Page 35 of Creole Kingpin
My thoughts trail off as the door opens and the most gorgeous sight of my life walks in.
I’m on my feet, but I don’t even remember standing.Christ Jesus.My hands curl into fists to stop me from crossing the room and yanking her against me.Holy fuck.
Her dress doesn’t show much skin, but the purple material hugs her every luscious curve and reveals just enough of her cleavage to make me hard on the spot like some kid without any control over my reactions.
And the way she walks ...fuck me.One foot in front of the other, strutting toward me like she doesn’t notice another soul in the room. Confident. Certain. She doesn’t look like she had a single doubt about tonight, when I was thinking she must be going back and forth, trying to decide whether to come. Or maybe I’m just getting drunk on the way she’s walking toward me.
Christ Almighty.Her frigging hair. It’s a sleek, nearly black curtain tucked behind one ear, falling to her shoulders.
But it’s her lips that nearly undo me, slicked with a sinful red that makes me think of only one thing—how fucking badly I want to hear her say she missed me.
I pull it together, because there’s no fucking way I’m going to screw up this gift I’ve just been given. From the expression on her face and the glittering hardness of her whiskey-colored eyes, it’s clear she’s storming into battle.
Fine by me, Mags. Do your worst. I can handle anything you throw at me.
I force my dick to behave and find the self-possession that has served me well since I seized control of a crew in Biloxi when I was practically still a fucking kid. Power, after all, comes from within.
With easy movements, I step around the table to meet her, the corners of my mouth tugging upward in a smile just for her. “You look stunning, mama.” The old nickname comes out of my mouth without thought.
Her eyes flare with heat as she shifts her weight on her heels. “Don’t call me that.”
I can’t help but grin. “Make you remember things you’d rather keep forgotten?”
“I never said I’d forgotten a damn thing, but I just got here, so save it. Unless you want me to leave already? And why the hell are you smiling like that?”
“Because I just had a prayer answered. Guess I’m fucking thankful.” And proud and relieved. “You came.”
Once and for all, the winds of change are at my back and guiding me home. Guiding me to the future. Guiding me to her.
Twenty-One
Magnolia
He’s smooth. Too fucking smooth for his own good.Goddamn it.
I shouldn’t be reacting to Moses at all, but just seeing him in a three-piece pin-striped suit, looking like the Creole kingpin he told me was going to become, I can’t help it.
I lift my chin higher, wishing I could look down my nose at him, but his tall frame seems even broader with the sleek lines of his jacket, making it impossible.
Although I’ll never admit it to him, I waited outside for a good twenty minutes, watching him through the window, wondering if he’d give up and leave. True to his word, he didn’t.
Too bad he wasn’t true to his word when he said he’d come back for me. The memory of being forgotten comes to the forefront and hardens my heart enough for me to take control of the situation.
“I’m here. If that’s an answered prayer, then you’ve got a fucked-up god.”
His teeth flash white as he smiles again.Damn.I forgot how much his smile affects me. I always know how to handle men, but right now, I’m not sure, and I hate the uncertainty.
I tried to come up with a plan, but Moses Gaspard can’t be planned for. Now I’m winging it.
“Maybe I just say different prayers than you do.” He gestures to the seat across the white linen tablecloth from him. This restaurant has been a fixture in the French Quarter for over a hundred years, and yet I’ve never eaten here.
“I don’t have much time for prayin’ these days. What with getting stabbed in elevators and whatnot,” I say with a phony bored undertone. My side still gives me twinges of pain, and the whiskey on the table looks like exactly what I need to forget about the wound—and the memories of how we once were.
“I’ve got some news on that front,” Moses says, pulling out my chair.
I take the seat, nearly shivering when his fingertips drift across the skin of my bare upper arms. My nipples take notice too.What the hell?They’ve basically been ornamental for years, but like the ghost across from me, they’ve been resurrected too.
I’m not used to physically responding to men like this. Not anymore. It’s been a long time since sex was anything but a basic urge to have met by someone who had no power over me. But with Moses ... suddenly my body turns traitor.
