She peered up at Deacon. Just an hour into the sun, and he was already bronzed with color. His shirt floated behind him, now tucked into his back pocket. She had a ridiculously hot husband.
Surprisingly, no one stopped them, but plenty of women followed him with their eyes. His salt-frizzed hair was a bit shaggier than usual and his aviators disguised enough of his face that they could walk unencumbered. His tattoos were also eye-catchers. Soon enough that tat on his back would be beyond famous. Already people were doing double-takes, but he was moving too fast for people to put two and two together.
She stifled a laugh as a group of teen girls gawked as they walked by.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
He leaned down and mock-bit her neck. “Tell me.”
“Just amused by how many women have been lusting after you. I think I witnessed it from every age group at least twice.”
“Shut up.”
She bumped him with her hip. Deacon wasn’t terribly comfortable with the objectification portion of his fame, but hell…he was the one that kept his body in such fine form. What did he expect?
“Hungry?”
She shrugged. Food held little appeal lately. All she did was cook. Though the idea of someone else making something for her had merit. And she did need fuel to keep up with Deacon. “I could eat.”
He nodded to the little bar off the beach. “How can we not go into a bar with a huge mermaid on the sign?”
“Especially named Rhianna’s?”
“You wound me, woman. If you’re talking about the song that would be Rhiannon.”
“Oh.” She laughed. “A thousand pardons.”
“I might have to take your ring back.”
She elbowed him. “Good luck with that.”
His dimple flashed as he slid his shirt on, buttoning the bottom two snaps as they climbed the sandy stairs. The bar was full of reclaimed wood painted and sanded in the shabby beach colors of turquoise, yellow, and marine blue. A gorgeous mermaid mural covered the main wall. Clear glass shelves housed alcohol from rot gut tequila and illegible Russian-named vodka to Cabo Wabo and Grey Goose.
Harper climbed onto one of the stools that had been carved into a conch shell. “This place is great.”
Deacon leaned on the wide planked bar top, his elegant fingers sliding over the shellacked surface until he came to the chomped end. He laughed and looked up at the bartender. “Shark?”
She nodded. “Mako.”
“Fuck.”
The bartender leaned forward on her elbows showing an alarming amount of skin from her coral colored halter top. She pushed purple rimmed glasses up her nose. Heavily mascaraed eyes flirted behind the lenses, aiming right at Deacon. “I’m Jenn, but my friends call me DJ. What can I get you?”
Deacon grinned back at her and tapped his left ring finger on the bar top. “My wife and I are looking for some food and a few drinks.”
DJ glanced down at Harper. “Man, lucky girl. How’d you bag Mr. Universe?”
Harper pushed her shades up into her hair. “Coconut chocolate popovers.”
The bartender laughed and reached back for the ragged menu in the holder behind the bar. “Now that sounds like a story.”
Harper grinned. “Girlfriend, there aren’t enough hours left in this day to tell it.”
DJ laughed and tapped purple tipped nails on the menu. “Well, if you’re some sort of cook—”
“Chef,” Deacon said.
The flirty blonde waggled her brows. “Yeah, you might be a bit disappointed with the level of cuisine here. Rhi is better with the beer and tequila than she is the menu.”
“I heard that.” Came a voice from the back.
“Love you,” DJ called back to the little alcove next to the mermaid.
“So what’s good?”
She lowered her glasses and looked Deacon over. “You look like you can put it away.”
He shrugged.
Harper rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he can. I swear he’s got extra storage above his belly and a compartment that fills up his chest too.”
“Well, I do love a man that can fill up.”
Harper covered her face with her hands.
Deacon laughed and slid his hand into the messy knot of hair at the back of her neck, slowly stroking down between her shoulder blades.
“You guys a fan of clams?”
Harper perked up. “Oceanside clams? Uh, yes.”
“We make this awesome sourdough bread bowl for our chowder. Add in a couple of orders of steamed clams and a basket of our bar fries and we might even fill up the big guy.”
Harper squinted at the bartender. “I’m the only one that can call him Big Guy.”
DJ held up her hands. “All right.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Is he proportional everywhere?”
“Hey now,” Deacon said.
Harper grinned and nodded over the woman’s shoulder. “Is that Cabo?”
She turned. “I have Blanco and Reposado.”
“Do a shot with me and I might tell you.”
“Lawless.”
Feeling a little wild, she laughed as the bartender snapped two tall shot glasses in front of her.
DJ tucked a lock of hair around her ear. “Oh. This is going to end badly.”
“Crack open the Reposado.”
“Jesus, Harper.” At Deacon’s surprised tone, she tossed back the first glass.