Daughters Of The Bride(33)
“Is it?”
“No. It was silly. And because I was so young, it’s on the small of my back.” She held up a hand. “Don’t judge.”
“I would never.” He leaned back in his chair. “What is it? The tattoo?”
“I am so not going to tell you.” His steady gaze made her squirm. “Stop it.”
“What?”
“Trying to influence me.”
“I haven’t said a word.”
“You don’t have to. I’m susceptible.” Okay, that came out wrong. “I mean you’re so much older and...” She sighed. “You know what I’m trying to say.”
“I haven’t a clue. Although it’s clear you think I’m old. That’s very flattering.”
“Not old, old...just, you know, experienced.”
“Are you calling me a man whore?”
“Do you deserve the title?”
He laughed. “Some days.” He finished his beer. “Tell me about the other tattoo.”
She felt her mouth drop open. She consciously closed it. No way he’d guessed. “What are you talking about?”
“If you got one as a symbol of your freedom and realized it was more about being trapped by a bad choice, you probably got another one when you figured out what to do with your life.”
“You’re good.”
“Like I said. I work with a lot of artists. Some days it’s an entire ocean of deep emotion. Very little surprises me.”
Did that mean he knew she thought he was sexy? Probably, she decided. And if that was the case, his complete lack of response meant he wasn’t interested. No surprise, but still disappointing.
“Between the shoulders?” he asked.
She sighed. “I hate being a cliché.”
“Only if it’s wings.”
She glared at him. “That’s not fair.”
“Sorry,” he said, not looking the least bit contrite. “For what it’s worth, I’m sure they look good on you.”
“Now you’re just placating me.” She narrowed her gaze. “If you’re so smart, what’s the one on the small of my back?”
“A butterfly or dragonfly.”
“Not even close. So there!” She stood. “I win.”
He chuckled. “Yes, you do.” He rose and walked around the table until he was a few inches from her. He was only a couple of inches taller, so she barely had to raise her head to look into his eyes.
“You don’t want to get involved with me,” he told her quietly.
She told herself not to blush even though she was pretty sure it was too late.
“It’s not going to go the way you think,” he added.
“ED?” she asked, before she could stop herself.
Quinn stared at her for a second, then he started to laugh. The happy sound made her smile. Something warm and just a little smug filled her chest. She might be out of his league, but at least she’d survived the encounter. That had to count.
He touched her face. “There are flashes of power. The trick will be whether or not you can channel them into something that can be used. It’s all there, inside of you. Have a little faith.”
She wanted to tell him he didn’t know what he was talking about. She wanted to ask him to explain what he meant. She wanted him to shut up and kiss her. In the end, she chose escape.
“Are you sure you don’t need more towels?” she asked.
“Get out.”
“I was just going. Thanks for lunch.”
“Anytime.”
8
“THREE COATS,” RACHEL said firmly as she handed over the volumizing mascara. “There are going to be pictures. You’ll want to look beautiful.”
“As long as it doesn’t look like spiders are resting on my eyelids.” Her mother took the offered tube. “No scary old lady pictures for me.”
“You’d have to be an old lady for that to happen.”
Maggie Watson smiled. “You’re very sweet, Rachel girl. I appreciate it.”
The familiar endearment, one she hadn’t heard in years, made Rachel smile.
She watched her mother lean toward the big mirror and begin to apply mascara. Maggie was in her midfifties. She worked out regularly, dressed well and looked at least ten years younger than she was. All of which made Rachel equally proud and depressed. The former because her mother was the poster woman for getting ahead on sheer determination. The latter because Maggie made it look easy and Rachel happened to know it wasn’t.
While her mother dressed in upscale suits and dresses, her own wardrobe consisted of black pants and black shirts, all in manmade fabrics that washed easily. There were days when she wished she wasn’t in the beauty industry, so she wouldn’t always be expected to have perfect hair and makeup herself. Both were time consuming. But no one wanted to go to a stylist who looked frumpy. She was battling an extra twenty pounds and the constant fear that she was the “before” picture, while everyone around her was an “after.”