King's Passion. Adrianne Byrd

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.”