Creole Kingpin

by Meghan March

  “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 out all 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.”

  “That doesn’t tell me shit, and you know it. This car may be gangster as fuck, but you sure couldn’t buy it with money from running a crew of thugs like you did in Biloxi.” Back in the day, he said he drove an old blue Cutlass Supreme SS. I thought he’d look fine as hell in that too, not that I got to ever see it in person.

  “No. You’re right about that,” Moses replies, leaning back against the plush leather seat. “I haven’t been a gangster in a long time. Kingpin was my goal, if you remember.”

  How could I forget it was more important to him than I was? Right now, that’s neither here nor there.

  For shits and grins, I ask, “Then what the hell are you now?”

  That damn smile is back. “Remember when I told you that the guy who came at you was a ghost?”

  “Yeah,” I bite out.

  “That’s my business. Except . . . I’m the one who turns them into ghosts.”

  Twenty-Four

  Moses

  “What does that mean?” Magnolia’s long, dark lashes flutter as she blinks in confusion.

  I didn’t expect her to understand. Most people wouldn’t, not that I’ve had many occasions to explain what I do before. People come to me through discreetly placed referrals, and they already understand the big picture.

  “If someone wants a new life or needs to disappear so well that no one ever looks for them, if they know the right people, they get connected to me. My team and I make it happen . . . or at least look like it happened.”

  Her eyes are as wide and round as I’ve ever seen them. It’s good to see something can still shock her.

  “What in the hell? And it pays this well?”

  That I answer with a shrug. “I’m good at what I do. Call it a niche market. And I know how to turn money into even more money. To answer your other question, I’m rich as fuck, Mags.” I give her a wink before I correct myself. “No. Actually, I’m richer than fuck now.”

  She blinks a few more times before facing forward silently, her head barely shaking back and forth. “Jesus Christ. You were going back to Biloxi when you left me . . . but you didn’t. You just disappeared.” Her head whips back in my direction. “You became a goddamned ghost.”

  I had no idea she’d looked for me. But the new, unexpected knowledge unleashes a surge of something deep within me. Hope, mixed with triumph. Fuck yes.

  “You’re right. I didn’t go back to Biloxi. I got caught up in some shit leaving town. Turned into an opportunity I didn’t expect.”

  Instead of prodding me more about that, she snaps out her next question. “What did you talk to Mount about?”

  I know it’s my chance to let everything out, put all my cards on the table, but it’s the first time in so long that we’re talking again, and I don’t want to spoil it. So instead, I’m vague. “To settle a matter and declare my intentions.”

  “What intentions?” she asks, a guarded look crossing her face.

  I lean back against the seat and stretch one arm across the back. “My intentions with regard to one Ms. Magnolia Marie Maison.”

  Her jaw slackens, letting her lower lip drop again before she catches herself. “What the fuck does that mean? And explain it to me like I’m a toddler. No more riddles.”

  I move toward her and give her the truth. “I’m forty fucking years old, mama. I haven’t had a home in fifteen years—hell, even before that, I didn’t have one I’d want to go back to—and I want one something powerful now. I want to settle down. Put down some roots. I want a wife, and I want her to give me a houseful of babies who’ll have me wrapped around their fingers just like their mother.”

  Magnolia can’t school her reactions quick enough. She’s floored. Emotions dash across her face like shooting stars, one after another. Hope. Denial. Curiosity. Doubt.

  “Wh-what does that have to do with me?” she sputters.

  “You’ve always been the one, Mags. I haven’t gone an hour without thinking about you since the night I left.”

  The soft glow of the streetlights glints off the sheen of tears gathering in her eyes. Tears I’m sure she’d rather kill me for than admit to. She blinks them back.

  “It’s too late, Moses. Too fucking late.”

  I shake my head. “No. I refuse to believe that. And Mount clearly doesn’t believe it either.”

  The sheen is gone in an instant, traded out for another glare. “What the hell does that mean?”

  This time, my cheeks stretch wide with a grin. “He gave me his blessing when I told him I’d come back to put a ring on your finger. Said he and his wife would be happy to stand up for us when we say our vows.”

  The beautiful brat beside me chokes.

  Pure shock. That’s the only way to describe her expression.

  After a minute, she schools her features. “You don’t even know me anymore. That girl you came back for? She’s long gone.”

  “Good,” I tell her. “I’m a grown-ass man. I’m not some john looking for a high-value suck-and-fuck. I came back for a woman, not a girl. I know who you are, and I want everything you bring to the table.”

  She shakes her head. “You’ve lost your fucking Mississippi-mud-filled mind.”

  I chuckle. “Scared?”

  Her expression turns mulish. “Of you? Not a chance in hell.”

  “Good. Because Jules is taking us back to your new place. You’re not sleeping alone tonight.”

  Twenty-Five

  Magnolia

  I stare at the man sitting beside me in this silent car that reeks of all the changes he’s made in his life.

  A man who came back for me.

  A man who told Mount he’s going to marry me.

  The only man I’ve never forgotten for a single damn day in fifteen years, no matter how much I wished I could wake up with amnesia just to erase those two fucking weeks we shared.

  Two weeks. That’s all the time we had together.

  Right after Katrina turned the city I’d lived in my whole life into something completely unrecognizable, he saved me. And . . . I fell hard for him, but when it was time for him to go, choices were made.

  I couldn’t leave, and he wouldn’t stay.

  Two weeks shouldn’t change you forever, but in the wake of tragedy and chaos, things are different. Unbreakable bonds are formed faster than you can imagine.

  But I don’t want to think about that now. No way in hell. If I do, I won’t be able to find the strength to tell him to walk away again.

  Moses might have carved ou
t a new life for himself, but so have I. I have a new home and a business that’s still finding its feet, and he doesn’t have to tell me he has no plans to stay here. Just like he refused to before.

  The problem we faced fifteen years ago isn’t any different now. I won’t go with him, and I can’t imagine he’ll stick around. Which means I need to watch myself. The heartbreak that comes from falling for Moses Gaspard isn’t something I can experience twice.

  Not that I’d ever admit to him exactly how badly it destroyed me.

  I stay quiet the entire short ride to my place, completely ignoring the mention of us getting married. It’s simply not based in reality.

  When we pull up in front of my gate, pride straightens my spine once more. This place is all mine, something no one, not even Moses, can take away.

  The reunion wasn’t bad, but this is where I get off the fantasy bus before someone—like me—gets hurt.

  “No need to get out. I’ll see myself inside,” I tell Moses, ignoring his dictate from earlier that I wasn’t sleeping alone tonight.

  I reach for the door handle, but it opens without me touching it. His driver, a tall, light-skinned black man with close-cropped black hair, stands there with a smile.

  “You aren’t staying anywhere by yourself, Mags. Not until we find out exactly what kind of situation you’ve tied yourself up in.”

  I look at Moses, feeling like the glare I’ve been sporting all evening is going to become the permanent expression on my face. If I need Botox after this, I’m sending Mr. Baller Rolls Royce the bill.

  “You aren’t staying here.”

  One of his thick shoulders rises and his bottom lip juts out. “That’s fine. Then you’re coming home with us.”

  Anger at being maneuvered and ordered around lights me up with a streak of contrariness. No one tells me what to do. Not in a long damn time. But Moses doesn’t seem to understand, and neither does my body, based on the moment we had against the wall after dinner.

  I form a new plan. Leaning back in the seat, I cross my arms. “With both of you?” I look from Moses to the attractive man holding my door open. “A ménage with this guy? Now you have my attention.”

  The man who was lazily leaning back against the seat beside me swells with anger, seeming to double in size. “Shut the fucking door, Jules.”

  Jules doesn’t reply, but the door closes before I can get the fuck out. Now I’m trapped inside with a seething Moses.

  A sexy, seething Moses. I can feel the territorial masculinity rolling off of him like steam from a hot sidewalk after a sprinkle of rain.

  He turns in his seat, crowding me against the door. “You want a reaction out of me, woman? You’ll get one. I meant what I said. Ain’t no other fucking man touching you until we’ve settled what’s between us. Damn it, you owe me that.”

  My lower lip drops, which seems to be another new habit I’ve acquired against my will this evening.

  “I don’t owe you shit, Moses.”

  His face turns to stone. Thin lipped. Chiseled, hard-set jaw. No easy grin now. “You sure as fuck do. You wouldn’t even think about coming with me. You’re part of the reason we lost fifteen fucking years together too.”

  I gasp. “You motherfucking asshole.” I surge forward in my seat and shove him with both hands. “You left me! You wouldn’t stay!”

  “I couldn’t! Not without putting you in danger. You think that’s the kind of man I am? One who would put his woman at risk? No fucking way, Magnolia.”

  I shake my head, fury causing unshed tears to burn like acid in my eyes. “Let me out of this fucking car. I’m done with this little reunion of yours. Whatever you came for, you won’t find it. Go, Moses. There’s nothing for you here now.”

  He reaches out and yanks me across the center seat, pulling me against him. “Bull fucking shit, Magnolia.”

  His mouth crashes down on mine, and I declare temporary insanity.

  His scent. His taste. His touch.

  I desperately want to push him away, but I can’t. The one thing I never thought I’d have again . . . I allow my body to take over, and I fucking maul him. My nails dig into his shoulder and the back of his neck as I cling to his rigid muscles, my tongue demanding entrance into his mouth.

  God, I need more. More. More.

  I don’t even know how it happened, but his hands grip my waist, bringing me down on his lap as my knees dig into the leather on either side of his hips. I grind hard against one heavy thigh, not caring that my dress is riding up.

  Moses shifts his grip, spearing a hand into my hair and pinning me against him.

  Fuck. It feels too good. Too right. Too perfect.

  “Inside,” he says into my mouth as he shifts me to drive his hips up and the hard ridge of his cock against my clit. “Inside. Now.”

  His voice brings me to my senses.

  What the fuck am I doing? Letting a man waltz into my life and tell me what to do after he bailed for fifteen years, whatever the reason? No. Not tonight I’m not.

  I try to move away, but Moses keeps my forehead pressed against his.

  “For fifteen goddamned years I’ve wanted to be able to fuck and not think of you. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

  More than I’ll ever admit to him.

  I freeze in his arms. “Let me go. Now.”

  Shockingly, he does, and I scramble to the other side. “I’m not doing this again. I can’t do this.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Moses stares at me with disbelief on his face.

  “I’m not fucking you until you understand you get no say-so about what I do or who I touch. You don’t get to walk into town and pretend like you own me. I’ve busted my ass and done things I never want to think about ever again, all to get me where I am. Free. I’m not handing that over to anyone. Not even you.”

  He nearly growls as he rubs his palms over his clean-shaven face. “Stubborn fucking woman. You know this is what you want. You can’t lie to me, Magnolia.”

  “How the hell do you know what I want, Moses? Because I don’t even know what the fuck I want anymore.” My heart is hammering behind this dark purple dress, hard enough to bust it at the seams.

  His lips close, and the anger that was rolling off him dies instantly. His chest rises and falls with a few deep, steadying breaths.

  “You need time to get used to the idea. I can respect that. But you can’t ask me to leave you unprotected. That’s not something I’m capable of anymore. You want to stay here tonight, then I’ll take a guest room.” He relents, and something like surrender flashes in his color-shifting eyes.

  Even though I would have sworn it was impossible, a chuckle spills from my lips. “Sure thing, big man. You want the guest room? You’ve got the guest room.”

  Twenty-Six

  Moses

  Magnolia opens her door and climbs out of the Rolls onto the sidewalk. I have only a few seconds to get back my hard-won self-possession.

  I’ve spent years mastering my emotions so no one else could control me. But Magnolia seems to defy all the rules I’ve put in place to keep myself levelheaded. Not surprising, I suppose, considering Magnolia doesn’t follow anyone’s rules but her own. Something I fucking love about her, even if it’s driving me crazy right now.

  I get out of the car and hustle to the gate just before it closes, leaving me and Jules outside. I stop with one hand holding it open and turn back to him.

  “I’ll call you.”

  He gives me a thumbs-up, and I head inside.

  A thin layer of construction dust coats every surface, but it also shows me exactly where Magnolia went. Upstairs.

  When I was here last night, I noticed there was no furniture on the first level, but I didn’t think anything of it because I was too busy worrying about Magnolia and the blood from the door handle of her condo. It didn’t even occur to me to ask if she had a damn bed in the place. Obviously, I should have, because when I step into the master bedroom, I see a deflate
d air mattress rolled out on the floor.

  No wonder she gave in so easily when I said I’d take the guest room. If the master doesn’t have a bed, the guest room won’t either. That joke’s on me.

  She turns around in the white-on-white-on-white room so we’re face to beautifully smug face. “You still wanna stay?”

  The triumphant smile on her lips should piss me off, but it does the opposite. I want to peel that dress off her, lay her down on that cheap-ass air mattress, and make short work of popping the damn thing. If she thinks this will scare me off, she has another think coming.

  “No way in hell I’m leaving now that I’m inside with your permission.”

  She glances down at the air mattress. “I’ve only got one, and I’m not sharing. You can take a floor. Doesn’t even have to be the guest room. Any floor you want is fine by me, so long as it’s not in this room.”

  The corners of my mouth tug at my lips, and I try to hold back my smile. It’s a losing battle.

  “Mighty generous offer, mama. I’ll take it.”

  She pretends she’s tired, stretches and yawns, tapping her fingers against her sexy open mouth. “I’m going to shower. Do whatever you want.” She marches toward the doorway I’m blocking.

  I move to the side, giving her just enough space to squeeze by me, but I put my arm out to halt her. “You trying to wash the taste and feel of me away?”

  Magnolia tilts her head to the side. “I don’t need a shower to put you out of my mind. I’m a professional at that now.”

  “Then what?”

  She slowly bats her long black lashes and stares me dead in the eye. “I’m going to make myself come so hard that I’ll sleep like a baby tonight, with or without you in my house.”

  My dick fights against my suit pants. “No need for you to do that yourself, mama. I’m ready, willing, able, and right fucking here.”