Hot to the Touch

“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.