Kicker (DS Fight Club Book 1) (23 page)

Charlotte had done exactly what she had promised in the parking lot—laid Tig flat on his back and ridden him like a champion until they were both exhausted and satiated. After, they lounged in the bed, Charlotte massaging Tig’s head and shoulders until he fell asleep.

Now, he was running his fingers along the curve of her spine and watching her watch him in the morning light, a small smile playing on her lips and her eyes still soft and sleepy.

Tig blew out a breath. “Man, you are some kind of beautiful, Charlotte,” he said, which made her pink up and grow shy.

She twisted her torso in a stretch and rolled over on her back. With her hair wild and spread

over the pillow, she looked like a lounging muse, just waiting to be ravished.

“Morning, sugar.”

Tig chuckled. “Morning, baby.”

“That was some storm last night.”

“And the weather was bad, too.” Tig grinned and ducked to avoid her good-natured swipe, and then he pulled her into his arms.

“We should shower and get ready, Tig. I know your mother said to take our time, but . . .”

Tig nodded. “Yep, I was just thinking the same thing. The sun’s up, so I’m sure she’s raring to go. I gotta get me some more sugar first, though.” And he began to nibble on her neck and chin.

“Tig, we don’t have time for this,” she said with a laugh but did not discourage his kisses. “Oh, holy . . . ,” she moaned when he began working his way down her body, peppering her with kisses from her neck all the way down to the soft swell of her hip.

He had just wiggled his eyebrows and thrown her leg over his shoulder when his cell phone rang.

“Goddangit, Mama,” he muttered, while Charlotte laughed. He flopped on his back in the bed and pulled Charlotte close while he answered the phone.

“Hey, Mama. We were just taking bets about when you’d call,” he said with a grin on his face and a smile in his voice. “What?”

Tig’s hand stilled on Charlotte’s back, and she watched the smile fade while she listened to Hattie’s voice buzz on the other end of the line.

“Okay, Mama. I’ll be right there. Uh-huh. Love you, too.”

Tig clicked off the phone and sat and stared at it until he felt Charlotte touch his head.

“Tig, what’s going on?”

“I gotta go.” He got out of bed and began pulling his clothes on, and Charlotte began scrambling into her clothes as well.

“Tig, what’s going on?” she repeated.

He grunted but did not answer, and when he pulled on his shirt inside out and backwards, Charlotte grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look at her.

“Honey, what is going on?”

And he laid his head on her shoulder.

“We just need to go. I’ll tell you in the car.”

*****

There was nothing left. Absolutely nothing left.

The house and the barn were completely demolished, the fields destroyed, the orchard ruined. The neighbor from the next farm over found Floyd’s body in his truck, partially submerged in what was usually a shallow creek that ran between the properties. He figured that Floyd was on his way back the house and got caught up short when the bridge washed out.

Charlotte hung back by the car, letting Tig and Hattie survey the destruction by themselves. She had ridden down to Montezuma with Neil, allowing Tig and his mother private time to talk, but now Neil had gone to investigate his own parcel of land. There were no horses with him currently, which Charlotte was glad to hear.

Her heart hurt for both Tig and Hattie for their losses, but she could not help but think it was a sign. Charlotte sat in the Waffle House while Tig and his mother were at the morgue, identifying Floyd’s body. She was contemplating what this could possibly mean for both Tig and Hattie when she felt him slide into the booth seat next to her.

“Hey, sugar. You okay?” Charlotte pressed her lips to his cheek, and he leaned his face into her.

He looked completely exhausted, on top of the bruises from last night’s fight. They hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep, between the storm and their celebratory activities, and now, the emotional stress was really showing up on Tig’s sweet face.

“Yeah. Yeah, I actually am. I’m slap wore out, though,” he huffed with a small laugh. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“Is there a plan? Do we need to stay down here tonight?”

“Mama’s at the funeral home, making arrangements. The morgue won’t release him until Monday. But, no, we don’t need to stay tonight. Shit, there’s only one hotel in town. We’d likely have to go to Fort Valley because there’s a lot of people displaced.” Tig took her hand and brought her fingers to his lips.

“What about your mother? She can stay with me—um, us—for as long as she needs to. I had, um, actually told her that she could stay in the apartment.”

“I know, and I appreciate that. But can you see her in that fancy place? She would give that doorman fits.” Tig huffed a small laugh. “No, she’s going where she’s needed to be for a long time.”

He stroked her fingers, and she rocked against his side very gently, just enough to let him know she was there. He smiled at her and exhaled a breath that he did not really know he was holding.

“I wish that things were sorted with you and Floyd, before . . .”

It was Charlotte’s turn to sigh. “Yeah, I do, too. But they weren’t, and it’s too late now.” She rubbed her cheek over his stubbled jaw. “So what now? Home again, home again, jiggity-jig?”

“Yeah, home. Do you mind if I stay tonight?”

Charlotte put her hands on his face. “If you didn’t, I was gonna tattle to your mother.” He chuckled. “Tig, there’s no way that I was going to let you not stay with me. This is where
you
belong.”

“Yeah. I do.” Tig stretched his back. “I’ll even let you drive my vintage truck.”

“Be still, my beating heart,” she laughed and pulled him out of the booth so they could go home.

The following Sunday morning started out much the same as the previous week, with Tig and Charlotte lounging in the bed, kissing and touching one another, and talking quietly. Charlotte was stroking the sensitive area behind Tig’s balls, and he was squirming and moaning and grinning, when they heard a phone chime.

“Oh my God, are we never going to be able to have a Sunday morning fuck?” Charlotte griped when whoever was calling her would not give up.

“Charlotte, just answer it.” Tig squirmed and pulled her hands away from his groin. “I’m kind of sore, anyway.”

“Oh, Tig, I didn’t realize. . . .” Charlotte cringed until Tig caught her mouth in a sweet kiss.

“It’s fine, Charlotte,” he murmured through his kisses. He had just pulled her close to nuzzle her neck when her phone chimed again.

She huffed an exasperated breath.

“Charlotte, answer it, baby.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes but reached over and answered the phone.

“It took you long enough,” were the first words out of her father’s mouth.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Where are you, Charlotte? You’re supposed to be here for brunch.”

“Shit.”

“Charlotte, watch your language,” her father reprimanded. “Anyway, just come over. It’s not like you’re missing the hot entrée because Chef is on vacation.”

“David, I’ve got other plans—” Charlotte began to say, but her father interrupted her.

“Charlotte, we have got to talk about this little fighter situation.”

She could almost see the scare quotes.

“Fine. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

As she ended the call, she could hear her father repeat, “‘We’?”

Charlotte flopped back on the bed and tried to calm herself by blowing out a big breath.

“I take it we’re going to your parents’?” Tig cupped his big hand around her face and stroked her chin with his thumb. Charlotte exhaled again and kissed his hand.

“Yeah, let’s go get this over with.”

“Damn straight. Do I need to have a snack before I go over there?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “You’re going to need to have a whole meal. It’s a cold brunch.”

“What’s that? Fruit and pastry?”

“Pretty much, only I have to deal with stink eye the whole time if I dare to eat anything but fruit.”

“Boy, that’s depressing.”

“Welcome to my life—every Sunday for the past fifteen years.”

Tig gaped at her. “Seriously?”

“As a heart attack.”

“That is some sort of fucked up, baby.” Tig shook his head in wonder of how she tolerated it.

Charlotte was pulling out one of her smart little suits—one of the suits that Tig loved because it curved around her ass just so, set off her small waist, and accentuated her curves—when she stopped.

Tig watched her set her jaw and put the suit back on the clothing rod. Then she deliberately pulled out a pair of jeans and a blouse and disappeared into the bathroom.

“I’ll be out in a just a few. I need to put my face on.”

Tig was waiting in the kitchen, eating his third piece of peanut butter toast, when Charlotte emerged from the bedroom.

He looked at her from the bottom of her platform wedges, up her denim-clad legs, and stopped at her scooped-neck, off-the-shoulder knit shirt, his mouth falling more open the farther he ventured up her body.

Charlotte cleared her throat. “My eyes are up here, Tig.” A smile tugged at her mouth.

He dragged his eyes away from her cleavage and snapped his mouth shut. He went to her, cupped her cheek in one hand, and began to stroke her high, glossy ponytail with the other.

“You look absolutely gorgeous.” He grinned that big, goofy, sexy smile that she loved so much.

“Thank you. You do, too.”

Tig snorted because he knew he looked like a raggedy, scraggly farmer, and he grinned because she did not care a bit.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Most definitely.”

*****

Tig whistled through his teeth. “Damn, Charlotte.”

She sighed. “I know. It’s ridiculous.”

Tig sat behind the steering wheel of Charlotte’s car and looked at the Markhams’ house. It was everything he was afraid it would be.

Tig sucked air through his nose and did not let it out until he felt Charlotte squeeze his hand.

“You know that speech you gave me when we went to Montezuma that time?” Tig nodded. “Well, that applies here. If they’re obnoxious, even a little bit, we’re out of here. Okay?”

He grinned that crooked smile again. “Yeah, okay.”

“All right, let’s get this over with so we can go have a real brunch.”

And Charlotte popped out of the car too fast for him to open her door.

He caught up with her as she stood frozen at the front door. “Baby, you’re going to do magnificently,” he whispered in her ear before kissing her softly on the cheek. “I didn’t want to mess up your lipstick.”

Charlotte grinned at him. “It’s porn star lipstick. It won’t come off until I take it off, no matter what I’m putting in my mouth.”

“Goddammit, Charlotte.”

She giggled and stretched to smooch him on the jaw. “We’ll test it later. Let’s go.”

Charlotte turned the doorknob and led Tig into her parents’ Buckhead mansion.

“Well, you took your time getting over here,” Angelique said. “What in the world were you doing . . . ?” Her voice trailed off when she spied Tig over Charlotte’s shoulder.

“I told David we’d be here in twenty minutes, and it’s been eighteen, so technically, we’re early.”

Charlotte took the seat that Tig pulled out for her. There were only three chairs at the table, but Tig pulled another from the corner, seated himself next to Charlotte, and took her hand.

“David, Angelique, this is Trevor Mashburn. Tig, these are my parents.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” was all Tig said.

Oh boy. This is going to be interesting.

The four sat in awkward silence for a few long moments until Angelique piped up, in a cheery voice. “So, Terence, what do you do?”

“I’m a professional combat sports athlete, and I teach self-defense classes and serve as a personal trainer.”

Angelique’s eyes glazed. “What was that first thing, Terence?”

“Tig’s a fighter, Angelique.” Charlotte was seething, but Tig put a hand on her neck, and she instantly calmed.

Angelique waved her daughter off. “You know I detest nicknames.”

“My name is Trevor, ma’am, but I prefer Tig.”

“Where does that come from?”

“From A. A. Milne stories, ma’am.”

“Oh.” Tig knew that the woman had no idea what he was talking about.

Tig turned to David, and Charlotte thought that her father looked a bit flushed.

“Are you okay, David?” she asked her father.

David took a sip of water, not looking at either of the two people that sat next to him, and prayed that the now blue-haired fighter would not mention his visit to DS Fight Club.

“About your proposal from a few weeks ago, David,” Tig began, studiously ignoring Charlotte’s inquisitive look. “It’s moot at this point. The farm was destroyed in that flash flood last week.”

Charlotte stiffened beside Tig, and he had a moment of misgiving before she folded her napkin neatly and placed it on the table.

“What’s Tig talking about, David?” His daughter looked him straight in the eye, daring him to lie to her.

David stammered a noncommittal answer, finally settling on a vague half-truth about helping Tig’s family out of a financial tight spot.

“Let me ask you something, David.” Charlotte looked sad and resigned.

“Of course, Charlotte.”

“Jasper Fletcher. You did the same thing with him, didn’t you?” David’s silence was all the answer that Charlotte needed.

She pushed her chair back and stood up from the table.

“Tig, let’s go.”

“Charlotte Louisa Markham, if you walk out of this house . . .” David’s voice trailed off.

“You’ll what, David? Not invite me over to brunch anymore? Not parade me around like some sort of performing poodle to all your cronies? Not
allow
me to live in that horrible, sterile apartment?”

She leaned across the table and got in his face.

“Never speak to me again? Cut me off?”

David would not look his only child in the eyes.

“That’s what I thought. Tig, let’s go.”

Charlotte strode through the foyer, and Tig trotted after her.

They got in the car, and Tig looked at Charlotte before starting the engine. She shook her head in disbelief, and then she began giggling, which changed to laughter, and she threw her head back and laughed, long and loud.

“What do you have going on this afternoon, Tig?” Charlotte asked while Tig gaped at her outburst.

“Um . . .”

“You have time to go pick up a new car?”

“Um, sure?”

Charlotte leaned over the console and kissed his cheek.

“David insisted I get this car. The one I’ve been looking at has a lot more room for recreational activities,” she whispered in his ear.

Tig chuckled and shook his head. “Where am I headed?”

“Roswell.”

Tig nodded and started the engine but did not put the car in drive. Charlotte quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Yes, Tig? You have something to say?”

Tig turned to her and slid his hands around her neck, softly caressing her face with his thumbs.

“God, I love you so much, Charlotte.”

“What?”

“I love you. I love your fierceness. I love your kindness. I love everything about you, sweetheart.”

“Oh . . .” She did not speak for a moment, and Tig got a sick feeling in his stomach.

But then Charlotte smiled, big and wide.

“Tig, I love you, too. Your big heart, your selflessness. Everything about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Tig drew her head towards him and slanted his face to kiss his fierce, kind woman, but she pulled away a fraction.

“Dammit, why is the Allman Brothers Band always playing when we’re having a moment? I’ll tell you one thing: they will have absolutely no place at our wedding.”

Tig laughed. “It’s a deal, Charlotte. It’s a deal. Now, hush your mouth and let me kiss you.”

Charlotte snorted. “Oh,
now
you start being bossy. Good luck with that, Kicker.”

“Charlotte.”

“I swear, Tig. . . .”

“Charlotte.”

“Tig,” she said, her voice growing softer and gentler.

“Charlotte,” Tig whispered in her ear.

“Yes?”

“Let me kiss you, baby.”

And she did.