At First Touch (21 page)

Kendra waved her hand, effectively dismissing everything Quinn said, and demanded, “What happened?”

“Kendra—”

“Quinn, whether we like it or not, God made us sisters. And since Charlie, the one you usually would talk to about this, is downstairs possessed by the Ghost of Christmas Cookies, you're left with me.” Kendra's voice gentled as she squeezed Quinn's hand. “Talk to me. What happened with you and Wyatt?”

“Nothing happened,” Quinn muttered, shaking her head. “He broke up with me…I think. I'm not even sure we were dating. We slept together and the next thing I know he's kicking me out of his house because he thinks I used him to get the location for the movie.”

“You kind of did, though, didn't you?”

“No,” Quinn snapped, then raked hands through her tangled hair as she admitted, “maybe I did in the beginning, but…He makes me feel safe, Kendra. I feel like I can say anything to him, and tell him anything, and he'll accept it. Accept me. And do you know how hard it is to find a man like that? Who you can talk to about anything and he'll treat it like it's a serious subject? No man has ever treated me that way.”

Kendra looked uncomfortable as she said, “Maybe I should get Charlie. She's much better at this pouring-out-the-heart thing—”

“I'm in love with him, Kendra,” Quinn said helplessly. “I'm in love with a man who doesn't love me and that has never happened to me in my life. Usually, men fall in love with me and want me, and I use them for whatever I can, but Wyatt is different. Or, at least, I thought he was.

“But he's not. He's like everyone else. And I'm starting to think that it's not everyone else. It's me. Maybe I am a horrible actress, and maybe that's why no one takes my calls. And maybe I am just a run-of-the-mill black woman, and maybe that's why no man wants me. And maybe…maybe Dorrie Diamond would make a better wife and mother than I would—”

“Quit your whining. Please. My ears hurt,” Kendra snapped, annoyed.

Quinn glared at Kendra through her tears. “You're right. You're not good at this pouring-out-the-heart thing.”

Kendra sighed impatiently and said, “I just meant that you don't believe that. You're a damn good actress and you know that. And you're gorgeous, Quinn. Hell, you make old blind men whistle when you walk by. And, if Wyatt Granger thinks that Dorrie is better than you, then he's an idiot.”

Quinn smiled as she wiped at her nose with the sleeve of her pajamas. “You just complimented me,” she noted.

Kendra's glower turned severe. “I did not compliment you. I just stated facts. For instance, your thighs are bigger than an elephant's. Do you consider that a compliment, too? No, it's just a fact.” Quinn frowned, and Kendra waved her hands dismissively. “The point is, Quinn, you're obviously feeling sorry for yourself and I'm not going to allow it. This has been going on for far too long. You are Quinn Sibley. The woman who brought Sephora Barstow to life. People love you, and you can do whatever you want. If you want to win an Academy Award, you will. And if you want Wyatt Granger, you will have him.”

“He doesn't want me there,” Quinn whispered, then hung her head in shame. “He kicked me out of his apartment last night. He never wants to see me again.”

“When you've been looking for work over the last year, you've been kicked out of much better places by much more powerful men, but that didn't stop you.”

“It's different.”

“No, it's not.” Kendra sighed again then said, softly. “You love him, Quinn, and no matter what he says, he loves you, too. It's just like in
Diamond Valley
when—”

“This is my life, we're talking about, Kendra, not some soap,” Quinn snapped irritably.

She noted a strange look that crossed Kendra's expression before she nodded and said, “You're right, Quinn. And in this life, you usually get one chance. If you've found someone who makes you feel the way Wyatt makes you feel, then use all your God-given and silicone-enhanced assets and get him. Or, at least, make him think twice before letting you go.”

“I'm not going to beg. I didn't do anything wrong. Maybe, just maybe, I had a few thoughts about sleeping with him for the house, but in the end it was about him. I could have cared less about the movie. He should have had more faith in me.”

“You're totally right, but…this man loves your bigass ears, Quinn. When you going to find that again?”

Quinn sighed because Kendra had a point. It looked as if Quinn had some begging to do.

W
yatt kept a solemn expression on his face as the family of Lenora Woods filed into the viewing room. He held his breath as her daughter and son slowly approached the open casket. The two stopped at the edge, then clung to each other. Myrtle abruptly sobbed and turned into her brother's arms. Wyatt averted his gaze to the highly polished wood floor. There was something so private about grief.

He forced himself to turn back to the scene. He could just make out one of Mrs. Woods' silver curls. He loosened his tie and swiped at the sweat on his brow, then forced himself to remain calm. Mourners were looking to him for direction, for answers. His father had been great at this, but Wyatt had to get out of here.

Just when he thought that he would have to leave the room to breathe, he felt a soft hand slip into his and squeeze.

Wyatt glanced over and choked when he saw Quinn standing next to him. He gulped in disbelief. He hadn't known she owned such a somber dress. She wore a black dress that stopped at a respectable length at her knees, her usually wild riot of curls was tamed into an understated bun at the top of her head, and there was not a speck of makeup on her face.

She looked like the picture of a mortician's wife, or at least a mortician's girlfriend. And then he saw her black stiletto heels. He fought his grin.

Quinn sent him a soft smile, then turned toward the front of the room. Wyatt followed her gaze, suddenly feeling as if he could stand the sadness and the grief. With her by his side, it all seemed…almost bearable.

Wyatt followed the program as much as he could, but he was more focused on Quinn. She never took her attention away from the speakers, and she never took her hand from his. She was like a still, composed statue. Wyatt couldn't even remember his mother standing with his father like this.

As soon as the last speaker sat down, Wyatt dropped Quinn's hands and walked to the front of the room.

He kept his voice soft as he said, “We have prepared refreshments in the drawing room. When you're ready, please feel free to head in that direction. Thank you.”

The few people who did look at him looked as if they were underwater, drowning. He cleared his throat, then walked back to Quinn, who, if it was possible, was giving him support without one word. He took her hand and led her to an empty viewing room and closed the door.

Before he could open his mouth, she said abruptly, “I'm sure you want to know what I'm doing here, and I'm kind of wondering the same thing, except I think…I think we decided in the middle of all of this that we were friends, and as your friend I wanted to be here. For you.”

The two stared at each other for a moment, as Wyatt tried to think of how to respond. He should have been cool, calm and collected. Uncaring. Except that wasn't how he felt.

He said softly, “I'm glad you're here, Quinn. I could really use a friend right now.”

She smiled and moved toward him, as if to hug him. Then she hesitated, no doubt replaying his little performance from yesterday. Wyatt silently cursed because even though he knew he shouldn't, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to touch her. He just wanted her. He took one step closer to her, and then the door opened. The two jumped apart like teenagers caught in a dark basement.

Beatrice walked into the room, the disapproval apparent in her eyes and her pursed lips. She glanced at Quinn and stiffly nodded, then turned to Wyatt.

“Ron is asking for you,” Beatrice said.

Wyatt nodded, then glanced at Quinn. She sent him a small smile, but Wyatt saw the hesitation in her eyes. She did not want to be alone with Beatrice and, frankly, Wyatt didn't blame her.

“Hurry up, Wyatt. We don't keep our customers waiting,” Beatrice said.

Wyatt squeezed Quinn's hand, then walked out the room. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, praying that his mother wouldn't run Quinn off, then hurried down the hall.

 

Quinn gulped over the sudden lump in her throat as she stood alone in the room with Beatrice. A man's mother. The natural enemy of Quinn Sibley. Quinn forced a smile at Beatrice, who only stared at her in response. Beatrice's gaze dropped to Quinn's hands, and Quinn realized that she was nervously wringing her hands. Quinn instantly clenched her hands into fists and dropped them to her sides.

Quinn did not imagine the corner of Beatrice's mouth slightly lifted in a smile, as if reveling in Quinn's show of nerves. Beatrice gave Quinn the same look of triumph that Sephora's archenemy, Phoebe Childress, had given her numerous times over the years, then turned to the door.

“Beatrice, wait,” Quinn said, abruptly. Beatrice turned to her, her expression cold and forbidding.

Quinn gulped again. Now that she had Beatrice's attention, she didn't know what she was supposed to say. She wasn't Wyatt's girlfriend. She was barely his friend. Wyatt had practically thrown her out of his house yesterday.

“Yes?” Beatrice said, and that one word nearly froze the room over.

Quinn cleared her throat, then said, “I know that you don't exactly like me. I get it. But I like your son. I think I actually love him. I don't know if he loves me. In fact, I doubt that he does. But that doesn't change how I feel. So, I hope that you know that I want nothing but the best for him, and you have nothing to fear from me because I would never hurt Wyatt.”

“That's a touching speech,” Beatrice said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “I've heard it before somewhere…Ah, yes. Didn't you give that speech on
Diamond Valley
two years ago when Sephora first met the mother of the riverboat captain?”

Quinn's face burned with humiliation. “You didn't tell me that you watched the show,” she stuttered.

“Once or twice,” Beatrice snapped.

“Maybe the words are the same, but the sentiment is real,” Quinn said, hastily. “I really care for Wyatt.”

“You have a funny way of showing it. For instance, why did you bring another man to my son's home in the morning? Did you just want to rub his face in your affairs?”

“I wasn't rubbing his face in anything,” Quinn retorted angrily. “Vaughn is a friend.”

“Oh, really? Is that why he told everyone who would listen in the diner this morning that you and he were thinking of moving in together when you returned to Los Angeles?”

“What?”

“I know your type. The Hollywood type,” Beatrice said heatedly. “You collect men like trophies.”

“I think you have to be able to get a job in Hollywood to be the Hollywood type, so, trust me, I am not the Hollywood type. Maybe the Burbank type, or the—”

Beatrice's eyes narrowed and she demanded, “Are you making fun of me?”

“No,” Quinn said uncertainly, then more firmly, “No.”

“You think you're better than everyone else in this town—”

“Stop it,” Quinn shouted. She flinched surprised at the volume of her own voice. Beatrice's eyes widened in shock. Quinn cleared her throat and said quietly, “I don't want to argue with you, Beatrice. But I want you to know that I'm not the enemy. I love Wyatt, and I want him to be happy. And whether that's with me or not is for him to decide, not you.

“I can't help if you like me or not, but I just ask that you give me a chance. Because in the end, we both want the same thing—for Wyatt to be happy.”

Beatrice stared at her for a moment, then averted her gaze. Quinn was surprised. She had actually won a staring contest with her.

Beatrice finally looked back at Quinn, then said stiffly, “I can accept that.”

Quinn sagged against the door, then straightened when Beatrice rolled her eyes in disbelief.

Beatrice asked, “Have you said everything you've wanted to say?”

“Yes.”

“Then can I leave?”

“Of course,” Quinn said, confused, then realized that she was bodily blocking the door. She quickly jumped out the way.

Beatrice opened the door, then turned to Quinn and said, with a slight smile, “I recognized that last speech, too, Quinn. For the record, you delivered it much better than you did on
Diamond Valley
.”

Beatrice walked out the room. Quinn shook her head in disbelief, then softly laughed.

 

“Long day?” Quinn murmured as she and Wyatt walked into his apartment.

Wyatt didn't bother to turn on the lights in his apartment, but turned to face Quinn. She looked even more beautiful in the fading sunlight that streamed through the windows. He wanted to touch her. Instead of pushing his luck, he closed the door, then leaned against it to stare at her.

“You were there for every moment,” he said, the awe apparent in his voice. “I think I even saw Mom smile at you once.”

Quinn smiled, but only said, “Let's just say that your mother and I have reached an understanding.”

The two continued to stare at each other. There was something that happened when he made eye contact with her. There were sparks, a jolt of something that hit him every time he met her beautiful eyes.

He looked away for a moment, just to be able to come up with a coherent sentence. “I've ruined your entire Christmas Eve.”

“It's not over yet,” she whispered, something unreadable flashing across her face.

For some reason, his voice lowered, too. “If you hurry, you can make it in time for the dinner at the Forbes'.”

She stared at him for a moment, then took two steps closer to him. “I'm right where I want to be.”

He shook his head, confused, about the certainty in her eyes. She loved him. It was obvious. Once more, he felt as if he were the last one in this town to know anything.

He suddenly felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. Maybe Graham was right. Wyatt was scared. All of the emotions racing through his body, the emotions visible on Quinn's face. How was he supposed to handle that? They were too different, too combustible together. He had never experienced anything like it, and he couldn't fathom how he would live with this every day, the expectations in her eyes. The love. No wonder he was alone. He couldn't disappoint anyone when he was alone.

“Quinn—”

She interrupted him, as if sensing that he was about to end things. “Wyatt, you were right. A part of me did think that sleeping with you would make the issue of using the house disappear, but that's not why I slept with you. I slept with you because you make me feel like no other man has ever made me feel. Cherished.”

Tears surprisingly clogged his throat as he said, “I'm sorry I said those horrible things to you.”

“You should be,” she said with a slight smile, then wrapped her arms around his neck. “But, I forgive you.”

“You shouldn't. You could have any man you want, Quinn.”

“I do have any man I want.”

Wyatt couldn't believe her. His mind warred with his heart. She would come to her senses soon enough and then where would Wyatt be? Not only alone, but alone and completely ruined. That scared him more than any funeral ever had.

He decided tonight would be it. He would spend one night saying goodbye, then he would cut himself off cold turkey. Quinn would be hurt, at first. But it was for the best. For her, because she had her whole career ahead of her. And for him, because he wouldn't have to face the inevitable rejection and pain.

“I didn't even buy you a Christmas present,” he murmured.

“I never thought I'd say this, but the best things in life are free. And you're one of the best things to ever happen to me.”

Before he whispered how much he loved her, Wyatt kissed her.

Quinn's eyes slid closed of their own accord as Wyatt's mouth covered hers. She immediately noticed something different in his kiss tonight. He was practically desperate. His hands clung to her shoulders. His hips ground against hers. His tongue owned her mouth, subduing her. Saying goodbye.

“Wyatt?” she whispered, staring at him uncertainly.

“Shh, baby. I want to remember tonight. Every detail,” he said in that passion-roughened voice that always drove her crazy.

His hands found the zipper on the back of her dress, and the soft whir of the zipper being released filled the air. His gaze never left hers as he slowly slid the dress down her body. His expression alone could have brought her to completion. He released the band in her hair and ran his hands through the strands, loosening them. She sighed as his hands massaged her head. His touch was magical, soothing. She never wanted any other woman to know his touch.

She shuddered as he finally looked at her breasts covered with lace and the center of her panties that had already grown damp.

“Lie down,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the sofa.

She complied and laid on the sofa for him. He stood over her, staring at her from head to toe, as if memorizing every detail. She saw her own perfection in his gaze. She would never think of herself as ugly and fat, even if she gained one hundred pounds. In Wyatt's eyes, she was perfect however she was.