Hot to the Touch (15 page)

“Not the slightest. But I haven’t heard a word, which I’m daring to hope is because she’s embarrassed it worked, rather than so furious she’s not speaking to me.”

“Any way you can find out?”

“I could…” Marie made a face. “A roundabout way, through Justin and Candy and Troy. But believe it or not I’m trying to respect her privacy.”

“What?” Quinn faked convincing shock. “When did you come up with that novel idea?”

“Ha…ha.”

The waiter returned with the champagne in a green bottle with gold foil, hand-painted with a spray of white flowers. He removed the cork with a discreet
thunk,
and poured an inch for Quinn to try. On approval, he poured cold bubbly magic for each of them and nestled the bottle into the ice bucket.

“Cheers, Marie.” Quinn lifted his glass. “Here’s to us. To the past few months of friendship and to the rest of our lives.”

“Hear, hear.” She clinked, smiled and sipped, thrilled by the “rest of their lives” concept, determinedly refusing to listen to the little voice repeating Kim and Nathan’s opinion about men taking women to Dream Dance. Marie could do a lot worse than be friends with this man for the rest of her life, and that was going to be the focus from now on or she’d implode from anxiety.

“Tell me something, Marie.”

“If you ask maybe I will.”

“If money and time were no object, where would you most like to go in the world?”

“Oh, I love this kind of question. It always fits my budget.” She put her champagne down and clasped her hands under her chin. “Sydney. No, London. No, Paris. No, all three.”

“Really?” His eyes were amused. “Not some tropical resort?”

“No, no.” She waved the idea away. “If I’m spending imaginary time and money, I want to see the world, not lie on a beach. Though it’s not like I’d fight to leave a tropical resort if I landed there.”

“Gotcha.”

“What about you?”

“Sydney, London and Paris sound perfect.”

“So—” Marie lifted her shoulder in a nonchalant shrug “—when do we leave?”

Quinn chuckled and lifted his glass for another clink. “Next month. This one is busy for me.”

“July.” She clinked and drank rapturously, loving the fizz of bubbles on her tongue and the clear, smooth taste.

“You know where else I want to go? To Gladiolas. Darcy promised us a meal. I say we take her up on it.”

“Oh, yes, the food there is wonderful.” Marie patted her stomach rapturously. “Her menu ideas and titles are so creative and funny. People really enjoy them. Though if her ex-employee Raoul has his way, she won’t be so original anymore.”

“What’s that about?”

She told him the gist, tickled when he responded with anger. Protective men got her juices running. That he was protective not only of her but of her friend…

“Women have it tough in the restaurant business. A lot of prejudices. Classic case of having to work twice as hard to be considered half as good.” He looked thoughtfully at the table, moving his silverware back and forth. Marie waited patiently, happy to admire the sexy gray touching his temple, and the fine line of his smooth-shaven jaw.

“That’s double reason we should go, then.” He looked up, features set in resolve, and she had to look down at her own silverware, because sometimes he was just too sexy for her to handle without disgracing herself. “I’ll do some investigating. Maybe I can put some money into Gladiolas and help her compete if it comes to that.”

Marie’s eyes shot wide. “You’d do that for her?”

“And for you. But also for business. The restaurant would have to be a good risk.”

“Of course.” She drank champagne, drank more, moved beyond anything she wanted to show him. Talk about a knight in shining armor. “When did you want to go?”

“This week.” He hauled out his iPhone; she dutifully hauled out hers, giddy from champagne and Dream Dance and Quinn. This week? She was seeing him tonight, then again at Gladiolas, then Saturday for their Chicago trip…

They made a tentative plan for the following Wednesday. The waiter refilled their glasses. And again. The rest of the champagne disappeared leisurely, accompanying an appetizer of yellowfin tuna that was out of this world. With Quinn’s steak and Marie’s lamb tenderloin, they shared a bottle of exceptional Bordeaux from Chateau Mouton-Rothschild, which probably cost more than Marie’s entire outfit. But oh, it was something. Dry, smooth and delicious not only with the meat, but with the selection of Wisconsin cheeses that followed the entrée. By that time Marie was feeling no pain, but considerable smug satisfaction that her dress wasn’t tight. For dessert they split a fruit sorbet and had coffee, Quinn paid and they staggered to the restaurant exit.

“Still feel like dancing?”

“I don’t think it matters what I feel like. I need to dance. What was that, about a week’s worth of calories?”

“What do you care?” He grabbed her hand to steer her past a boisterous bunch entering the building, and didn’t let go.

“I care because I shouldn’t gain any more weight.” She adjusted her fingers in his, loving the warm secure contact and, speaking of warm, was it her imagination or had the temperature actually risen from damp chill to less-damp chill while they were eating?

“No. Don’t gain. Or lose.” Quinn sent her the sexiest sidelong glance any woman had ever had the pleasure of receiving. “You’re perfect.”

Marie rolled her eyes. “You are too used to flattering women. How will we ever know if you’re telling the truth when it counts?”

He stopped walking; her momentum took her a couple of steps past. He tugged her around until she was facing him. His hands landed on her shoulders. “Marie.”

“Yuh.”

“Listen to me. You are an attractive woman. And smart and funny and sexy. That is my sincere opinion and I’m sure the opinion of many other men. It is not flattery. Okay?”

Marie stood stupidly, chin hanging down in surprise. “I. Well.”

He looked exasperated. “Just say, ‘Yes, Quinn, I am all those things.’”

“Yes, Quinn.” She spoke demurely, then burst into giggles from sheer happiness. Was there another man this wonderful anywhere else?

“Promise me, no more beating yourself up.” He glanced to the side where a car had pulled up to the walk. “Here we go.”

The driver got out, opened the back door and stood waiting. Back door?

Marie followed Quinn, surprised when he gestured her in and joined her. “You’re not driving?”

“After we killed off two bottles of wine? No, thanks.”

Marie looked at him incredulously. “Dream Dance provides designated drivers?”

“Nope.” He grinned. “I do.”

She laughed, not because she thought the idea was at all funny, but because when he smiled at her like that, with such warmth and mischief in his eyes, she couldn’t help it.

They were driven to The Jazz House in the Third Ward and dropped off to catch the last hour of the band. Marie loved to dance, had taken lessons as a kid on her mother’s insistence, but never found a decent partner. She and her ex, Grant, had danced at their own wedding, and a couple of times at other people’s, and that was it.

Of course, of
course,
Quinn was a superb dancer, stylish, inventive and easy to follow. They took frequent breaks for big glasses of water and conversation. She hadn’t ever had so much fun with a guy. Ever.

By the time the band slowed for the final dance, she was feeling giddy, but less affected by the wine, with a clearer head. She went into Quinn’s arms, comfortable with their easy friendship and enjoying his warmth and solidity, the smooth sway of their bodies, chaste inches apart.

“Marie.”

“Mmm?”

“Will you go dancing with me again sometime?”

“Anytime,” she murmured.

“Good.” He pulled her closer, then loosened his hold, too soon for her taste. “I think you’re my favorite person to spend time with.”

“You’re mine, too.”

“Yeah?” He looked down at her.

Marie met his eyes without hesitation. “Yeah.”

The moment was perfect for a first kiss. The atmosphere, the dialogue, the way her lips tingled in instinctive anticipation, everything pointed that way. But this was Quinn, and their first kiss would never happen. For the first time she thought she felt truly at peace with that. Totally comfortable and able to be straight with him. On everything except being in love. “So tell me, Quinn.”

“Mmm?”

“What happens to us when you get that girlfriend you’re looking for?”

His expression changed. “I’m…not sure how to answer that, Marie.”

“Okay. I guess I’m going to put it right out there that I will be devastated if you leave me for someone else.” She strove for a light tone and to keep smiling, and managed both. Good for her. She was really doing this.

“Then how about I don’t leave you?”

Marie giggled. “Somehow I can’t see you happy with only a platonic relationship in your life.”

“No. I couldn’t do that.” His speech had become clipped. Maybe it was better to drop the topic. She’d made it clear how she felt—up to a point. She wasn’t going to put him in the horrible position of admitting that she’d be stuck on the back burner when he found his Miss Perfect. All she could hope was that it would take him the next fifty years to find her. In the meantime, evenings spent with this god of a man would go a long way toward making her own life special until she got to the point where she could entertain starting a relationship of her own with a mere mortal.

The band broke for the evening. After restroom visits, they piled into Quinn’s chauffeur-driven Lexus and headed back to Brewer’s Hill, stopping first at Marie’s house, which looked dark and anticlimactic after the evening of glitz and glamor. Still, it was where she belonged. Jezebel would greet her, she’d get back to planning the party with Candy, Kim and Darcy and the rest of her rich, full life would go happily on. What had Quinn said? Something to the effect that doing anything special too often made it less special. She wasn’t sure going out with him could ever feel ordinary, but maybe it could. And she already had Gladiolas midweek and next Saturday in Chicago to look forward to with him.

With that delicious thought in mind, she nearly took Quinn out by determinedly shoving open her door, not realizing he’d come around to open it for her. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You missed me. I’ll walk you to your door.”

“You are so gallant.” She took his offered hand and got out of the car. “This was about the most wonderful and romantic evening of my entire life.”

“Romantic?”

She cringed. Did he have to get all defensive like that? “Champagne, fabulous food and service, dancing…what could be more romantic?”

“Yes, well…” He followed her to her door, waited while she dug out her keys. “I had a wonderful time too, Marie.”

She turned and smiled brightly. “Good.”

“You’re still game for Chicago next weekend on top of dinner at Gladiolas?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. Because I’m looking forward to spending more time with you.” He took her shoulders and leaned in; she puckered for a friendly good-night peck.

Instead, his mouth was soft meeting her tight lips, which went slack with surprise. He lingered, lighting sparklers all the way down inside her.

This was not a friendly peck. It was a kiss. A real one.

Quinn was kissing her.

She was still trying to wrap her brain around that concept when he pulled back, brushed her bangs tenderly off her forehead, and leaned in again for another briefer but just as sweet meeting of their lips. “Good night. Sleep well. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Yes. You, too. Sure!” She wanted to sound husky and sexual, but her voice came out all nervous and chirpy. Had she gone into shock? Maybe it had been too many months assuming Quinn felt nothing, so now she couldn’t act any other way. “You know me! I’ll be around!”

For God’s sake, stop twittering, Marie.

He looked disconcerted and backed away, sexy frown between his brows. “Yeah. Okay. Good night.”