23. The Boys in Blue
THE BOYS IN BLUE
TESSA
Without another word, Saul takes my hand and leads me to an unassuming black Dodge Durango parked under the soft glow of streetlights.
I chuckle and look over at him. “A Dodge?” I step back, still keep our hands clasped, and wave my hand in front of his delicious form. “With the whole Tom Ford billionaire, man of mystery, sommelier vibe, you’ve got going. I’d expect at least a Range.”
He pulls me in to kiss the top of my cheek and whispers, “Marcus Mitchell couldn’t afford a Range Rover. But Saul Mensah has one in Accra and one in London. We can fly to either place now, on my chartered jet, if you’d like to ride in one of those instead.”
I tremble at his touch and the unapologetic drip in his words and shake my head. “ No, the Durango is fine.”
He grins. “ Good girl. Now, come.”
Oh. I plan to.
Once in the car, we hit the highway, and Biggie’s smooth voice fills the car, the bass thumping as One More Chance plays on the radio.
Saul taps the steering wheel to the beat, the occasional smirk tugging at his lips when he catches me sneaking glances at him. The heat between us is palpable.
The moment is stolen when a flash of red and blue lights in the rearview mirror slams into me like a gut punch.
My breath stills, my fingers curling instinctively around my pearls as they heat against my skin. They aren’t just warm; they burn.
Trouble. There must be trouble.
Even before Saul glances at the mirror, I know.
This has to do with last week's incident with Antoine at Crescent Hall. You don’t just knock out the Chief of Police under an assumed name and get away with it.
It’s Antoine.
It must be.
Saul wasn’t speeding. His car is spotless, with no busted taillights or expired tags. A cop has no legitimate reason to be tailing us, which means this is personal.
The bastard.
Saul doesn’t react at first, his grip on the wheel steady, his expression unreadable as the siren blares behind us. He probably thinks the cop is after someone else. But then, the voice crackles through the bullhorn.
"Pull over, Mensah."
My stomach knots. Saul exhales through his nose, muttering something under his breath before flicking on the turn signal and easing onto the shoulder. His movements are slow, deliberate—controlled in a way that tells me he’s been in similar situations.
This is bullshit, and we both know it.
Before the cop even steps out, Saul presses a number on his speed dial. His fingers are precise, with no hesitation, no fumbling. Whoever he’s calling, he knows they’ll answer. Saul commands someone on his phone with a low rumble. All I hear is him growl, thanks.
He squeezes my hand, his thumb sweeping over my knuckles soothingly. Then, to my absolute shock, he winks. "Be cool, sweetheart."
Cool? My crazy ex-sexual harasser is weaponizing his badge, and Saul is acting like we’re about to order beignets at Café du Monde.
A moment later, one of Antoine’s lackeys steps out of the squad car, strolling toward us with the slow, practiced arrogance of a man who thinks he has the upper hand. He stops at Saul’s window, rapping on it twice.
Of course, he wouldn’t do the dirty work himself.
"Roll it down."
Saul doesn’t move right away. When he does, it’s with the calculated calm of a man who’s already decided he won’t be bullied. He rolls the window down just enough to talk.
"Evening, officer." His tone is polite but clipped, uninterested in pleasantries. "Something I can help you with?"
The cop tilts his head, clearly irritated. "Step out of the vehicle."
Saul doesn’t blink. "Not until you tell me why you pulled me over."
The air inside the car thickens. I grip my pearls tighter.
The officer’s jaw tightens, but before he can escalate, his partner—who looks far less eager to throw his weight around—approaches, murmuring something low in his ear. Whatever he says has an immediate effect.
The first officer’s expression sours. He glares at Saul, then flicks a glance toward me. Before leaving, he says, "You can’t hide behind your money forever, Mensah."
Saul chuckles, slow and dark. "I don’t need to hide," he replies smoothly. "But you might want to tell your boss to check with his boss before trying this stunt again."
And then, just like that, they walk away.
Confusion swirls inside me, and I watch them return to the patrol car. "What just happened?"
Saul smirks, shifting the car into gear. "The mayor called."
I stare at him, my mind spinning. That’s who he had on speed dial. "Who the hell are you?"
He leans over the console, the heat of his body pulling me in, his lips brushing mine with a teasing softness that sends a shiver down my spine.
"Yours," he murmurs against my lips.
I want to argue, to warn him that Antoine isn’t the type to take a loss lightly. That he’ll be back, and probably worse next time. But when Saul kisses me again, slow and thorough, my thoughts blur, replaced by the warmth of his mouth and the quiet promise in his touch.
Antoine might be relentless. But Saul?
Saul is unstoppable.
Thirty minutes later, the car slows, and my breath catches as the home comes into view. It’s not just a cabin—it’s a masterpiece. The exterior gleams with cedar logs, black steel accents, and massive windows that reflect the shimmering lake stretching out behind it. A wraparound porch hugs the structure, inviting and serene like it’s been waiting for us.
Saul parks the car, cuts the engine, and steps out gracefully, quickening my pulse. He offers me his hand, guiding me toward the front door—bronze with a lion’s head knocker that feels both regal and intimidating.
Inside, he punches in what seems like a million codes on the alarm pad, the soft beeps blending into the faint sounds of the lake beyond. Then he turns to me, and before I can take in the rest of the cabin, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me flush against him.
His kiss is fire and control, stealing my breath and scattering my thoughts. His lips press against mine with a hunger that leaves me clinging to his shoulders. The world tilts on its axis as I lose myself in him.
When he finally pulls back, my head spins, my breath shallow as I meet his intense gaze.
“Take me to bed,” I command, my voice soft but firm. His response is immediate.
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs, his tone laced with reverence and heat.
He lifts me effortlessly, carrying me deeper into the house, where the only thing left to focus on is us.