyone in town knows about her stupid movie. And everyone in town knows that you agreed to let her use your house after she spent the night here. Do you really think that she's going to have any use for you now that she's gotten what she wants? Grow up, Wyatt.”

“Quinn is not like that,” he told her.

She gave a dry laugh of disbelief. “Of course she is! And the sad part is that you're the only one who can't see it. I'm almost glad this happened before I invested more time in you.”

She stormed out the house, slamming the door behind her.

Wyatt could still hear the ringing in his ears from her shrill tone. He decided that he never wanted to have that conversation again. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and he had just seen the pit of hell in Dorrie's eyes.

“What did you say to her to make her leave?” Beatrice demanded, walking into the kitchen.

“You shouldn't have invited her over here,” he said quietly.

“I can invite whoever I want to lunch at my house.”

Wyatt took a deep breath for calm, then said, “I'm in love with Quinn.” He didn't know who was more surprised by his announcement—Beatrice or him. He had meant to tell his mother that he was dating someone else and that it was cruel to lead Dorrie on, but that hadn't come out. In fact, it sounded suspiciously as if he had just said that he was in love with Quinn.

Beatrice leaned on a nearby chair for balance. “What did you say?” she whispered.

Wyatt hesitated, then realized that it was true. He was in love with Quinn. He had been in love since he first laid eyes on her, since she first pounded on the front door, since she first challenged him to the bet.

“I'm in love with Quinn,” he said firmly.

“You're in lust with her,” Beatrice corrected.

“No, Mom, it's not lust. I'm in love with her.”

“What about Dorrie? She's perfect for you.”

“Dorrie is not the one for me. She never was,” he said gently. “I would have been making a big mistake.”

“Dorrie may not be the one for you, but Quinn isn't, either.” She said, desperately. “Look at what she's already done to you. I had to hear at the beauty salon that my house is going to be featured in some movie. You went over my head without even bothering to tell me. The Wyatt I know never would have done that to me.”

“I was going to tell you, Mom.”

“Wyatt, this is my home and I refuse—”

“We both own this place, Mother,” he reminded her gently. “Dad left me the mortuary.”

“And I'm sure he's spinning in his grave at the travesty that is about to occur in these walls.”

Wyatt took another deep breath for calm. “There won't be a travesty. I'll make sure that they don't disrupt your routine—”

“That's not the point,” Beatrice exploded. “Disruption of my routine was never the point. I don't want a bunch of strangers traipsing through my house, making fun of my life.”

“The movie is not about making fun of our lives.”

“Of course it is. Every time Hollywood decides to make a movie about people like us, we're either toothless and poverty-stricken or gun-toting fundamentalists. It's always a caricature. You know that, Wyatt. You're helping those people tear us down. The son I know never would have allowed this, and he never would have done it behind my back.”

“It was not behind your back—”

Beatrice shot him another disgusted look, then walked out the room. Wyatt leaned against the wall and rubbed his aching eyes. He had the sudden, almost primal need to see Quinn. And he told himself that it had nothing to do with the fact that he believed anything Dorrie or his mother had said.

 

Wyatt pulled his SUV to a stop in front of the Sibley home and stared in amazement. In under twelve hours, the house had completely changed. There were white Christmas lights lining the roof and porch of the house. A brightly decorated Christmas tree shone through one of the living room windows. And there were a few blown-up plastic snowmen and candy canes in the front yard, on top of the Santa Claus and reindeer on the roof.

The holiday spectacle was nothing compared to the circus in the front of the house. There were trailers parked along the road, men and women moving around the yard, carrying equipment and talking in headsets like secret service agents, and there were bright lights shining on the house, making the scene almost as bright as day.