At First Touch (22 page)

Like silk, he finally moved on top of her, spreading her thighs to position himself directly against her center. She shuddered again as the coarse material of his slacks rubbed against her bare thighs. She was completely nude, while he remained clothed in his suit and tie.

She reached for him, but he evaded her hands and slid down her body, planting kisses against bare skin. She bit her bottom lip as his tongue dipped into her belly button. Something akin to a nuclear bomb started at that spot and spread to her feet and toes.

“Wyatt,” she whispered.

“You're so beautiful, Quinn. I will never forget you as long as I live.”

For a brief moment, she was drawn out of the cocoon he had created. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but then he kissed her. Licked her. Suckled her until she was writhing uncontrollably and tears slid from the corners of her eyes. He still did not show her mercy. Instead, he clamped down on her thighs and spread them even farther apart for better access.

“Please,” she begged, but his questing, seeking tongue never paused. He was trying to kill her.

Just when Quinn was on the verge of hurtling over the edge of sanity, Wyatt stopped. His eyes were dazed as he ripped off his suit and shoes. He came back to her, and she clung to his shoulders

No sound came out of her open mouth when he slowly and torturously pushed inside her. He was too big. She was so tight. He pulled out, then slowly moved in again. His face was the picture of unfettered pleasure.

Quinn held on for dear life, loving the feel of him. Needing him. She wrapped her legs around him, chaining him to her in case he ever thought of escaping.

He continued to stroke as he drove his tongue into her mouth. She responded with her entire soul, unable to breathe on her own, without his kisses giving her much-needed oxygen. She tore her mouth from his and squeezed her eyes closed, unable to handle the feelings anymore. It was all too much.

She screamed his name and went over the edge. Wyatt soon followed, then fell on top of her, breathing hard. He was so heavy. Too big. But she wrapped her arms around him anyway, needing to feel every inch of him.

“Let's move to the bed,” Wyatt murmured against her ear. “I'm crushing you, and this sofa is not exactly comfortable.”

“I don't want to move,” she whispered. “I want to stay right here until we hear Santa Claus go by.”

She felt more than heard his laughter. “There is no Santa Claus, Quinn.”

“Just for tonight, I'm going to believe in miracles.”

He rolled off her, ignoring her protests. But he pulled her into his arms, wrapping a blanket lying on a nearby chair around them. As she settled against his chest, she heard him whisper, “For tonight, I do, too, baby. I do, too.”

Q
uinn woke up to complete silence and sunlight streaming through Wyatt's bedroom windows. At some point, they had moved to his bedroom and had continued to make love to each other. Eventually, Wyatt had foraged food from the refrigerator and they had fed each other, then made love again. Quinn had never particularly cared one way or the other about Christmas Eve, but now it was her favorite holiday. Then again, any holiday with Wyatt was going to be her favorite holiday.

For the first time, Quinn allowed herself to think of a future with him. She could imagine him with silver hair and those same twinkling brown eyes surrounded by a few more smile lines. She wasn't quite ready to think of herself in the same light, but she would be right by his side. Children would come at some point, and who knew where they'd live, but all of that could be worked out.

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror and combed down her tangled hair. She had looked better, but she still climbed out the bed and grabbed the man's robe on the closet door to find Wyatt. No makeup or hair brush in sight. It was funny when she thought about it. The adoration of millions meant nothing, but one man loved her and she was ready to eat everything in sight and proclaim her weight to any magazine that would listen.

She found him in the kitchen, sitting at the table, sipping a cup of coffee and staring out the window. He looked at her when she walked into the kitchen, but he didn't smile like he usually did. Instead, he looked sad. Scared, almost. Quinn decided to ignore his strange behavior and crossed the kitchen to plant a kiss on his lips. A kiss that he didn't return.

“Merry Christmas,” she said, smiling.

He gave a forced smile, then stood and walked across the kitchen. Away from her. “Do you want some coffee? Something to eat?”

“Coffee would be nice.” She sat in the chair he had vacated and stretched her arms over her head. “I bet my sisters are gossiping about us right now. I probably should have called them last night. I was supposed to meet them at Graham's parents' house for dinner. We'll make it up to them today at Christmas dinner. You are planning to come over for Christmas dinner, right? You and Beatrice? Although to be honest, I wouldn't mind spending Christmas alone with you here. Although, Charlie would kill us, so we'd probably have to make a brief appearance at dinner. Don't you think?”

Wyatt set a cup of steaming coffee in front of her on the table. He sat across from her and stared at her for a moment.

Quinn took a sip of coffee, then set the cup down and met his gaze. She stopped smiling and said, “You're scaring me, Wyatt. What's wrong?”

He averted his gaze, then seemed to force himself to look at her. “Quinn…last night…I…I can't do this.”

She blinked in confusion. “You can't do what? Go to Christmas dinner? I don't want to go, either—”

“No, Quinn,” he said quietly. “You and me. It's not going to work.”

She froze. Every single muscle in her body froze for one second. Then she blinked and whispered hoarsely, “What are you talking about?”

“You want to be a movie star, and we both know that's not going to happen here.”

“We'll work something out, Wyatt. Charlie and Graham have.”

“We're not Charlie and Graham,” he said, shaking his head. “My life is here at the funeral home—”

“You hate it,” she protested, before she could stop herself. “Why do you fight so hard to stay here when we both know you hate it?”

“I don't hate it.”

“Yes, you do, Wyatt. I saw your face yesterday. You hate seeing people's tears and their pain. That's not who you are.”

“Yes, it is, Quinn, and you can't change it,” he insisted. “I'm a small-town mortician, and we both know that I would only get in the way. You're going to be a huge star. You're going to have so many opportunities. I would just be in the way.”

She stared at him for a moment, unable to speak. She had woken up this morning with so much hope for her future, for them. And in an instant it had disappeared. And there was nothing she could do to change it.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered in disbelief.

“I'm just being a realist. You love me now, here, in Sibleyville, with no distractions. But, the moment we set foot in Hollywood, everything will change. I just want to end it before we hurt each other. At least, now, we can still be friends.”

“You still think I'm a vapid Hollywood actress,” she accused, no longer sad but quivering with anger.

“That's not true.”

“First, you don't think I'm good enough to marry. And now you're telling me that you don't trust me to love you once I have some other options. You know what? Forget everything I said. You're right. We are different. I'm willing to risk everything, compromise everything, to be with you. And you can't even stomach the thought of spending Christmas with me,” she said through clenched teeth.

She jumped to her feet and hurried toward the living room, where her dress and underwear still lay on the floor. Her heart broke a little as the scattered clothing reminded her of last night, of the way she had felt last night. She had known Wyatt was saying goodbye then, but she had ignored her own intuition.

“Quinn,” he said softly, coming behind her.

She whirled around to face him. “Don't touch me. Don't you ever touch me again. What was last night about? One last screw for old time's sake?”

His eyes were bright with unshed tears. “You know that's not true.”

She told herself not to beg. Quinn Sibley didn't beg, but then she said, “I am standing here with my heart open to you. Don't throw this in my face.”

“It's better this happens now, Quinn, before we get too close.”

“I'm already close, you bastard,” she screamed. She turned her back to him to yank on her clothes. She threw the robe on the sofa, then slipped on her shoes.

Wyatt still watched her, with a ravaged expression. She almost thought that he was in as much pain as she was, but it wasn't possible because her heart was falling apart. Breaking into one hundred pieces.

“Quinn, please try to understand. I'm doing this for you. You deserve someone like you. Someone like Vaughn. He can fit in your world. I would just…I don't know anything but Sibleyville and dead people. I would embarrass you. If you ever looked at me with shame in your eyes, I…I just think it's better to end this now.”

“I tried so hard to be different than what everyone thought, what I even thought,” she said, attempting to speak through her tears. “And I just can't do it anymore. I'm tired of trying. I've never been more tired in my life. I love you, Wyatt.”

He inhaled as if he had been punched in the gut. “No, you don't. You think you do—”

“Don't tell me what I believe,” she warned through clenched teeth. “I love you, Wyatt. And if you're too scared to admit that you love me back, then you're not the man I thought you were.” He watched her for a moment, then averted his gaze, as if he could not look at her anymore.

Quinn laughed, even though there was nothing funny. She swiped at her tears, then whispered, “I hope you get that white picket fence and the babies. There has to be some woman out there safe enough for you love.”

He still wouldn't look at her. She thought about jumping up and down or screaming to force him to say something. But she couldn't do anything but walk out the apartment and down the stairs toward her car. It was going to be a long drive home.

 

“Merry Christmas,” Charlie and Graham sang in unison as Quinn walked into the house.

Quinn accepted her sister's hug, with a forced smile, then hugged Graham. Quinn gave herself much more credit for her acting skills because neither Charlie nor Graham noticed that she had been crying.

“Where's Wyatt? We thought he'd come over with you,” Graham said.

“He'll be by later,” Quinn said with a bright smile.

The sound of glass crashing caused Quinn to turn to the living room. Kendra was precariously perched on the top of the living room coffee table, swinging her arms around while singing to “Jingle Bell Rock.” She held a tall glass of eggnog in one hand and was sending eggnog flying across the living room the more she gyrated to the music.

“Ignore her,” Graham said to Quinn. “She's been swilling eggnog for the last two hours and I think I saw her eat a cookie. I don't think her body knows how to handle the sugar.”

“Y'know, Graham, it really annoys me when you talk about me like I'm not here,” Kendra slurred in reply.

“How about some nice, strong, black coffee?” Quinn said to Kendra.

“I could use something nice, strong and black. And it sure as hell ain't coffee,” Kendra shot back. Graham coughed over his laughter, while Charlie frowned in concern.

Kendra began to dance again. Charlie and Quinn ducked a missile of eggnog headed towards them. “Graham, put on the Motown Christmas album. I want to hear some Temptations and Jackson Five. Did I ever tell you guys that I can moonwalk? Watch!”

Kendra jumped off the coffee table and collapsed onto the floor. Kendra laughed uproariously, then drained the rest of her glass that had remained mostly full.

“You two, get the coffee, and I'll make certain she's not bleeding,” Graham muttered.

Quinn and Charlie walked into the kitchen. The smell of dessert and dinner mingled in the small kitchen. For some reason, those smells made Quinn want to cry even more. She would never survive Christmas dinner, especially sitting across from Wyatt, since he and his mother always spent Christmas with the Forbes.

Quinn shook her head and grabbed a mug from the drying rack on the counter to pour a cup of coffee for Kendra.

“At this rate, Kendra will be passed out by lunchtime,” Quinn said, grateful that her voice didn't crack from the emotion she was clamping down.

“I think that's her plan. I'm really worried about her,” Charlie said quietly.

Quinn's laughter faded. “Kendra is just blowing off steam. She lives like a monk three hundred and sixty-four days of the year. So, she drinks alcohol and eats a little sugar—”

“I'm not talking about today, although it is concerning that she can't spend a sober Christmas with her family. I'm just worried about her, period. She's out there in New York, by herself, without any support. She never mentions any friends or boyfriends, and whenever I try to ask her about her personal life, she changes the subject or ignores me.”

“You worry too much. Kendra is fine.”

“She's not fine, Quinn. She got blackballed by the entire financial industry last year, and she still hasn't been able to find a job. My God, it's Christmas morning and she's stumbling drink. And have you noticed how late she's been sleeping? The old Kendra never slept past five o'clock in the morning. I've been having to drag out her out of bed at eleven.”

Quinn studied Charlie's worried expression and said softly, “If something is wrong, Kendra would never tell us. All we can do is just be there for her, and let her know that we're here if she ever needs to talk.” Quinn poured coffee into another mug, then realized that Charlie was staring at her with a shocked expression. “What?”

Charlie shook her head confused then said, “That's right.”

“What's right?”

“What you said about being there for Kendra. You just said something that made sense and was reasonable and wasn't related to your acting career or your weight.”

“Is that what you think of me? That I only talk about things related to my acting career or my weight?” Quinn whispered, almost as hurt as she had been by Wyatt.

Charlie looked momentarily guilty before she said, “Well…yes, actually.”

“I'm not like that, and I'm sick of everyone saying that!” Quinn slammed the mug on the counter, then cried out when specks of hot coffee flew on her hand.

Now she had a reason to cry at the sting of pain on the back of her hand. Charlie quickly ran over and tugged Quinn to the faucet where she turned on cold water. She massaged Quinn's hand and held it under the cold water.

Quinn sniffed and studied her hand as if her life depended on it because Charlie was studying her.

A few moments later, Charlie turned off the faucet and closely inspected Quinn's hand. There were two pinpoint spots of red on her honey skin. Charlie made soothing noises, then pulled calamine lotion from a drawer and gently massaged it into Quinn's skin.

“All better?” Charlie asked softly. Quinn nodded and wiped at her tears. Charlie didn't release her hand, but held on tighter as she said, “You're my sister, and nothing you do or say will make me stop loving you, but sometimes…you're a lot to handle.”

Quinn frowned and stared at Charlie. “I am?”

Charlie hesitated, then said, “Sometimes you can be self-centered. And sometimes you can be one-track about the acting, about your glory days as Sephora. It gets a little old…sometimes.”