Big Talking Man (Kings of Castle Beach #2) Read online

  Duke raises his brows. “Aqua?” he mouths.

  I nod happily as she lets go and takes her dad by his hand. “Have fun, you two.”

  After they leave, I change out of my pirate costume and take a hot shower, the water raining down on my sore shoulders. At least I put on enough sunscreen throughout the day so they’re not burned.

  Although, I wish I had asked Tate to help me.

  With a dreamy smile, I turn off the water and grab two towels, one for my hair and the other to dry off with. Speaking of which, I wonder what he’s doing?

  Is he thinking of me, like I am of him?

  Of our kiss?

  Our promise for tomorrow night?

  My heart speeds up, desire flooding through me and making my core pulse with need. I could take care of things myself, but—and I rarely show this kind of self-restraint since we separated four months ago—I want Tate to be the one to give me pleasure. Make me come so hard and feel so beautiful that I never want to leave his bed. I want him to make me forget the past and focus on the future.

  I quickly put on comfy pajamas and head to the kitchen for a snack, snagging my phone along the way.

  Me: Are you up?

  I busy myself with making homemade guacamole while I wait for his reply.

  Tate: Everything okay?

  Forcing myself to taste test the dip, I eat two chips worth before replying.

  Me: Totes. Just wondering if you felt like talking.

  Tate: About...?

  Me: us

  Tate: future us, thirty minutes ago us, or something else altogether?

  I can’t help but notice how he does not type out past us.

  Me: Thirty minutes ago us... and tomorrow night us.

  Tate: I’m listening.

  Me: I’m being so good right now. I’m all alone.

  I accidentally hit send before I can finish my sexy text.

  My phone buzzes, and Tate’s name appears at the top. I smile, answering on the next buzz.

  “No one’s there but you?” he asks.

  “River wanted to go home to sleep in her own bed, but she didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

  “Should I come over?”

  I swear I can hear his keys jingling.

  “No, and not because I’ve changed my mind either. I still want you to come over tomorrow night.”

  “I can be there in ten minutes,” he says tightly. “I swear I won’t—”

  “We’ve waited this long. Let’s make sure we still feel the same way tomorrow.”

  He doesn’t reply right away, and my stomach sinks. “Tate?”

  “I’m here... painfully aware that while you are right, not all of me is happy about it.”

  I laugh. “Then you’ll be happy to know I feel almost exactly the same way.”

  “Just almost?”

  “I had a cooling-down period.”

  “What did you make?”

  “Guacamole.”

  “With chips?” He sounds positively turned on by my talk of food.

  “Yup. And, Tate... they’re homemade, too.”

  He groans. “Wild child, you are killing me.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make you all the dip and chips you want tomorrow night.”

  “Are we talking about food or—?”

  “Both.”

  He laughs low in his throat. “I can’t tell with you, and damn if I don’t love it.”

  My words get caught in my throat. Clearing it, I force my tone to be light. Playful. “Then tomorrow evening, you will be in blissful heaven.”

  My phone buzzes. A reminder from Barron about tomorrow’s swearing-in ceremony.

  “Did you just get the reminder?” Tate asks, killing the mood. Once again, courtesy of a brother of mine.

  “As if we could forget,” I grumble. “He mailed out a ‘save the date’.”

  “I believe it. Also, I’m jealous I didn’t get one.”

  “Consider yourself lucky because I’ve been hearing about this for months.”

  Tate laughs. “Man, I hate missing out on so much by living in L.A.”

  My stomach twists. “You’re not missing out on anything in Castle Beach. Nothing ever changes.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  Longing takes hold, making me want to drive to Tate right this second. But I don’t. I need him to come to me. I need to know this is more than desire and lust.

  “Thanks. Again. For... everything today. You were a huge help.”

  “Anytime, wild child. Anytime.”

  As we end the call, I know one thing for certain—Tate hasn’t changed. Not even Hollywood had the power to turn him into the false image I’ve had of him for the past four months... and that thrills me down to my toes.

  Chapter 13

  Tate

  I manage to corner Quinn after church service, and she doesn’t look too upset by it.

  At all.

  In fact, I think she likes the fact I pulled her into a small antechamber off the main entrance and locked the door behind me.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  Her grey eyes crinkle at the corners. “You didn’t sneak me in here so we could be really naughty and make out in church?”

  “That’s later.”

  She arches a brow. “Really?”

  If we weren’t in church, I’d be cussing a blue streak right now because she’s being so playful. I need her to stay that way, but what I have to tell her has the potential to blow all the progress we made to hell and back.

  “Don’t be mad.”

  “Don’t start sentences with that phrase and you’ll have a better chance of me staying happy.” Winking, she toys with my tie, her clever fingers slipping under it and the placket of buttons to touch my chest. “My, my, Mr. Prescott, you are very warm and hard.”

  “Quinn.” I have to grin and laugh because she is so perfect right now. “I’m serious.”

  She schools her face. “I’m seriously listening.” But she seriously keeps her fingers moving against my bare chest.

  “I have to leave tomorrow morning. First thing.”

  “What?” Her fingers still, confused eyes searching my face. “Why?”

  I cover her hand with mine, keeping it in place. I don’t want her to let go of me. I want her to understand... And I wish I never made that promise to Keilie. “I made a promise to another director that when the time came, I’d be there. Throw my support behind a huge project to be filmed here in Castle Beach. Otherwise, it won’t see the light of day. I’m so sorry, Quinn. If there is any way you can change your schedule and come with me, I’ll book you a ticket, too. You can stay at my house. I’d introduce you to everyone. I didn’t realize that my promise to you and to my friend would be a scheduling issue... Shit. I mean, shoot. Not a scheduling issue but a— Say the word, and I won’t go. I haven’t even bought my ticket.”

  I mean it. My friendship with any other person on this planet means nothing when I compare it to the relationship I have and could have with my wife. “You know what? I shouldn’t have agreed to be there without talking with you first, but it was late and with the excitement of it all... I—”

  With her free hand, she places the tips of her fingers against my mouth. “Stop panicking. It’s okay.”

  I simply look at her.

  “Really. And if I could change my schedule this week, I’d fly out with you tomorrow.” She moves her hand. “This time, we’re going to be adults about everything. Besides, I kinda like that you made a promise to a friend and intend to keep it, even when it’s incredibly inconvenient.”

  “I don’t want this to come between us or for you to think you’re second best.”

  “The fact you didn’t book the ticket before speaking to me says volumes about your intentions. It also says you’re a good man who’s also good friend. “ She presses her palm, the one under my hand, more firmly against my chest. “You have such a giving heart, Tate, and I’m happy that hasn’t changed about you
.”

  I stare at her in awe. “I swear I’ll be back on the first flight that’s available.”

  Her smile is pure temptation. “I know.”

  “Good.”

  “I don’t know how good it is because I plan to make you wait until you get back to finish what we started last night.”

  My face falls.

  Quinn bursts out laughing. “Oh my gosh. I wouldn’t do that. I’m not going to do that.” She stops laughing long enough to kiss me fully. “I plan to have sexy times with you tonight.”

  “Oh, sorry, I can’t. I’m having sexy times with my wife tonight.”

  Quinn smiles. “Your wife is so lucky.”

  “So is your husband.”

  THE AFTERNOON DRAGS on and on, despite the fact that the festival is jammed packed today and keeps us on our toes.

  For most of that time, our booth had a line that wrapped around the corner. But not just because of the crowd, but because Quinn is just that good. Her latest paint job has Neptune riding a seahorse, and it looks so lifelike that people are doing double takes as she puts on the finishing touches.

  “Stay out of the water for at least an hour,” she cautions. “And you might leave your shirt off, too.”

  The guy who “commissioned” her work grins and bends over, his shorts sagging in the middle to give us a view of his plumber’s crack. “I’ll leave it off for the rest of the evening. Make sure you sign it at the bottom.”

  “I’m not signing your ass, Bert,” Quinn says before I can step up to the guy. Yeah, she might know him, but he doesn’t have to be such a perv to her.

  “I’ll sign your ass,” I volunteer, grabbing a sharpie.

  Bert shakes his head nervously. “Nah, man. I’m good.”

  “I insist.” I brandish the marker, popping off the top. “Why don’t you bend over a little more for me, so I can make sure I get the fleshy part?”

  Bert races out of Quinn’s booth like someone set his ass on fire, tossing out a, “Thanks, Quinn,” before he gets too far.

  Quinn bursts out laughing. “Oh, good grief. You didn’t have to scare him away.”

  “He didn’t have to hit on you.”

  “I think you’ve been around people who can’t tell the difference between a joke and actual harassment too long. One of those key points is how I feel about it.” She squints, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Bert is harmless, and I thought it was funny.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.” She motions for her last customer to come forward, a little boy who wants a spider web painted on his cheek. It takes Quinn all of five minutes to finish, then she puts up a sign that says closed by the clock tacked on to the post of our booth.

  “Just did have enough paint left,” she says, breaking out a bottle of liquid soap. I grab a large bottle of water to fill up a pan so she can wash her hands and I can wash off her brushes and sponges when she’s done. “There’s another pan and bottle of water to rinse everything off.”

  I fill up the second pan while she scrubs her hands. “You’re insane for sharing your gift for free. You’re so damn talented.” At one time, she wanted to study art, travel abroad to learn the best practices, and be inspired by the masters, but for whatever reason, she never followed through with it and decided to become a cosmetologist instead.

  She smiles. “Today is special, or I’d agree with you.”

  “Castle Beach is lucky to have you.”

  “You do know I’m a sure thing tonight, right?” She rinses off her hands, then dries them with a towel. “You’re totally getting in my pants.”

  “I’m not trying to get into your... booty shorts,” I snap, but then I see the teasing light in her eyes when she turns around. “I’m not trying to get in them yet.”

  “I was a bit worried there, Tate.” She moves closer to me, slipping her fingers through the belt loops of my shorts. “I mean, I do want to get into your pants.”

  My body is in full agreement. “Why don’t we skip the fireworks and make some of our own?”

  She bites her lip, her eyes dancing. “Coming from anyone but you, I’d tell them to take a long walk off a short pier for such a cheesy line. “

  My cheeks heat. “You know I always sucked at flirting.”

  “You know I’ve always adored your awkward flirting.” Her thumbs caress my dick, where it’s thickening and lengthening under my shorts. “Your very big vocabulary has always impressed me more.”

  “Stupendous.”

  “You’re still here. Good.”

  We jump apart at Barron’s booming voice.

  “We are closed,” Quinn says. I go back to cleaning brushes, mostly so I can hide my erection.

  “Sorry, bro. No Iron Man mask for you.”

  “I’m not here for—Quinn, I really need your help.”

  “With what?” she asks, the playful mood that permeated her body ebbing away like the tide.

  “She’s busy.” I toss the soapy brushes into the water-filled pan. “Find help from one of your other siblings. Or your fiancée.”

  Barron grimaces. “But she’s the only one who knows how to talk to Ophelia.”

  “Is she at the lighthouse?”

  I step in front of Quinn. “She is not the only one. All of you are responsible for Ophelia, so stop pushing it all on Quinn. If you’re capable of running a town, you’re capable of helping your sister-in-law deal with her grief.”

  Barron turns to his sister. “Is he speaking for you now?”

  “Yup.” Quinn joins me, her arms crossed. “I need a break, Barron, and you guys need to step up. I can’t be there emotionally for Ophelia, Momma, River, and whoever else needs constant supervision. Not all the time. I just can’t.”

  “Why haven’t you said something before now?” he asks.

  “Because... because I just didn’t.” She throws her hands in the air. “I shouldn’t have to explain why I need a break.”

  “How about because Quinn doesn’t like to tell y’all no and every single one of you take advantage of that? She’s not your personal assistant, and she’s not a grief counselor.”

  Barron’s gaze slices to me, an admiring smile kicking up the corners of his mouth. “Then I’ll find someone else.”

  “Or do it yourself,” Quinn points out.

  He shrugs. “Or that.”

  Quinn exhales. “All you have to do is listen to her, that’s it. She feels alone, invisible, and lost.”

  One of Barron’s best traits is that he’s a good listener... and he genuinely cares about people. I guess that’s probably what helped get him elected as mayor.

  “What if that doesn’t work?”

  “Then get Duke. She’s always looked up to him.”

  Barron shoves his hands into the pockets of his preppy shorts, light pink and striped with dark blue. That’s the one thing we have never had in common—clothing styles. “Wish me luck,” he says as he walks away.

  “You can do it,” Quinn shouts, then turns to me. “Let’s get this booth cleaned and head over to my place.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” I start drying the brushes and sponges, then pause. “Just so you know, I didn’t come to your defense because I thought it would interfere with our plans.”

  “I know.” She gives me a soft smile, then a saucy wink. “But I said no because I didn’t want anything to interfere with our plans.”

  Chapter 14

  Quinn

  For the first time in years, I’m nervous around Tate. It’s nothing he’s done, but rather the situation we find ourselves in. The one in which both of us—mostly me—ignored one another for four months.

  Only Tate came home.

  Made me an offer that my pride couldn’t refuse.

  And now... now I wish I hadn’t taken it at all. I wish we were racing to my house because we simply couldn’t take it anymore. We had to make this connection.

  Had to feel skin pressed against skin.

  Mouth to mouth.


  Hands roaming.

  Exploring.

  Making me cry out his name.

  Making him groan mine.

  Until we’re fighting again. Until I push him away. Until this time, five months pass, maybe even eight. A year.

  Or worse, he simply stops coming home because I’ve pushed him to the limits of his patience.

  I skid to a stop at the door, turning to him. “I can’t get out of my head. Help me.”

  He searches my face. “Are you worried you can’t come back from this, from spending the night with me?”

  Biting my lip, I nod. “I’m afraid we’ll end up worse than before. Please don’t be angry.”

  “Oh, wild child. I am anything but that, and you have nothing to worry about.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “When you trust me with your feelings and thoughts... nothing makes me happier. And at this moment, hornier.”

  He winks, and I let the laughter bubble up and out of me. I punch in the code, deliberately slow so he can memorize it. “You’re welcome to come and go as you please, but I hope you’ll come more often than you go.”

  He groans low in his throat, framing my face with his hands and kissing me so thoroughly that goose bumps rise on my skin. Desire twines through me, heating me all the way to my core. My pulse is erratic, and I’m throbbing everywhere that matters.

  Blindly, I reach for the door and twist it. We fall inside, but manage to keep upright. Trading kisses, we stumble up the stairs to the third floor, pausing every so often to get rid of an article of clothing. By the time we get to the bedroom, I’m only wearing my pirate’s hat and he’s incredibly nude.

  “I’m digging the hat, Quinn.” Tate falls on the bed, spreading his arms wide. His erection is hard and free. I gulp. “Have your way with me, Captain. I’m your prisoner.”

  I tear off my hat and crawl up his body, kissing and biting him along the way. He’s so hard, so firm, and so mine. His stomach contracts as I nibble at his six-pack, the fine hairs of his chest tickling my cheek as I go higher.

  I rub against him, purring like a cat. “I’m glad you didn’t laser this off or keep it waxed.”

  “A perk of being behind the camera,” he says, his deep brown eyes full of lust and love. God knows he loves me, and I know he does, too. “Why don’t you put that pretty pussy of yours on my face?”