Big Talking Man (Kings of Castle Beach #2) Page 9

  “Mind if I walk you home?”

  Quinn pauses, mid-donut bite. She licks the corner of her mouth, where a piece of glaze has gotten stuck. Man, I want to do it for her. “I’m a big girl, Tate.”

  “That’s not why I’m offering.”

  “I know.” She pops the rest of the donut in, then washes it down with a gulp of milk. “This isn’t easy for me.”

  “I know.” I give her a wry smile, then wave to a fan who is standing across the way, jumping up and down while screaming out my name. She pretends to faint, and her friends give her multiple thumbs up.

  “How much you wanna bet they find a way to sneak over here?” Quinn asks.

  I shrug. “Up to Bette who she wants to let in after closing time.”

  “True.” Quinn sighs thickly, then shocks the hell out of me by leaning against my shoulder. “I shouldn’t have agreed to babysit tonight. I’m so flipping tired.”

  I pat her leg, loving the feel of her soft skin. “Want me to help you?”

  She looks up at me, her pretty eyes liquid. “I think I’ll spare you the drama of it all.”

  “Ten-year-olds are drama?” As an only child who was raised by two of his great-aunts, I don’t know all that much about kids.

  “River is. Well, she might be. It’s a fifty-fifty chance that she’ll be an angel or not. I can’t be mad at her, though. She’s going through a lot right now.”

  “And you have a soft spot for her.”

  “That I do.” Quinn grabs her trash, tossing it over the counter and into the bin. “Do you remember Laken?”

  “River’s mother and Duke’s ex.”

  “That’s the one.” She stands and I do the same, capturing her hand in mine as we exit the donut shop’s small, open-air dining room and bar. Her fingers slide between mine just before she gives them a little squeeze. I want to roar at this small victory, but I settle on keeping contact instead. “She’s moved back to Castle Beach, and is attempting to repair her relationship with River.”

  I suck in air. “Can’t be easy.”

  “Especially when the woman who wants to suddenly be your mother brought a family with her.”

  “Damn. That’s got to be hard.”

  The boardwalk is mostly deserted as we stroll. The sky, however, is full of stars.

  “Duke lets River stay up this late?”

  “It’s summer.” She eyes me. “I don’t remember you having a curfew... because it seemed like you were always at our house.”

  “Guilty.” Plus, my great-aunts felt like a curfew would hinder my creative side. They were totally hippies. “Aunt Fern and Aunt Fiona thought rules were for squares.”

  “I didn’t know they were prejudiced against rule followers,” she teases. “It explains so, so much.”

  “About why I’m the ultimate rule follower?”

  “Yeah. You’re a total rebel.” She leans against me, her head on mine, and I swear this is better than sex. Okay, it’s pretty damn close because I’m not the one initiating contact. She is, and it’s not to distract or manipulate me into signing divorce papers either. “If only they could see you now.”

  My heart pangs at the thought of my great aunts, at their smiles and hugs, at their encouraging words and support. They were able to go to my very first huge movie premier, my dates for the night. Aunt Fi and Aunt Fern adored every minute of it.

  They’d died one week apart, unable to be in a world that, according to Aunt Fiona, didn’t have her true love living in it.

  Most people in Castle Beach knew my great aunts weren’t sisters and that only Aunt Fiona was my actual blood relation, but no one really cared. Plus, they’d done the ultimate in Southern duty by taking a toddler in to raise after his mother had died from a drug overdose and his dad abandoned him, only to be shot in a botched robbery attempt.

  To be clear, my dad was the bad guy and the one to get my mom hooked on meth.

  The thing is I don’t remember my parents at all, mostly because I was three when I came to live with my great aunts and they looked to be a million years old to me. But they had enough energy, time, and love for me.

  And I loved them right back for it.

  “If only they could see me holding hands with the woman of my dreams.” I repeat almost the very words I said to Quinn the day we got married.

  “Don’t ruin our moment.”

  “By speaking the truth?”

  Quinn’s lips thin, then her face softens. “Ophelia suggested that you were only following bad advice.”

  “I’m totally not going to throw Barron under the bus by saying that his advice to give you space and wait for you to contact me was total shit.”

  She snorts, then giggles. “Oh gosh. I can’t believe... maybe I have been too hard on you, but in my defense, you should have tried anyway.”

  I stop, pulling her to me so she’s right where she’s meant to be. “Yes, I should have. I should have done a lot of things differently.”

  “Hearing you say that,” she swallows, “it means a lot. And if I’m going to be an adult about this, then I should have done things differently, too.”

  “Does this mean I’m convincing you to stay married to me?” I brush back a strand of her wayward hair. My heart is pounding in chest so hard I fully expect it to burst out like in the alien diner scene.

  “Maybe.”

  I lower my head, putting our mouths only millimeters apart. “I’ll take it.”

  “Does this mean you’ll actually kiss me now? A real kiss, Tate, not on the forehead or cheek.”

  My extremely specific wild child. “I always kiss my wife under the stars.”

  “That’s pretty darn romantic.”

  “I am very romantic when the mood strikes.” Instead of kissing her like we both want, I spin her around and move in time to a familiar song that’s playing in my head. I start to hum the melody.

  “My favorite song. However did you know?” she asks.

  “My wife told me it was her favorite.” I smile against her temple.

  “My husband loves to sing it to me,” she replies, jumping right into our silly little game. No one would think anything of it because we’ve always been ridiculous together. When we were younger, she and Barron would help me rehearse lines. Quinn sat on the front row, with my great aunts and Barron, at the first play I scored the lead. She’d been all of thirteen. At the time, I loved her like a little sister.

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  But all that changed five long years later.

  “My wife loves for me to sing to her.” I burst out in song, making our movements grander. Quinn keeps up with me, not only because she’s so graceful, but also because we’ve done this before. She learned the choreography when my aunts, eight-five-years young at the time, were too tired to continue to teach me, and I had to get it down, or another actor with a lot more experience was a shoo-in for the part.

  “My husband is the most amazing dancer.” She laughs out the words, her head thrown back in abandonment. I couldn’t have directed this moment, couldn’t have scripted it, or spent months blocking it.

  This is pure, unadulterated joy.

  Love.

  Desire.

  She moves closer to me, her body pressing against almost every inch of mine. The heat of her is welcome and such torture.

  “My husband is also amazing in bed,” she murmurs. An invitation.

  So much fucking torture. I groan when her tongue darts out to lick at my lips.

  My hands roam down her back, wanting to grasp curves that make my dick hard, but I stop myself in time. We’re in public and God only knows who’s around, taking pictures of us.

  “My wife is the most beautiful person I know, inside and out.”

  Slowly, she blinks at me, lashes falling against the tops of her cheeks. “Take me home, Tate.”

  Images of her nude—oh so fucking nude—in bed hit me like a punch straight to the groin. Grabbing her wrist, I start to jog. She runs with me, laughing
as we dodge tourists, dogs, and vendors who left their booths up.

  “I want that kiss,” she reminds me as we round the corner.

  Almost there. I can see the lights from the top of her three-story beach house from here. “You’ll get that kiss,” I growl, sounding like a man possessed.

  Strike that, a man who wants to possess every inch of his wife and be possessed by her in return.

  “Shit!” Quinn stops and I run past her, almost yanking her arm out of the socket before I stop.

  “What?”

  She pulls me into a dark corner, up against a rental that has extremely dim lights under the main floor. “I forgot about River and possibly Ophelia.” Her chest is heaving, her breasts glistening with sweat. The corset pushes them so far up they look as though a hard tug could release them.

  I slam my mouth against her, my hands going to her tits, massaging them and plucking at her sensitive nipples. She moans into my mouth, hooking a leg over my hip. She rubs against me like a cat in heat, and I’m gone.

  I let go of one breast to cup her between her sexy thighs. She’s so damn hot. So damn hot.

  And it’s been so damn long since I’ve touched her, held her exactly like I want. I need this. I need her, all of her. Everything that makes Quinn, Quinn. I need her anger, her happiness, and her love.

  “I want everything from you,” I whisper hotly.

  “You can have all of me.”

  She clutches at my shirt, little fists tugging me closer as she plunders my mouth. Our tongues duel and slide against each other’s. Our lips fight for dominance, but she knows I’ll win. In the end, she’ll submit to me and I love that she’ll allow it.

  I work at the buttons of her shorts, desperate to touch her bare flesh. To feel if she’s as wet as I am hard.

  “Quinn, is that you?”

  My hard-on goes to a semi in zero-point-three seconds. An older brother calling out their sister’s name tends to do that. Doesn’t matter that she’s my wife. I feel like I’ve been up to no good and have to pay for it.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Give me a second to tell Tate where to be tomorrow.” She kisses me one more time, biting at my bottom lip. “We’re not done.”

  “Tomorrow night? Your house?”

  “Wear something sexy.” She moves toward her house.

  I slap her ass, and she blows me a kiss over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow at church.”

  That stops her cold. She gives me an odd look, as if she can’t believe what I’m saying. “What?”

  “Church. Tomorrow. That’s what people around here do on Sundays, with Chik-Fil-A closed and all.”

  “Right.” She smiles, a genuine one that makes my heart start to pound again. “Okay. I’ll see you at... church.”

  “Night, Tate,” Duke’s booming voice rings out. “Good to see you.”

  “Same to you,” I call, not stepping out into the light. All I need is for him to see me like this because one, I don’t know if he knows about Quinn and me. Two, I don’t know how he feels about Quinn and me. Three, I have personally witnessed the fights he and his brothers have gotten into in the past and let’s just say that Duke’s a strong son of a bitch.

  “Next time, bring her all the way home,” Duke says.

  I shake my head, my cheeks heating at his chastising. “Will do.”

  Oh well, Quinn’s worth it.

  Chapter 12

  Quinn

  “Thanks for making Tate and me feel like kids.”

  Duke grimaces. “River is waiting for you. She let herself in.”

  “That’s why I have a code just for her.”

  Instead of leaving like I want him to do, Duke crosses his arms over his chest. “Care to explain what’s going on with y’all?”

  Cocking my hip to one side, I tap my finger against my cheek and pretend to consider his words. “No, not really.”

  “Uh-huh.” Pushing away from his truck, he moves in closer to me. “I like Tate. He’s a good guy. But it seems to me that the last time the two of you were... close, it suddenly stopped and you turned into this miserable ghost of a sister.”

  I can’t stay mad at Duke when his concern and love for me is so obvious. “It’s not like that, at least not this time, and even though this is none of your business, last time wasn’t really Tate’s fault either.”

  “Whose was it?”

  “Barron’s,” I say firmly.

  Duke lifts his brows, as if to say of course it was. “Why are things different now?”

  I shift my stance. “It’s not... really. Things are the same, but we are handling our relationship like adults.”

  “Relationship, huh?”

  I nod. “Has it been that long since you were in one? Maybe try Tinder or Bumble. All the cool kids are doing it. Literally doing it... and you should be, too.”

  My brother glowers. “Where’s a money jar when you need one?”

  “Knight has suggested that Campbell label any jar with ‘All the cool kids are doing it.’”

  “Then I’ll do it.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You are such a pain in the tail.”

  “And you’re my little sister.” Uncrossing his arms, he runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t mean to be a hard ass. I’m concerned, and I’m wound pretty damn tight right now. River isn’t speaking to me. Let me rephrase that—River isn’t speaking to me that much, and Laken is on my ass to make our daughter spend more time with her.”

  “So much for change.”

  “It’s driven by guilt, Q. She’s lost so much time with River that she thinks she needs to make it up as quickly as possible, but it doesn’t work like that. Especially not for a ten-year-old girl who suddenly found out she not only has a mother who wants to be in her life right now, but also a little brother, too.” He blows out a breath, clearly irritated. “I can’t say shit about anything because I don’t want to poison River against her mother, but damn it, I’m tired of watching my little girl cry.”

  I take a step toward the door. “Holy crap, Duke. Is she crying right now?”

  “Not really. She wanted to stay home, but she also wants to stay with you. She said you’d be upset if she didn’t.”

  “Duke Edward King! Why in the world didn’t you tell that child she—oh, forget it.” I hold my hands up. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  “Quinn, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes, I do. I always do,” I mutter.

  Yanking open the door, I race up the two flights of stairs, then burst into the kitchen. River is in her favorite spot, the bench seat under a huge window that overlooks the beach.

  She sniffs, her dark hair in a braid that was probably amazingly put together at the start of the day. Duke, along with a bunch of other single dads, took a class from Roxi and me on how to care for little girls’ hair, no matter the texture.

  “Hey, Baby Duck. What’s quacking?” I approach her cautiously, not wanting to make her cry harder or worse, get really mad and stop talking.

  “Nothing.” She buries her head in a unicorn-printed blanket I made for her when she was three. Half the time, she leaves it at home. Other times, she surprises me by bringing it. I take the appearance of said blanket as both a good and bad sign. Good that she needs me, but bad she feels so in need of comfort right now.

  “I don’t know about you, but I really could use a milkshake. Why don’t we go with your daddy and get one?”

  She lifts her head. “You don’t even like milkshakes.”

  “I like them on Saturdays.”

  River’s stormy eyes, so like my brother’s, glare at me. “You don’t like them on any day.”

  It’s true. I don’t like milkshakes, but it’s because I don’t enjoy the texture, not because I don’t like ice cream in general. “But I always take you to get one.”

  “I know.” She fiddles with the edge of the blanket. “I want to go home, Aqua, and sleep in my own bed.”

  My heart stutters. When River was little, she couldn
’t say Aunt Quinn and somehow morphed it into Aqua, like the color. It also didn’t help that my hair was died turquoise for three years either. But now, River is testing out her grownness and has been calling me Aunt Quinn for over a year now.

  “Baby Duck, I will drive you home myself and tuck you in, or we can have a sleepover there... What do you think?”

  River perks up. “Really?”

  “Truly.” I wonder when River last had a choice in deciding what she does.

  “Or,” Duke says, walking in the kitchen, his hands in his pockets. “We can have a sleepover. Set up a tent in the backyard and make S’mores.”

  River perks up even more. I know what my choice would be. “That sounds like an amazing idea. Maybe next time I can come?”

  River’s brows crash together. “You don’t want to come.”

  “Please. Chocolate and marshmallows? I totally want to come, but I think your daddy’s feeling left out and you know how much we like to have girl talk.”

  River giggles. “Daddy does not like girl talk.”

  I bend down. “It’s because he’s jealous he doesn’t have any friends to have girl talk with.”

  That sends my niece into a fit of giggles. Even my grump of a brother smiles. “Easy, sister of mine.”

  I wink at him, then help River gather her things. “Sit with me during service tomorrow and I’ll let you take a nap when Pastor Riggins starts to drone on.”

  “Quinn.”

  “What?”

  Duke gives me a dad look. “You know what.”

  “Fine, you can take a nap after service.”

  River shakes her head, more hair falling from her braids. “I’m going to the preteen service.”

  “The preteen service?” Gasping, I slap my hand over my heart, then place it against my brow and execute my best Scarlett O’Hara accent, which, contrary to widespread belief, no one in the South actually sounds like that when they talk. “Lord have mercy, don’t tell me I’m that old. Gosh, that means your daddy is ancient.”

  Duke discreetly rubs the side of his nose with his middle finger and I laugh, delighted with his insult. “Say good night, Aunt Quinn.”

  “Night, Baby Duck.”

  River smashes into me, her arms wrapping around my waist. “Night, Aqua.”