Big Talking Man (Kings of Castle Beach #2)

by Marquita Valentine

  “Shit, Quinn.”

  I let it run up me, all the way to my head, and just when it feels as if the top is about to blow off, she’s crying out and I’m pumping inside of her, filling her up with my come.

  My legs are boneless, knees weak, as I pull out of her. I attempt to get us to the shower so we can clean up, but Quinn shakes her head.

  “Don’t care. I’ll be messy with you in bed.”

  I snag a clean t-shirt from the drawer, then toss it to her. “Here.”

  She cleans herself up as best she can before crawling under the covers. I do the same, pulling her against me so she’s in my arms.

  Right where she belongs.

  I kiss her sweaty temple. “Two orgasms. Just like I said.”

  Laughing, she reaches over to turn off the lights. The room goes dark. Instead of falling asleep right away, I caress the curves and planes of her body.

  “Stay the rest of the week with me, Quinn.”

  There’s a beat of silence. “I’d planned on it.”

  My heart becomes so big I’m shocked it doesn’t burst out of my chest.

  Chapter 18

  Quinn

  Tate’s first meeting is at nine the next morning. As we drive to the studio lot, I’m like a little kid. My mouth is open, my face pressed tight against the window.

  My amazing husband even brought me out thirty minutes earlier than his meeting just so I could explore to my heart’s desire.

  Well, almost. I’m dragging from jet lag, the studio lot is bigger than the entire town of Castle Beach... and I didn’t get dressed in time to get here any earlier, but I’m still starstruck.

  There are larger-than-life props from the set of Cleopatra that’ve been recently dug up and brought into warehouses the size of airplane hangars in order to be restored.

  Tate takes the time to explain what each building is, and when we leave his car to take a golf cart tour, I squeal with excitement and clap my hands. Sure, it’s goofy as anything, but I don’t care.

  “That’s where they filmed every episode of the The Office.”

  The Office is hands-down my favorite show. Puzzled, I scrunch my nose. “I thought they filmed it at eleven different locations.”

  “Uh... I don’t think so.”

  I squint at him from behind my dark glasses. “Are you sure?”

  He grins. “Nope, but I was hoping you didn’t know as much as you do about the show. That’s what I get for trying to pull a fast one.”

  “Looks like I won’t be the one who has to beg tonight, huh?” I elbow him in the ribs. He playfully grabs me, digging his fingers in while the driver ignores us. Hopefully, we won’t fall out of the backseat of this thing.

  Tate kisses my neck. “I am never above begging when it comes to you, wild child.”

  IN MY WILDEST DREAMS, I never imagined a Hollywood power meeting could be so dang boring. For some reason, I expected major movie stars would be here instead of super old dudes and dudettes who don’t have a clue about what America wants in a film, but they’re going to give it to us anyway.

  “With all due respect, you can force feed the masses swill gilded up with some sugar and expect them not to reject it,” Tate says. “Keilie’s project will be a palate cleanser. The viewing public wants to see the little guy win; only this time, both sides think they’re the little guy and a powerful lawyer and a family of politicians are the ones pulling the strings of the lawsuit and land grab.”

  Wait. What?

  Keilie, a woman with dark brown skin and liquid black eyes nods. “Ms. Wren’s background is unique as well. She’s Dutch and Lumbee Indian. She’s taking care of her elderly parents, and trying not only to hold onto traditions of the past, but also modernizing a family farm that’s been there for hundreds of years.”

  “A plantation,” one of the men sneers.

  “No, her father’s side were abolitionists, providing jobs for the tribe members as well as free black men and women. Can you imagine how well that will be received in Cannes?”

  Tate leans over to whisper. “Cannes means Oscar contender.”

  “Oh. That’s good.” I smile at him, then at Keilie, who is continuing to state her case to get a studio behind her project.

  “We’ll think about it.”

  Tate rises to his feet. “Thank you for your time, but if you take too long, I plan to fund the doc myself.”

  Keilie’s mouth drops open. “Tate. You didn’t...” She clears her throat. “You weren’t supposed to share that yet.”

  That gets the suits talking, and they don’t seem happy. I so wish I had popcorn right about now.

  “It’s only fair to warn them what will happen should they pass. Then again, Lionsgate expressed keen interest.”

  Ooh, a power play.

  “But they don’t have the reach we do.”

  “Word of mouth is all we need,” Keilie counters.

  I watch Tate work his magic, Keilie at his side working hers as well. Together, they’re one tough team to beat. I love that about him—how he can stand up to the powers-that-be for another person, yet know when to step back so they can have a voice as well.

  “We’ll let you know tomorrow,” a woman with red lipstick says.

  Tate grabs my hand, helping me up. The three of us walk out of there with our heads held high. I simply follow Tate and Keilie’s lead and remain quiet, but in my head, a thousand questions are pinging around.

  “I’m thinking we should do lunch instead of dinner,” Keilie announces.

  My stomach growls. “I agree.”

  “Lunch it is.”

  Tate’s driver shows up with the car and we pile inside, the three of us in the wide backseat.

  “So did we win?” I ask.

  “A little bit,” Keilie says. “Thanks to this guy. When you said you’d finance my doc yourself, I thought for sure they’d call your bluff.”

  “It wasn’t a bluff. I believe in your project, and I know how much this means to you. Your family connection to the local people is powerful, and the story needs to be told.”

  “Tate.” She slowly shakes her head. “I don’t how I’m going to pay you back... Again.”

  “Give me credit at the end. Small line, tiny print. All Hail Tate Prescott will do.”

  I burst out laughing, because that’s such a non-Tate thing of him to say. Keilie joins in.

  “Yeah, I’m thinking something a little more subtle like Special Thanks to Tate Prescott.”

  Tate pretends to consider it. “Whatever you think. I’m fine with it.”

  “Are you really going to do a documentary on Wren’s farm?”

  “Yeah. She’s up against something so big and underhanded that I need to shed light on it. Unfortunately, by the time those suits actually give me funding, the court case could be over.”

  “Court case?” I say faintly. “She’s a client of mine, and she hasn’t mentioned a word. Although, what would you say to people about that, really? I remember when my dad was accused of embezzlement, and it was printed in the papers. People would either be really sympathetic or especially jerky to us.”

  “Embezzlement, huh?” Keilie asks, seeming intrigued.

  “Not for public consumption,” Tate says firmly. “But if you want to interview the Kings for the doc, I’m sure they’d be agreeable. They can speak to the importance of Wren’s family farm.”

  “I don’t know. Wren and Barron—who is the youngest mayor elected in Castle Beach’s history and just so happens to be my brother—do not get along.”

  “Is he fit for public consumption?”

  “At your own risk,” I say, and Tate laughs. “Please be sure to mention that if the count had been any closer that a hermit crab would have decided the next mayor.”

  “I can’t tell if you’re serious or pulling my leg.”

  Tate puts his hand on my knee. “She’s very serious. I can confirm it. Barron was my best friend growing up. Still is. Well, most of the time, anyway.”


  “Maybe I should focus on Castle Beach next.”

  “Only if you like pirates. The descendants of the one and only Blackbeard run that town.”

  “Okay, now you’re pulling my leg,” Keilie says with a laugh. “Tate talks about you all the time, but he’s never mentioned that connection.”

  He has? “It’s because he’s sad he’s not a pirate.”

  “Who needs to be a pirate when I have one of my very own?” he counters, making me all warm and gooey inside, like a double-chocolate brownie.

  The driver slows to a stop at the curb.

  “I’m thinking Quinn needs to share a lot of what you’ve failed to mention over the years with me,” Keilie says. “Starting with how the two of you met.”

  “He’s my best friend in the entire world; always has been since I was a little girl,” I blurt, shocking myself with the truth.

  Keilie lays a palm against her chest, making an aww sound.

  “You’re my best friend in the entire world, too,” Tate says softly as the driver helps Keilie out of the car.

  I blink. “What about Barron?”

  “He doesn’t kiss as good as you,” he says seriously, then winks.

  We get out of the car, laughing so hard I don’t mind all the paparazzi snapping pictures of us as we do.

  Chapter 19

  Tate

  We spend the next few days catching up on all that we’ve missed in the past four months.

  I’m not even ashamed to say that most of our time takes place in bed... and in the shower.

  The living room.

  The kitchen counters... basically, any place convenient when the mood strikes.

  Poor Brad has been stuck in the pool house since Quinn arrived, but I don’t feel but so sorry for him since he’s been entertaining a couple of guests on his days off.

  Either way, I’m personally feeling so damn good I finally broach the subject that’s been weighing on my mind... and my heart.

  It’s now or never because I refuse to wait a second longer when it comes to my wife.

  I roll over in bed, pulling her into my arms. My new favorite position. She closes the Netflix app she’s been watching The Office on, then sets down her phone. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Uh-oh. That’s pretty scary,” Quinn says with a smile. “I’ll give you at least a penny for your thoughts.”

  “I want to go public with our marriage.” I hold my breath, waiting for Quinn to protest and find a hundred reasons why we can’t.

  “Okay.”

  My eyes rounding in surprise, I stare at her. “Okay?”

  She smiles shyly. “I’m tired of pretending that you’re anything other than my husband.”

  “Barron and Deacon know,” I confess. “You know I told Barron, but I have no idea who told Deacon.”

  “Probably Barron. “ She rolls her eyes. “He’s the worst at keeping secrets.”

  “That can be a good thing.”

  She shrugs. “I guess.”

  “I’d like for us to tell your family at the oyster roast next week.”

  “Wow. You really do want to go all out. I’m fairly sure Eden’s family will be there, which means that the press will be there, too.” She makes a face. “Barron hates that. He doesn’t say so, but I can tell.”

  “Maybe he puts up with it because he loves her.”

  “I’d hope so. Who gets married to someone they don’t love nowadays?” she scoffs.

  “Is that a yes?”

  She nods. “A big, scary-to-me yes.”

  “I’ll be by your side the entire time,” I vow.

  “I know, but it’s going to either freak everyone out in a happy way, or my momma will murder me for not letting her plan a wedding for her only daughter.”

  “I can see why that would be a problem.” I kiss her cheek. “How about we ask her to plan a reception for us?”

  “You are the smartest man in the world,” she says.

  I give her a cocky smile. “I married you, didn’t I?”

  “That’s so gonna get you laid, sailor.”

  She rolls me onto my back, not wasting any time at making good on her promise.

  Chapter 20

  Quinn

  Another week flies by, and I swear I’m like a kid waiting for Santa to come. As the date of the oyster roast draws closer, I start to freak out.

  But in a good way.

  In fact, I take all my freaking out on Tate, who doesn’t seem to mind I sleep at his house and sex him up until I can’t say my own name.

  I think that dang man enjoys it.

  I know I do.

  Right now, I’m in his arms, sitting on his back deck as we watch dolphins play. He rubs his chin against the top of my head while he talks business on the phone.

  I’m woman enough to admit I find his take-charge attitude completely sexy. I wonder if he’ll put on a suit for me tonight and play office romance, with me as the secretary with the not-so-hidden crush on her boss.

  “Do I want to know what’s got you squirming in my lap?”

  I nod. “You. Me. Desk.”

  “A repeat performance of your first night in LA?” He grows hard against my back. “That’s a great idea. Whose desk?”

  I glance up at him. “You don’t have one here?”

  “Not my house.”

  “Oh.” I frown. “Guess we could do it at my office.”

  “Hard pass.”

  “What do you have against my salon?”

  “Nothing except that it’s a ten-minute drive. Besides, we can improvise on the table in my dining room.”

  I jump to my feet. “Last one there has to be on top!”

  “Then I’m walking real, real slow,” he calls as I race inside, tossing my clothes off along the way.

  Peeking over my shoulder, I watch him swagger inside, his clothes melting away as if by magic. I suck in a breath because this man of mine is fit for public consumption in every way. From his rock-hard abs to his wide, ripped shoulders. Not to mention that movie-star face.

  “Like what you see?” he asks.

  I nod, then pose for him. “What about you?”

  Without saying a word, he pounces on me.

  And I enjoy every second of it.

  THE OYSTER ROAST IS going strong, but Tate is late, which is not like him. Unfortunately, that also means I have no one to talk to about all the people who are here who shouldn’t be, like the guy from the paper and the woman from the gossip magazine.

  Or the entire pack of Raleigh politicians who support Eden’s dad.

  Ugh. I hate politics.

  “And here she comes,” I mutter to myself before pasting on a smile as my brother’s fiancée draws closer. “How are you today, Eden?”

  “Fine.” It’s said dismissively before she finally deigns to focus her attention on me, but only to brusquely ask, “Have you seen Barron?”

  “About five minutes ago.”

  “And where was he?”

  “Heading to the can?”

  She sniffs haughtily. “Really, Quinn? The bathroom is the last place you saw him?”

  “It’s a natural thing, Eden. You shouldn’t be embarrassed about bowel functions.” I’m totally grossed out by this conversation, but it can’t touch my delight at making this amount of revulsion cross this uptight witch’s face.

  “Oh my god, you’re crass.” She snaps her mouth shut, then takes a deep breath. “That kind of talk won’t be allowed once I’m... married to Barron.”

  “Sounds like you two won’t have much to talk about.”

  “Ugh.” With a roll of her eyes, she flounces away.

  “Bye, Felicia,” I coo with a ‘buh-bye’ wave

  “That sounds nothing like Eden,” Campbell says.

  It wasn’t supposed to. “I have no idea what he sees in her. She’s such a douche.”

  Campbell shrugs. “Maybe she’s a lot nicer to him.”

  “Would you want to be with a guy who was only nice to you and n
o one else?” I ask.

  “Nope.”

  “Me either.” I shake my head. “Maybe someone should talk to Barron. Let him know—”

  “He won’t believe it until he either witnesses it for himself or she finally turns on him. Trust me, people like that show their true colors eventually.”

  I eye Eden’s retreating form. “Hopefully, she’ll show them before the wedding.”

  “Amen.” We clink our glasses together.

  “Oh, crap. Hazel’s monitor is going off. I’ll be back.” Campbell hurries away, and I wander over to the bar to refill my drink.

  Deacon is already there, three sheets to the wind as he cajoles the female bartender into pouring him another drink. He waves a twenty at her.

  She shakes her head. “We’ve already been paid.”

  “Consider it a tip.”

  “Not required for this party,” she says, and I finally intervene by grabbing an empty carafe.

  “Shove it in there,” I order my brother before leaning over the bar to mutter, “Donate the proceeds to whatever cause you want, or pocket it.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  She smiles. “Thanks.”

  Thankfully, one of Barron’s fiancée’s guests sidles up to the bar and she turns her attention to him.

  “What the hell, Deacon?”

  My brother turns his bloodshot eyes to me and slurs, “Whaddaya you mean what the hell, Quinn?”

  “You are as drunk as a skunk in a draft house on a Thursday night.”

  He frowns. “You would be, too, if Tate were married to a woman who wasn’t my sister.”

  “Hush. You’ll ruin the surprise.”

  Deacon’s baby blues widen. “He’s actually married to someone else? That’s right shitty, Q. I’ll talk some sense into him.”

  “No need. Everything is fine.” I grab Deacon before he can make good on his promise. “Stay. We’ll do shots.”

  “Pour away.” He sways into me. “Sorry. I’m not myself today.”

  “Are you too drunk for even yourself?” I ask, practically choking on the sarcasm. I hate how much my brother drinks... how much he screws around with his life and with women. But no one beyond Hollis can make him do anything sober anymore.