Magnolia grabs the shotgun on the bathroom counter, racks it, and has the barrel pointed at me in less time than it would take most people to scream. But not Mags. She’s one of a fucking kind.
I came here expecting the worst, but what I found was straight out of a twisted fantasy. With the shotgun cradled in her arms, a blunt hanging from her lips, and a bottle of whiskey by her side, Magnolia Maison is the goddamned woman of my dreams. Gorgeous. Capable. And so fucking sexy, even with the bleeding wound on her side.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Mob—Moses?” she spits out, almost calling me by that silly, long-lost nickname she gave me.
I forgot how her voice could sound with my name on her lips.God, I missed that.And then I damn near forget to breathe, but force myself to focus—on Mags and her injury.
“You need a real doctor for that?”
Her tiger eyes narrow, and I’m pretty fucking sure she’ll pull the trigger if I say the wrong thing. “If I did, I would’ve gone to one. Now, get the fuck out of my house before I put in a hole in you that I can’t sew up.”
“Mags—”
“No,” she says unequivocally. As usual, she doesn’t take any shit from me. “I’ve already threatened one man’s life and maimed another tonight. I’m not fucking afraid to hollow you out right here. So choose your words wisely,Moses, as you back the fuck out of this room.”
I decide to test her. Probably because I’m a twisted son of a bitch. “Killed. Not maimed. Youkilleda man tonight.”
A shadow ghosts across her face, and her lips press together around the blunt for a beat. Then, with that incredible self-control I’ve always found sexy as fuck, she relaxes and blows a cloud of smoke directly at my face.
“Get the fuck out.”
“Who was he, Mags? You in trouble?”
Her tawny throat works as she swallows, and it’s the sole sign that what happened tonight unsettled her. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever met, so it’s no surprise she’s not dissolving into tears.
She releases the shotgun with her right hand and flings her arm out. “Do I look like a damsel in distress to you? No one has ever mistaken me for Snow fucking White.”
In her tight black crop top that shows off her tits and her skirt rolled down to her hips, she looks like temptation incarnate. But, still, I’ve gotta know she’s safe. I didn’t come back to claim her just to let someone else fuck up my plans.
“Was it random?”
Her glare carries enough heat that I feel the burn. “He called me a whore, so who the fuck knows.”
My gaze drops to the cut again. “You need a hand? I’ve got two steady ones. At your service.”
“I don’t know what the fuck your game is,” she says, shaking her head and gripping the shotgun tightly again. “But try to touch me, and I will fucking shoot you. I haven’t needed your help in fifteen years, and I don’t plan to ever need it again. So, despite whatever brought you here, you might as well drift right on back out of town.”
Her finger caresses the trigger, and part of me is willing to bet that she hasn’t shot me only because she doesn’t want to mess up her new house. Not because she doesn’t have the balls.
She sure as hell does. Of that I have no doubt.
I hold my hands up in surrender as I back out of the doorway. “All right, all right. I’m going. I just had to see for myself if you were okay. I wasn’t about to let you bleed out somewhere all alone. Not on my watch.”
Her glare strengthens to the power of a nuclear weapon. “I’m notunderyour watch.So, why the hell are you following me? Why the fuck are you even here?”
I curl my fingers around either side of the doorway and squeeze. I’ve got nothing to lose by giving her the truth, and after all these years, she deserves it. So that’s what I do.
“I’m here for you, Mags. That’s the only reason I’m back.”
Her lower lip drops a half inch and the blunt nearly falls. Magnolia catches it and uses it to point at me. “Then leave. Because there’s nothing for you here. Not now. So, fuck off.”
I stay where I am. “Have dinner with me. Let me tell you—”
She pops the fat joint back in her mouth. “Motherfucker, no. I have nothing to say to you.”
What. A. Woman.
“Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. Arnaud’s.”