“Nice to meet you.”
The girl smiles broadly at Yve. “If you need any help, let me know. Also, not that you need my two cents, but the aubergine dress with the boning would look so bomb on her.”
“Ohhh . . .” Yve makes an excited sound and claps her hands as Kayleigh disappears out of the back room to man the store. “She is not wrong. And I’m pretty sure we have it in your size.”
The fact that Yve remembers my size when I haven’t been here in a few months says a lot about the kind of shopkeeper she is.
“Purple isn’t really my color—” The words coming out of my mouth die away as she pulls the most gorgeous dress off the rack and holds it out. “Damn. That’s a dress.”
Even on the hanger, it looks stunning. The deep purple pencil dress is a perfect hourglass shape, sleeveless, and instead of being a V-neck, it curves down in front to a point. The skirt looks like it’ll hug my hips and thighs before stopping just above my knees. It’s classy as hell, but still sexy as fuck.
I meet Yve’s gaze. “Seriously? You show me one dress and it’s perfect? Are you a witchy woman or something?”
She winks at me. “I gotta give Kayleigh credit for this one, although I definitely would’ve shown it to you too. I have another one in red . . .”
I shake my head. “No. Not red. Not for tonight. I’ll look like I’m trying too hard.”
Her perfectly shaped eyebrow goes up again. “You’re not even going to give me a hint? Because this feels . . . different.”
“It is. Moses—” I cut off what I was about to say, shocked I revealed his name to her. I haven’t even told Keira about him.
And why is that, Mags? Ho-It-All chimes in, and I shut the inner voice down.
At my side, the quiet chime of a text message comes from my purse.
“Moses,” Yve says with interest underlying her tone and a smile on her face. “Now that’s a strong name for a man. I can’t say I know anyone in this town with it. Or should I?”
She’s fishing, and I don’t know why I take the bait, but I do. Maybe because I just need to tell someone about him.
“He’s not from here. We met right after Katrina. He helped me. It was . . . different. Like you said.”
Her lips form a perfect O. “And he’s in town? And you’re meeting with him? Wearing this dress?”
I throw my shoulders back, feeling some of my gall return. “If I feel like it. I’m still not sure if I’ll go.”
“Oh, girl. You’ll go. We always do. You have to let me know how it goes. I’ll be dying for news if you don’t.”
My thumb swipes across the smooth material of the dress, and I ignore another chime from my bag. “There may not be anything to tell.”
“I refuse to believe that. Any man who gets your attention is bound to be something remarkable.”
I lift my gaze to her once more. “Why do you say that?”
Yve’s lips press together for a beat, like she’s trying to decide how to answer delicately. Finally, she does. “Because you’ve seen a lot. I imagine men aren’t much of a mystery to you anymore. But you seem intrigued, and I have to believe that means something.”
“Might be something. Might not be. I’ll let you know.”
Thirty minutes later, I leave with the eggplant-purple dress and new lingerie to wear beneath it.
I should have known better than to buy the lingerie, because now all I can think about is watching Moses’s dick harden enough to hammer nails when he sees it.
It takes everything I have to remind myself that I don’t want anything to do with his dick.
I’m also lying to myself.
Fuck.
Almost forgetting, I pull my cell from my bag, hoping it’s not another problem. I silently pray my girls are okay, Norma and Bernadette don’t need me, and that the sky isn’t falling in the Mississippi tonight.
Rhodes: I’m in town if you want to play. Let me know when would be good for you.
Rhodes: Also, I plan on dominating. So be prepared.
A small smile spreads across my lips. If things fall through or go south with the sexy ghost from my past, at least I’ll have a backup plan.
Twenty
Moses
The waiter brings me another three fingers of whiskey, and I thank him. Swirling the liquor in the glass, I check the time. Quarter to ten. I’ve been here almost two hours, sitting at the table by myself, nursing glass after glass of the best damn whiskey I’ve ever tasted.
Magnolia’s not coming, and if I thought she might, I should have known better.
She’s the most maddening woman I’ve ever met, but also the most fascinating. And yet . . . a smile stretches across my face because I’m a perverse motherfucker. Maybe even a masochist.
Did I really expect her to fall into my arms as soon as she saw me? Fuck no.
I didn’t just come back for Magnolia. I came back for the fight that would come with winning her. Nothing worth having ever comes easy, especially a good woman.
And the best woman I’ve ever met is worth more than a little strife.
I take another sip of whiskey, appreciating the subtle differences in flavor of this vintage compared to the last ones, and think about my next move. Normally, I’ve got things planned a half dozen moves or more ahead, just like I’d play chess, but not with Mags. She’s a special situation, one that requires thinking on the fly and creativity.
Maybe if I . . .
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.