King's Passion

by Adrianne Byrd

  By the second time, his gaze performed a slow drag over her body, her heart was pounding, her nipples were hard as rocks and she was aching in between her legs. Long before King’s cute cousin strolled in, there had to be enough pheromones raging between the two of them to ignite an orgy.

  Victoria smiled as she removed her clothes, but remained in a dreamy state as she eased into the tub’s hot water. What would’ve happened if Grace and that other woman hadn’t barged in? Would she have allowed a complete stranger to do her up against the wall of his office?

  The answer was obvious, but she lied to herself by shaking her head. The good, conservative girl within her said that she would have ended things before he had gotten the chance to ease his hand anywhere near her panties. But the bad girl in her said who needed a hand when she could clearly feel his hard erection pressed against her through their clothes. She knew exactly what he was working with and it had only turned her on more—not less. Plus, hadn’t the man already laid claim to her butt? He was squeezing and caressing it as if it had been his God-given right. And wasn’t his mouth just mere inches from popping her right nipple into his mouth? Where were her good sense and values then?

  Her smile widened while she absently scrubbed her body. It wasn’t long before she was wishing that their little interlude could’ve lasted just five more minutes. Five more minutes of that wonderful mouth, those talented hands and hard, thick rod that was poking her in between her legs, begging her to say the word. “Yes,” she whispered, smiling.

  In the distance, the hotel phone rang.

  The twins. She sighed. I told them that I wanted to be left alone. She rolled her eyes and sank deeper into the tub. When the phone stopped ringing, Victoria smiled and went back to her memories of the sexiest man that she had ever met.

  Chapter 6

  “Damn it!” Eamon disconnected the call and then pocketed his cell phone.

  “Maybe it’s just me, but I could have sworn that you were a lot smoother with the ladies,” Quentin chuckled as he eased onto the bar stool next to him. “I certainly don’t recall you having them run away from you like escaped convicts.”

  Eamon lifted a brow. “You want to give me advice on women?”

  “Who better than a man who has been in the boxing ring with love?” Quentin volleyed without missing a beat. “I jabbed when I should’ve ducked and ducked when I should’ve jabbed.”

  “So you’re an expert now?”

  “Only enough to know that I’ll never get into the ring again.” Q winked. “But if you’re just trying to lure these delectable creatures into your bed, keep the nights from getting too cold, then I’m your man. You’d have to talk to my brothers for that happily-ever-after crap. They seem to have that down pat.”

  Though Quentin maintained his smile, there was an underlying sadness in his eyes and a voice that he couldn’t cover up. Why hadn’t Eamon noticed before?

  When Q grew uncomfortable with Eamon staring at him too hard, he patted him hard on the back. “Cheer up. Let me buy you a drink.”

  Eamon twisted his face. “We own the bar.”

  “Let’s not get hung up on technicalities.” He climbed out of his seat and went behind the counter. “What will it be, cuz? Bourbon? Jack?”

  “Kamikaze,” Eamon answered.

  “Ahh. Vodka and triple sec.” Quentin cocked his head. “Now, why doesn’t that come as a surprise to me? A Kamikaze man is adventurous, bold and courageous.”

  Eamon laughed. “You’re psychoanalyzing me based on the kind of drink I like?”

  “Laugh if you wanna, but all bartenders know that it’s an art as well as a science.”

  “You always did look at things differently.”

  “No. I think I’m on to something with this,” Quentin said, reaching for the bottle of vodka. “Ask any bartender and they will tell you the same thing I am. You can tell more about a man by what he drinks than the clothes he wears.”

  “Is that right?”

  “That is a fact,” Quentin boasted confidently. “What any man or woman wears is for show. It’s to proclaim a certain lifestyle or status, whether it’s real or not is irrelevant. It has nothing to do with what’s on the inside. But a drink is a little more intimate. I should know. I have drowned my sorrows in more than a few bottles.”

  Amen.

  “So what’s your drink?” Eamon asked.

  “Whiskey sour.” Quentin winked. “I let you figure that one out on your own.”

  Eamon laughed. He had to hand it to his cousin. He was definitely a charming guy.

  “Here you go,” Quentin announced. “One Kamikaze.” He set the drink on the bar.

  “Thank you.”

  Quentin corked up a brow. “What? No tip?”

  Eamon twisted his face. “Add it to my tab.”

  “I’ll tell you. No one ever appreciates a good bartender.”

  They shared a laugh while Quentin made himself a whiskey sour.

  “So how long are you planning to hide out here?”

  “Hide out? That’s an interesting choice of words,” Quentin said. “Is that what Xavier told you? He thinks I’m hiding?”

  Briefly Eamon wondered if he said something that he shouldn’t have, but he went ahead down this rocky road since his brothers had left him with very little to go on. “How would you describe it?”

  “I would say that I was celebrating.” His smile stretched a little wider.

  “Celebrating?”

  Quentin nodded as he turned up his drink. Once the contents were gone he immediately started to pour himself another. “I’m celebrating life, women and a hell of a lot of money that my father gave me.”

  “It must be nice,” Eamon mumbled.

  Quentin frowned. “The last time I checked you’re not exactly destitute, cuz.”

  “No. But I’m not exactly a trust-fund baby, either. Some people actually have to work for a living.” That only seemed to amuse Quentin more.

  “Is that the thorn in your paw between me and you? You don’t like my carefree lifestyle?”

  “I have a problem with a man who doesn’t make his own way in the world.” Their eyes locked, but Eamon continued. “You’re a spoiled little rich kid who has never taken anything in life too seriously.”

  “And why would I want to do that?” Quentin challenged. “Who in their right mind would want to jump on some hamster wheel chasing after some vague definition of success? Is success money? I have money. Is success happiness? Five days out of seven I’m pretty happy. Maybe with love and family?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Believe it or not, I have those, too.”

  “What about starting your own family?” Eamon asked.

  “Said one bachelor to the other.” Q smiled. “Unless you’re going to tell me that you have some little woman clubbed and cooking in your kitchen at home that you forgot to tell anyone about.”

  Eamon didn’t know how he walked into that trap all willy-nilly. “Okay, you got me with that one.”

  Quentin laughed as he started in on his second drink. “People in glass houses…”

  “Gotcha. You made your point.”

  Q floated for a minute, but then he seemed like he had discovered a riddle that he wanted or needed an answer to. “So why haven’t you settled down?”

  Had someone just switched on a gigantic interrogation light? Suddenly, the room felt incredibly hot and the tiny hairs on the back of Eamon’s neck stood at attention. “I’ll get there eventually,” he said, hoping that would help kick the can down the road.

  Quentin laughed. “Just not any time soon?”

  Eamon shrugged. “Maybe…maybe not. I’ve been a little busy with The Dollhouse. Hands-on type of work.” He tossed in a wink.

  “You’re starting to make me feel like you don’t appreciate me and my little checkbook.”

  Eamon smiled, but he didn’t answer.

  However, Q wasn’t about to let the subject go. “Anyway. The clubs are doing well and…”

&nbs
p; The front door opened and a long procession of dancers entered the club, smiling and waving. “Hello, Q, Eamon!”

  “You ladies ready to make some money tonight?” Quentin asked.

  “You know it!” Cotton Candy held up two deuces and bounced her hips.

  Q’s smile sloped unevenly as he watched the women stroll toward the back room. He didn’t miss a single bounce or jiggle. “You know you need to just go ahead and admit the truth.”

  Eamon frowned. Had he forgotten what they were talking about? “Which is?”

  “Men like us can never settle down,” Quentin said, matter-of-factly. “Just look at what we’re surrounded with every day—beautiful smiles, long necks, big breasts, small waists, nice hips, apple bottoms and long, firm legs. I’m starting to think that it’s just not natural for a red-blooded man to be able to choose just one.”

  “But you did,” Eamon said before he could stop himself.

  Q’s eyes glanced back over to him, his expression unreadable. “Temporary insanity.”

  Eamon’s brows leaped up again.

  “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.” He drained the rest of his drink.

  Eamon was more than willing to let the subject drop. Hell, it was already beginning to feel a little Twilight Zone–ish. How was it that he was being counseled about settling down from a man who had no shame in shopping for sugar mommas when his father had cut him off? The man had probably submitted his own picture to the good folks at Webster’s Dictionary to be inserted next to the word manwhore.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll get married when the right woman comes along,” said Eamon.

  “In that case, just make sure you keep her as far away from your brothers as humanly possible.”

  Eamon tried to capture his cousin’s gaze again, but Q was having none of it. Clearly, he hadn’t meant to add that last part. The slip was a sure sign that he still hadn’t forgiven his older brother. Maybe a little more time needed to pass. Before he could help himself, Eamon wondered if a woman could ever come between him and his brothers. His instincts were to doubt it, but he was old enough to know that life was strange and complicated. One should never say never because the truth was more like: anything was possible.

  “Have you talked to Sterling lately?”

  Quentin’s eyes softened even though his back stiffened. It was clear that he churned the question over quite a few times before smiling back at Eamon. “We were talking about you. Not me.”

  “There’s not much to say about me,” Eamon volleyed. “I’m what people call a workaholic.”

  Q rolled his eyes. “I know. I have quite a few of your kind on my immediate side of the family. My father and both brothers, remember?”

  Eamon nodded.

  “Still.” Quentin leaned over the bar. “We have a lot in common.”

  “You don’t say?” Eamon couldn’t stop his lips from curling in amusement.

  “Trust fund and work ethics aside, I see us as two peas in a pod.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Look. We’re two good-looking men, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  Eamon shrugged.

  “We’re both committed to this wonderful lifestyle called bachelorhood. Free from the strings that have tripped and entangled so many of our fallen brethren. Like I was saying earlier about the unlimited selection of women that surrounds us on a day-to-day basis. I’m now a firm believer that the old traditional notion of marriage—one man-one woman—is just downright antiquated. Women don’t really need us anymore. That whole women’s lib movement took care of that. They can bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan, remember? Now we do need them, but not for cooking and cleaning.” He laughed.

  “I’m wondering if it’s possible to evolve backward,” Eamon said, hoping to cut off this stream of nonsense.

  “Ha. Ha. All I’m saying is life is meant to be enjoyed and celebrated at every possible moment. You know what I mean?” Q started making his third whiskey sour.

  Eamon laughed.

  “Hold that thought,” Q said. “I’m going to hit the john. This stuff is going straight through me.” He rushed around the counter and then disappeared into the back.

  Eamon shook his head and then continued to nurse his drink. It wasn’t like he didn’t know where his cousin was coming from. Unbeknownst to Q, Eamon had been in love once—a long time ago.

  Slowly, his gaze lowered to his glass but his mind tumbled back through the years to land on a face that haunted its fair share of dreams. Her name was Karen Hayes, a light brown sister with green eyes and twin dimples. They met their freshman year of high school. Her family had moved from Compton, California, to Atlanta. Back then they used to call girls like her fly. To this day, he remembered that ridiculous but cute lopsided bob with the word fresh shaved into the back of her head.

  Her style was short, midriff T-shirts with colorful baggy overall jeans like that hip-hop group BBD sported hard that year. Black Timberlands, bamboo earrings and gold roped chains, her whole ensemble was a trip, but was considered dope back in the day. It didn’t take long for her to find a small clique to hang with and before anyone knew it, she called herself rapping in a small group that was determined to become the next Salt ’n’ Pepa.

  Every time Eamon turned around, the girl was spitting out a freestyle rhyme or busting out the latest dance steps that she’d learned off Yo! MTV Raps. Nobody could tell that cute girl nothing. She was convinced that she was the baddest girl on the block. And as far as a young Eamon was concerned, she was. In no time at all he was in love. He made sure that he was at every teen club or house party that she and her girls performed at.

  He didn’t think that she even noticed him. Mainly because he was incredibly shy. Smart as a whip but he was known to hang with the theater and music majors rather than any sports team. That came later on. Eamon was completely stunned and tongue-tied when she finally stepped to him. Someone had put it in her ear that he had a small studio in his grandparents’ basement, complete with egg crates on the walls to help soundproof the place.

  “Can’t you speak?” she asked when all he’d managed to do was stare.

  “Yeah. Yeah.” He shrugged his pencil shoulders. “I can hook you up.”

  “A’ight, then. Me and my girls will be by your grandma’s Saturday morning.” With that she just turned and disappeared back into the crowd.

  He didn’t even ask her how she knew where his grandparents lived. He was just flying high that she had even talked to him. True to her word, they showed up bright that Saturday and Xavier and Jeremy witnessed him turning into a blithering idiot in front of her. They snickered and teased him, but at least they were cool enough to save the real embarrassing stuff until after Karen left.

  The game plan was to help them make a demo good enough for them to get on Star Search. The result was them spending an awful lot of time together. Mainly because he was the only one they knew that had all the equipment—the microphones, the speakers, the sound board. Soon he was helping her write material. They hung out all the time and soon the high-school players took notice of him because of his association with the hottest girl in the whole school.

  By the time summer came around, they were officially a couple. She rapped and he DJ’ed. It was a whole year before Star Search came calling and by then, the whole rap phase had passed and Karen’s attention had turned toward fashion. She now wanted to be the black Coco Chanel.

  In their junior and senior years they were crowned king and queen at the prom. College was scary since she was bound and determined to go to design school in Chicago while he attended the University of Georgia. But Eamon was determined to make it work so there were a lot of road trips and, if their parents felt sorry enough for them, occasionally airline fare.

  Friends and family members weren’t as sure that their long-distance love affair was going to last, but Eamon was determined to prove them wrong. To his family’s surprise, Eamon remained true, never once in college was he
even tempted to stray. By senior year, he managed to make believers out of them all. As graduation neared, he took on a third job to help buy an engagement ring.

  Three thousand dollars seemed like a million to him at the time. It was a small gold band with a smaller diamond, but he promised himself as soon as he made it rich that he was going to replace the ring with something so big and gaudy that it would make all her girlfriends green with envy. The ring size really wouldn’t matter with Karen, but it was a promise he made to himself nonetheless.

  He never forgot the feeling he had when he walked out of that jeweler’s store. Too bad that he never got the chance to see how it would feel to slide the ring onto Karen’s finger.

  “Now, you take that curvy brick house that came in here earlier,” Quentin said, returning to the bar and acting like there hadn’t been a break in the conversation.

  “Do what?” Eamon asked, struggling to pull his mind back from the distant memory.

  “Don’t front. You know exactly who I’m talking about or you’re not pitching on the same team that I am.”

  “Oh. You mean Ms. Victoria Gregory.” As he said her name, Eamon’s lips curled back upward.

  “Yeah.” Q nodded. “Now, there’s a woman with a body for sin, but one look into those sharp green eyes and my head is screaming danger. Even though I was teasing her today, I know to steer clear away from that kind of trouble.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. She’s the kind of woman who can chew a man up and spit him back out to avoid indigestion.”

  Eamon had that impression, too, but that was the part of her that intrigued him more than anything else. “That’s all right. Trouble never scared me much.”

  Q smirked. “All right. A hard head makes a soft ass. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

  “Duly noted.” Eamon finally drained the rest of his drink and stood up from the bar. “But don’t worry about me. I’m a big a boy. I can handle Victoria Gregory.”