Page 39 of Creole Kingpin
“Only the ones who touch you now. You’re mine, Magnolia. You’d best start getting used to the idea, because I ain’t the kind of man who shares his woman.”
If I thought my emotions were chaotic before, now they’re a full-blown, tear-gassed city riot. I have to get away from him before that possessive attitude, which from anyone else would provoke me into violence, turns me on more than I can ever remember.
“No man owns me.” I’m proud my voice is steady.
“I don’t want to own you, mama.”
My nipples harden further, loving the way he talks to me, even as I try to remain immune.
Then he continues. “That ain’t why I’m here.” His narrowed eyes glitter like polished emerald and topaz.
“Then why?”
“I want you to ownme.”
My heart slams into my chest at the sentiment beneath his declaration.
An unwelcome voice comes from behind Moses.
“Is there a problem here?”
I look around one of his broad shoulders to see a uniformed Louisiana state trooper standing a few feet away, no doubt stationed on Bourbon Street for the night to watch over the revelers.
Moses doesn’t miss a beat. He curls one arm around my waist, and together we turn to face the cop. “No problem at all, sir. We were just debating dessert.”
The cop takes in Moses’s suit and my dress, and huffs good-naturedly. “Café Beignet is just up the street. Might try there if Arnaud’s dessert menu wasn’t to your taste.”
“Thank you, sir. But I think the lady has something else in mind.”
He dips his chin at us and chuckles knowingly. “Have yourselves a nice evening then.”
“You too, sir.”
The trooper nods, and then his eyes widen as a Rolls Royce crawls through the intersection to slow right in front of the restaurant. Thesamegoddamned Rolls Royce I saw when I was leaving Mount’s.
“After you,” Moses says, opening the door.
“I’m only getting in this car if you tell me why the hell you went to Mount before coming to me.”
Moses smiles, his eyes gleaming. “Deal. Now, get your fine ass in the car, woman.”
I slide across the leather into the seat behind the driver. I swear, it smells just as good as I imagined a Rolls would, not that I ever figured I’d know for sure.
As soon as Moses closes the door with us both inside, I blurt out, “How the hell can you afford a Rolls Royce? How fucking rich are you?”
He leans forward to tap the driver’s seat. “Privacy please, Jules.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
The divider between the front and rear seats rises, and we’re the most alone we’ve been all night.
I stare at the man in the seat next to me. “What the hell have you been doing since you left town, Moses?”
“Which question do you want an answer to first? Because some are going to take longer than others.” He shifts in the seat and crosses an ankle over his knee.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to sputter outall of them, but I decide to go with the one most relevant. “Explain the car. Is it yours?”
Pride lifts his face an inch or two. “Bought it up in New York City, which is where I was before I came here. I had a ...” He pauses to run his tongue along his white teeth. “Had a run of good luck up there. I made a good bet, and it turned into a windfall, you could say.”
