At First Touch. Tamara Sneed

little. Last year, he had made more money from his “little” nursery, planning and tending the town’s landscape and growing flowers for people in the area, than his father had ever made from the mortuary in a year.

      “It’s a side project,” he finally said.

      “What’s your favorite flower?”

      “Favorite flower? I don’t know.”

      “I like roses.”

      Wyatt refrained from his numerous complaints about the most oversold flower in the States. “Roses are nice. I have a greenhouse behind the house. I even have a small section of orchids. They’re a very delicate plant to grow, but I portioned off a section of the greenhouse and tried to make conditions perfect. I think it’s working. I also have gardenias and hydrangeas and…”

      His voice trailed off as Dorrie put her hand on his. Her smile was gentle, which made him realize that he had been blabbing. She removed her hand and said, “Maybe you can show me some time.”

      “I’d like that,” he said, grinning probably wide enough for his mother to see it back at the house. Dorrie returned his smile.

      Wyatt noticed a sudden shift in the air. He also noticed that no one in the diner was staring at them anymore. Instead, they were staring at the door. Wyatt followed their stares and couldn’t suppress the cough of disbelief as Quinn stood in the door frame. She didn’t just stand. She posed, as if allowing everyone to get a full look at her. And every man in the place was incredibly grateful.

      She wore a teensy-weensy, barely-there black skirt, black fishnets, black pointy-toed, calf-length boots and a sweater that dipped too low to really be considered a sweater. Wyatt supposed it was Quinn’s version of a winter outfit, but he couldn’t understand how she could prance around in so few clothes when it was close to fifty degrees outside.

      Quinn flipped her now straight hair over her shoulder and sauntered across the restaurant toward Wyatt. She kept her gaze on him the entire time, ignoring everyone else. She stopped in front of his table and leaned down, giving him a view of the front and everyone else in the restaurant a view of the back. His body hardened and tightened, as if it knew what was near and didn’t appreciate Wyatt not doing what his body obviously wanted to do.

      “Hi, Wyatt,” she breathed, her lips so close to his ear that he could feel her breath heat the shell of his ear.

      If Wyatt didn’t know better, he would think that “Hi, Wyatt,” meant “Take me back to my house and pound into me until I can’t walk anymore.” He wanted to bury his face in her hair and smell it and touch it and pull it as he entered her—

      Wyatt swallowed the lump in his throat and met her gaze. Everything about her screamed sex, but the look in her eyes twinkled with something else. Mischief.

      “Quinn,” Wyatt greeted carefully.

      “Mind if I join you?” she purred.

      Without waiting for a response, she slid into the booth next to Wyatt, her thigh pressing into his. Wyatt grimaced and moved farther over until he was pressed against the window, but she only followed him until every inch of her thigh pressed against every inch of his. Quinn had never willingly sat next to him, let alone touched him, since he had known her. Something was definitely up, and it had nothing to do with what was in his pants.

      Quinn smiled at Dorrie, who looked transfixed with awe, and offered her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Quinn Sibley. I hope I’m not intruding.”

      Dorrie stared at Quinn for a moment, then appeared to snap out of whatever daze she was in and shook Quinn’s hand. “I know who you are. I watch Diamond Valley, or…I used to, until they killed you off.”

      Quinn’s pleasure was evident as she said, “Really?” Quinn playfully jabbed Wyatt in the arm and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were having lunch with a woman with such good taste?” Wyatt narrowed his eyes at her, and Quinn turned to Dorrie. “Sometimes Wyatt has the worst manners. What is your name?”

      “Dorrie Diamond.”

      “What a beautiful name,” Quinn gushed, obviously not remembering her comic book comment from yesterday. “You stopped watching Diamond Valley because of me?”

      “Of course,” Dorrie said, nodding eagerly. “Sephora was the best part of that show. The only reason to watch it.”

      “I thought so, too,” Quinn agreed.

      Wyatt decided that whatever game Quinn was playing had gone on long enough, especially since she had placed her elbow on the table, touching his.

      He cleared his throat and said, “Quinn—”

      Dorrie interrupted him, her gaze still on Quinn. “Ms. Sibley—”

      “Please call me Quinn,” Quinn said, patting Dorrie’s arm.

      Dorrie gave Quinn a wide smile that she had never given him. “Quinn, I always wondered, what is Gregory like in real life?”

      Quinn laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder in a cascading waterfall of brown silk. “I’m not surprised. Every woman in America wants the lowdown about Gregory Rotelle. He seems so debonair and sophisticated on television, but believe me, honey, the man deserves an Emmy for even being able to portray a human. In real life, he’s an ass. He spent more time in hair and makeup than most of the women. And, for the record, the hair is not real.”

      Dorrie giggled, her pale skin coloring slightly. “No!” she gasped, moving her hand to cover her mouth.

      Wyatt grew more annoyed. He still hadn’t gotten a laugh out of Dorrie.

      “Oh, yes. His real hairline starts somewhere around the top of his ears,” Quinn said with a conspiratorial wink, causing Dorrie to collapse into laughter.

      “Quinn,” Wyatt said in a low, quiet voice that neither woman could ignore. Dorrie glanced at him and stared back down at her plate, her smile disappearing, while Quinn looked at him with an innocent expression that would have fooled only a blind man. He clenched his teeth and demanded, “What do you want?”

      “Wyatt!” Dorrie admonished in a whisper, as if Quinn wouldn’t be able to hear her.

      “It’s all right, Dorrie,” Quinn said sweetly, patting the woman’s arm again. “I’m used to Wyatt’s moods.”

      “Moods?” Dorrie repeated hesitantly.

      “Quinn,” Wyatt said, a little louder this time. Quinn sent him another innocent smile. “What are you doing here?”

      “Wyatt, I’m not sure I like your tone,” Dorrie said, sounding offended on Quinn’s behalf.

      Quinn bit her bottom lip to hide her smile from Dorrie, but she didn’t hide the twinkle of amusement in her eyes as she turned to Wyatt.

      Dorrie sent Wyatt a death stare, then smiled at Quinn. “I apologize for Wyatt’s behavior. You’re obviously here for lunch and just stopped by to say hello. That’s very nice—”

      “I’m not here for lunch, unless they’ve changed the menu to include items that don’t automatically turn you into a cow,” Quinn said, then turned to Wyatt with a lovestruck look in her eyes. She placed a hand on his arm. “I came here because I heard that Wyatt would be here. He and I had a small argument this morning and I wanted to apologize.”

      Wyatt could almost hear some cheesy soap opera music playing in the background. He glanced at Dorrie. She looked as if she had swallowed something distasteful. And Wyatt instantly knew what Quinn’s little show was about.

      Wyatt narrowed his eyes at Quinn, who blinked at him. He moved his arm from her touch. “Apology accepted, Quinn. You can go now.”

      “Will I see you later tonight?” Quinn waited a dramatic beat, then added, “When Graham and Charlie get here.”

      “Quinn, we’ll talk later,”