At First Touch Read Free

times over the last year, ever since her sister had married Wyatt’s best friend, and each time, she forgot her vow to be nice to him and instead snarled and snapped. It was surprising since she could fake liking even the most vile creatures. She had gone on a date with L.A. actors, after all.
    Quinn didn’t bother to hide her scrutiny of Wyatt as he directed his SUV down the dark, deserted highway that led from town, where the funeral home was located, to the Sibley house on the outskirts of the town limits.
    It was not as if he were ugly. In fact, if she thought about it for too long, she would admit that he was handsome…in that Sibleyville cowboy way. Long, lean and confident. He had honey-brown skin, dark curly black hair that he kept a tad too long and intense dark brown eyes that she always found looking at her, whenever she was within ten feet of him.
    She had only ever seen him in jeans and a button-down shirt, or a T-shirt. And she found herself thinking about that sight when she least expected it. Like sitting in the beauty salon, or in the middle of shopping, or when she had spent the entire four-hour drive from Los Angeles to Sibleyville preparing to see Wyatt, instead of preparing to meet with the director who could change her life.
    Quinn shook her head to erase thoughts of Wyatt in snug jeans and instead glared at him. Now she remembered why he annoyed her. He never spoke. He just stared and watched.
    She gritted her teeth and quickly rolled down the passenger window. It was much colder in Sibleyville than it had been in Los Angeles. She frowned as she thought of Los Angeles, or more accurately, her movie career. Leave it to Sibleyville. She had been in the dump of a town less than three hours, just enough time to ruin her career again.
    Quinn shifted in the seat and glanced at Wyatt. Aside from being a mute, he was so damn nice. He opened doors, said “please” and “thank you,” and probably helped little old ladies cross the street in his spare time. Only her sister and her sister’s too-perfect husband would know someone like Wyatt. No one in Hollywood would believe that someone like him existed. Quinn barely believed it herself.
    â€œDo you ever talk?” she abruptly demanded, angry at him for being so damn quiet and angry at herself for caring.
    Silence followed. Quinn sighed again and raked a hand through her hair, then quickly moved her hair back in place to cover her too large ears. Only one other person brought out this visceral reaction in her. Her oldest sister, Kendra.
    There was a long silence before he said evenly, “How are Graham and Charlie?”
    â€œIt took you a long time to come up with that one, didn’t it?” she said, with a short laugh. When more silence followed, she added, “They’re fine. Still in domestic wedded bliss. In other words, as sickening as always.”
    â€œSo, tell me about this movie. Why is it so important to you?”
    â€œWho said it was important to me?” she shot back.
    â€œThe fact that you would willingly talk to me tells me how important it is to you.”
    She rolled her eyes, but felt a small stab of guilt. She acted like a shrew around this man. And he was nothing but nice and polite to her. Sure, he watched her with those unsettling eyes, but when she thought about the type of fan mail she had received from men in prison—and a few women—when she had been at the height of her popularity on the daytime drama Diamond Valley , then Wyatt really wasn’t so bad.
    She reluctantly answered, “I haven’t worked since I left Diamond Valley .”
    â€œDiamond Valley?” he repeated, curious.
    â€œThe soap opera I reigned over as the character Sephora Burston for the last ten years before I was carelessly tossed aside like a bag of outdated wigs,” she snapped, more annoyed than she wanted to admit that Wyatt had no idea about the name of her show. She had been on