She tapped the toast against her empty plate. "It was comfortable, I guess. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the best at making new friends. When Andrew and I started dating exclusively, I felt... relieved. I didn't have to try and figure out the awkward first dates, or stumble through all the get-to-know-you conversations anymore. And then I got... too comfortable."
He bumped her knee with his. "I find it hard to believe you were culpable in any way with your split from that jerk."
It was nice of him to say, but… "My schedule isn't really conducive to maintaining a relationship. I work six nights a week, from afternoon until my show wraps at midnight. It's hard to make it work. You know, for dinners with his colleagues. Or date nights."
"You're joking, right?"
She looked into his eyes. The real Wilder was back, and she was surprised at the vehemence in his tone.
"There are things called breakfast. And lunch. And matinee movies. And probably a million other ways to spend time together if he wasn't such a selfish—" he bit back whatever name he’d been about to hurl.
Quinn couldn't contain her smile. It was sweet that he was so offended on her behalf. "It wasn't only that," she admitted. "If I have a flare-up, my RA makes it so I can't even get off the couch. There were plenty of times I didn't want to go out."
"I don't blame you," he snorted. "If The Jerk was what you had to look forward to."
He was purposely misconstruing things. "Wilder—"
He didn't let her finish. Rotating toward her on the stool, he used a hand at her waist to turn her as well, until her knees were trapped between his. He reached for her, his strong fingers curving behind her jaw and into her hair.
Heaven help her, he was going to kiss her again.
And if he did, she would be a total mess when the weekend ended.
"Wilder." But she couldn't quite get the refusal out.
"I'll stop..." His soft words were a breath against her lips. "...if you want me to."
She didn't.
Wilder waited for Quinn to turn her head, or push against his chest with her palm, or say no.
But none of that happened.
Green light.
He only had to lean in a fraction of an inch before his lips touched hers. He feathered kisses to both corners of her mouth, then fully claimed it with his own.
She was warm but tense beneath his touch. Hesitant.
Maybe a little scared? He was certainly wary of the overwhelming pull he felt for her.
Or maybe she was holding back for another reason. He was confident she liked him, but he'd also cultivated the perception that he was a player. Only in it for the short term.
He should've pulled away, but before his better judgment prevailed, she sank into him and deepened the kiss, sending a shockwave through his system. Her hands slid up his chest and gripped the front of his T-shirt, pulling him closer.
His heart nearly exploded.
For the first time ever, he wanted more from a woman. Not just any woman—Quinn. But he didn't have the right to ask for more, not with the promises he'd made—to her and to himself—to keep this simple.
Garnering all his self-control, he broke the kiss. Touched her forehead with the tips of his fingers and swept several strands of hair away from her face.
She gazed at him dreamily, her eyes sparkling in the dim light. "I thought we agreed on no more kissing," she rasped. Nothing in her tone or body language supported her protest.
"Just wanted to make sure Andrew wasn't ruining the weekend for you."
She looked around the empty room, the silent downstairs beyond. "Andrew's not here."
"Exactly." Not even a thought of that punk should intrude on her past, present, or future. But that wasn't the whole reason Wilder had kissed her.
He'd done it because he wanted to.
And if she kept looking at him like that, he'd be powerless to keep from doing it again. "You should go catch a few hours of rest," he said, trying his best to dial down the intimacy between them. "Still lots to do tomorrow, darlin'."
A shadow passed behind her eyes, and she gave her head a slight shake, instantly clearing every trace of the connection they'd just shared. Turning on her barstool, she grabbed her empty plate and cup and carried them to the sink. "Thanks again for all your help tonight, and for the meal."
Wilder's chest felt hollow at the polite distance in her voice. "Anytime." He stood and gathered the rest of the dishes. "I'll take care of these. You go on up and get some sleep."
Without argument, she turned and strode from the kitchen, avoiding his eyes and tearing at his heart with each step she put between them. It was for the best, but...
He bit back an expletive. He'd started this little game for fun, but now, it seemed the stakes had been raised.
How the heck was he going to make it through the rest of the weekend without losing...everything?
Chapter 6
Six Hours to Prelude Music
A few hours of sleep, a couple of pain relievers, and some stretching exercises helped clear away the worst of Quinn's pain. Standing on the B&B's back lawn in the misty morning light, she could see things more clearly.
Both for the wedding and for her love life.
The chairs didn't need extra adornment. The white runner that'd be rolled out in the center aisle would be strewn with rose petals and would make a statement. She could let that task go.
Pulling out her tape measure, she moved on to the gazebo, ready to make note of the dimensions.
If only she could move on from Wilder as easily.
She should've kept her distance from the start. Should've slapped him when he'd surprised her with that first kiss. And then said no to everything else.
Spending time with him had shown her exactly what she'd missed out on in her relationship with Andrew. She did deserve someone who treated her with respect. Who took care of her when her RA acted up, and every other day, too.
A million other ways to spend time together...
Wilder had been clear that the right someone would find a way to fit into her life if he really wanted her.
But it wasn't going to be him.
And the more time she spent with him, the more she wanted it to be.
If she hadn't been enough to keep Andrew's interest, she for sure wouldn't be enough to interest someone like Wilder, not long-term.
He was impossibly handsome and dated widely, and though she was sure the things his family believed about him weren't entirely true, she knew she'd never stack up to the other women he'd dated. After yesterday, he knew exactly how awkward she was, and she hadn't even told him all of it.
In the gazebo, she made several notations in the small journal she'd brought outside. When she looked up, Wilder was striding across the grass toward her.
He wore what might be the same jeans as yesterday, this time with a plain black T-shirt that stretched across his shoulders, showing exactly how beautifully he was made.
The memory of their late-night kiss in the kitchen invaded her mind. The intoxicating feel of his lips on hers, his muscular chest beneath her palms. But more than that, how he'd so tenderly cared for her every need throughout the evening. And the deep connection she'd felt with him, which had been unlike anything she'd ever experienced.
It seemed only she had felt that connection, though, and her intensity must've been too much, because he ended the kiss so abruptly. The sudden casual tone he'd employed—and the stupid generic pet names—had sliced through her, a clear reminder that he had no intentions beyond the weekend. She'd known this. Truly, she had. But somehow, it still hurt—far deeper than any auto-immune pain could reach.
As he neared, she wanted to run.
Or throw herself at him and let him catch her.
For how long? A few more hours?
What did it matter? If someone like Wilder wanted to spend the day with her, wanted to kiss her and tell her she was beautiful, was she really going to deny herself?
Because when Quinn
went back to Austin, Claire would be married and wrapped up in her husband. And Quinn would go back to her silent apartment and her cat and her hours in the studio.
"Hey." Wilder's greeting came when he was still a few feet away. A question in his voice, like he wasn't sure how she'd receive him.
The feeling was mutual.
"Hey." She gave him a reserved smile.
"You're hard at work already."
She finished with the tape measure and set it on top of the notebook to keep the wind from rustling the pages. "The sleep helped. I'm feeling better this morning."
"I'm glad." He stopped just before the gazebo's first step and looked up at her. "Good news. My mom is on board to help with the flowers. Whatever you need."
"Great." Shifting her weight, Quinn wrapped her arms over her middle. Her awkwardness was out in full force. She should head back to the house, but she couldn't stop staring at his handsome face, at the dark stubble shadowing his jaw.
He flashed her a bemused smile. The man knew exactly how he affected her. The devil.
He planted one boot on the gazebo's bottom step. "In other news, don't count on Shelby for help decorating. It seems she snuck out sometime after we got in last night."
Quinn winced. "Oh no."
"Oh yes. I've already texted with her, though. She says she's fine, and she'll be back here soon, whatever that means."
"And you didn't tell your mom." Quinn leaned against the white wooden railing.
"Nope." His eyes danced. "If Shelby shows up to walk down the aisle with her bridesmaid's dress on, I'm calling it good."
She chuckled, not knowing what else to say to him.
"My mom's friend Gina is serving breakfast," he said. "Did you already have some?"
"I'll go in in a minute." Once Quinn went back inside, it would be busy work and then dressing for the wedding and trying to settle Claire's nerves. She was enjoying this brief stretch of calm before the frenzy. And whether she was willing to admit it or not, she was enjoying the time alone with Wilder.
"Well, whenever you're ready, I'm at your disposal," he said. "I'm not much for designing the flowers, but I'll carry 'em and hang 'em wherever you want."
She glanced at the slate-gray sky. "We should probably wait a bit. Isn't there a chance of showers this morning?" The air certainly felt muggy enough to rain, and she didn't even want to know what the humidity had done to her already frizzy hair.
Wilder fished out his phone, pressed the screen, then turned it toward her. According to the weather app, it looked like a tiny line of storms would be moving over them any minute.
He returned his phone to his pocket.
"Any sign of The Jerk?" she asked with a glance back to the B&B.
A laugh burst from Wilder, making her grin. "You've adopted my nickname for him. I love it."
"I think... " She suddenly felt shy again. "Maybe you were right. About the way he treated me. I let it go on for too long."
Wilder stepped onto the outer decking of the gazebo, a thin ledge not really made for standing. He wrapped a big hand around the same post where she'd stationed herself, putting them face-to-face.
Part of her wanted to move away, but most of her did not. She held her ground.
"Why did you?" he asked, his expression earnest.
The genuine care she'd seen last night had returned, compelling her to answer truthfully, but she couldn't meet his eyes as she spoke. "When I was a kid, my dad was gone a lot on business trips. I found out later that my mom suffered from severe anxiety and even some paranoia. I didn't know that then. I only knew that she didn't like talking to anyone—not even the mailman or the checker at the grocery story. And she didn't like me making new friends. When I would play with the little girl across the street, my mom would quiz me for hours about what she'd said and how I'd replied. I walked around scared to do or say the wrong thing. I was homeschooled, so there was never a teacher around to notice what was going on, and I was twelve by the time my dad figured out what was happening. My mom went to therapy and got on some meds that helped. I went to a therapist, too. But... a lot of times, I'm still afraid of making a mistake when I talk to someone. And dating... that's a whole new minefield."
His hand settled over hers on the column, warm and steady. The touch gave her the strength to raise her eyes and hold his gaze.
He watched her with compassion, not pity. She didn't know what she’d have done if he'd pitied her. But she hadn't needed to worry, not with Wilder.
"And that's why you chose radio broadcasting."
She nodded. "There's some dissension about how much of communication is nonverbal, but it's a lot. Being behind the microphone... I don't know. There's some separation there that makes me feel comfortable."
He squeezed her hand gently. "Not only that, but your experience helps you bring empathy to your callers."
Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. She knew he noticed the blush. He'd already commented on her inability to take a compliment, so she said nothing.
He dipped his chin and smiled, as if he knew he'd made her uncomfortable. "Does Claire know all this?"
"Yeah. By some miracle of fate, we got assigned randomly as roommates our freshman year of college. I'm sure I freaked her out in the beginning, but she stuck by me. Then during our sophomore year, well..." She didn't dare mention Mr. Baseball, the man whose name would not be mentioned, not on the day of Claire's wedding to someone else. "She went through a hard time, and that cemented our relationship. She's like my sister."
Wilder had opened his mouth to say something when a clap of thunder shook the ground and the skies opened up. Quinn was safe under the gazebo roof, but he yelped when the cool rain hit him.
She laughed as he swung himself into the gazebo, his eyes narrowing on her. "You think that's funny?"
Wilder advanced on Quinn, and she squealed, but with the rain pouring down in torrents, she had nowhere to go. He captured her waist easily. "Do you?"
"N—no." She'd dissolved into giggles that made it hard for her to talk. "N… not funny at… all."
Wrapping his arms around her, he contained her squirming body, burying his nose in the hollow between her neck and shoulder... and blew a raspberry against her skin.
She went from giggling to all out laughing. "Uncle! Uncle, Wilder, uncle."
She was breathless when he let her go, laughter still shining in her eyes.
And he was helpless against her pull.
He reached for her, and she came to him easily, her arms twining around his neck. His hands spanned her waist, and this time when he kissed her, there was no holding back. Not on her part. And definitely not on his.
She was smiling against his lips, and then he was, too. After a moment, he deepened the kiss, and she opened to him. Her hands moved, fingers threading into his hair, the simple touch igniting a fire in his belly.
He pulled her in further, needing to be as close as possible.
Because he was falling in love with her.
That thought, so out of left field, was like a punch to the gut. He couldn't breathe, and he broke the kiss, only to sprinkle more along her cheek, her temple, her ear. He kept her pressed close, tucked her head next to his as they both tried to catch their breath.
Because if she could see his face right now, she'd see the utter panic that was coursing through him.
It had to be a fluke. An exaggeration of the passion he'd experienced from kissing her. That was it.
But as he stared out blindly, not really seeing the sheets of rain that trapped them here in solitude, he knew he was lying to himself.
He was falling for her.
No. Just no. He'd promised himself that after Josie... after Josie, he was never going there again.
He'd dated plenty of women without ever being tempted to use the L-word.
But there was something special about Quinn.
Her story had touched a place deep inside him. Maybe he did have a hero complex—as Shelby liked to accu
se him of—because he wanted to go back in time and fix things for Quinn, help her find the confidence he knew she could have. Shake some sense into her when she'd allowed Andrew to damage it further. Just plain punch Andrew. Jerk.
Quinn was amazing. Everything about her, even the way she'd jumped in to help Claire and Nick with the wedding without asking for so much as a thank you.
But she deserved so much better than Wilder could offer. Because after Josie, he feared he had nothing left to give.
Even if he did have feelings for Quinn—he was moving toward full denial here—he'd never act on it. He'd promised her one weekend, and that's what he'd deliver. She'd go back to her life in Austin, and so would he.
Thinking about living so close to her, even though they lived on different sides of the city, and not being able to see her made him ache inside.
And how about when she eventually found and fell in love with someone else? Surely it would be akin to the agony in her joints when her RA was flaring up. He had no other description for it.
"What's the matter?" she asked, her jaw moving against his shoulder.
"Nothing." His voice emerged like he felt inside, raw and rough.
"Something. You went all tense."
He couldn't admit it. How could he when his emotions were in complete turmoil?
Twenty-four hours. That was too short a time to feel so strongly for a woman, any woman. Surely it was a figment of his imagination, borne from being forced into close proximity, learning so much about her in so short a time.
This feeling would fade when he got back to Austin. It had to.
"Nothing." He kissed her temple again as the rain let up. "Let's make a run for the house."
As far as he was concerned, the less time spent alone with Quinn for the rest of the weekend, the better.
Chapter 7
Something had happened out in the gazebo. Whatever it was had sent Wilder running behind his invisible wall.
He'd held her hand as they'd dashed through the rain. And when they'd eaten a quick bite at the breakfast nook, his knee had pressed to hers beneath the table.
Someone Borrowed: sweet contemporary romance (Jilted in Sawyer Creek Book 3) Page 5
