Page 49 of Creole Kingpin
He relaxes in the chair and crosses one muscular leg over the other. People pass and it’s loud in the café, but all I see and hear is him.
“Think what you want, but I know you, Mags. You’re scared as shit. You want me, but you won’t admit it. That’s okay, for now. Eventually,you’llrealize what I’ve got to offer you is exactly what you want.”
I hate how he cuts to the heart of the matter. It’s just so out of nowhere, nearly impossible to believe, and probably too good to be true.
“You’re scared as shit.”How the fuck does he know? He doesn’t know me anymore. He shouldn’t be able to read me so easily.
Frustration and doubt rise inside me. “You’re full of yourself, Moses.”
“I’d rather you be full of me, but that’ll come soon enough. And I’ll hear those cries in my ear instead of through the door and walls.” He winks, and I could strangle him. “You’re a hell of a woman, Magnolia. I’ve learned a lot in fifteen years. There’s no one else like you anywhere. You’re everything I want.”
Every time he says something like that, it throws me for a loop. I’m not used to it, and I sure as hell have no idea what to do with it. “That’s not a compliment. You want me by default? No one else was better, so I’ll do now? Stop saying shit like that. I don’t want to hear it.”
His brow pinches, and finally I’ve landed a blow. Maybe now he gets it. I wanted him more than any other man on the planet, and he wanted to see if he could find something better.
Am I supposed to feel lucky that he didn’t?
Probably not, but that doesn’t erase the fact that I do, and I hate it.
He tries to reach for my hand, but I dodge him. His gaze says he’s sorry, but his lips don’t. Instead, he says, “Fine, then we’ll change the subject. Tell me about your man who died.”
Now I’m the one catching blows. Anger, humiliation, and hurt ignite through me like a blast furnace set to high. They do every single time someone mentionshim,but normally I’m way more emotionally stable and can mask it without so much as a blip.
But not with Moses. Not right now.
I suck in a breath to steady myself and jerk my gaze upward to stare at the stamped tin ceiling, wishing there was whiskey in my cup instead of chicory.
Just breathe. That part of your life is over. Pull it together, Mags.“Fucking Mount,” I whisper, knowing exactly who provided Moses with the information.
He doesn’t confirm or deny his source.
I swallow a lump in my throat and meet his warm gaze once more. “I’m not talking about it.”
He drags his bottom lip through his teeth and then asks, “You still in love with him? Still grieving him?”
If Moses is in for a penny, he’s in for a pound, and he’s not holding anything back. But I do. I have too many cards on the table already, and he’s not shown any that I’m willing to believe are real yet.
My entire body tenses, and my jaw sets into stone. “That’s none of your damn business.”
“He fucked you over pretty bad,” Moses says, pausing to take another sip. “I’m guessing that’s anoon you still being in love or grieving.”
The breath is crushed out of my chest by the weight of the topic. “I saidI’m not talking about it.”
Moses finally gets it. I’m not fucking around. He holds his hands up between us. “Fine. Then what do you want to talk about?”
I’m pissed and emotional, and so I lash out. “When you’re leaving. That sounds like a right fine subject.”
He casually gathers our trash and piles it onto his plate. “When you tell me you’re coming with me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to disappear. “You’re fucking impossible.”
He grins. “Be glad I’m on your side.”
My phone buzzes on the table, and I snatch it up like a life raft sent to save me from drowning.
Just being around Moses has me on edge, and the fortress around my heart is taking a thrashing. Damn near every word out of his mouth is like a battering ram. Any distraction or interruption I can get will help me pull myself together.
When I look down at the screen, a rush of relief washes over me.
