Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Fabien
Twenty-one-years-old
“There’s no need for you to go inside,” I tell Sienna, pulling up to the curb in front of the school’s administration building. If I had my way, I’d still be inside her. After twenty-four hours of us being tangled in the sheets, you’d think my cock would’ve calmed down.
My eyes land on her bare legs, and I place my hand on her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. Starts innocent, but my fingers begin inching higher beneath her skirt.
Nope, nowhere close to calming down.
“Don’t even think about it.” She wraps her dainty hand around my wrist, giving it a warning squeeze. “I’m sore as hell.”
“Baby, I’m sorry.” I remove my hand so that her fingers are now laced with mine. “You know what would help with that? Ice.” Me popping an ice cube in my mouth, lapping gently my cold tongue against her swollen clit…
Knowing where my mind’s gone, Sienna’s cheeks flush.
“I’ve never been so happy to own an ice company.” I bring her hand to my lips and press a kiss on her soft skin.
“Uh-huh. If you’ll kindly stop distracting me, I have to make a down payment on this semester’s tuition, or I risk losing my spot.” She releases my hand and unbuckles, grabbing her purse.
Me distracting her? She’s gotta be kidding.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Sienna’s fingers reach for the door handle.
“Stop that,” I snap, and she jerks her hand back with questioning eyes.
I slide out and hustle around my car, opening the door for her. Extending my hand, she accepts it as I help her out of the vehicle, closing the door behind her. “My girl doesn’t touch the door handle. Got it?”
Hands fall to her sexy hips as she says, “You realize I am capable of opening my own door?”
“You’re also capable of walking, but keep it up, and I’ll carry you inside the building,” I promise her.
On a huff, Sienna raises to her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Ridiculous.”
There’s a guy around my age on the bench eyeballing Sienna a little too hard for my liking. I palm her ass, marking my damn territory. “Guilty,” I tell her unrepentant.
She presses her lips to mine, and I give her ass a swat as she disappears inside the building. My head snaps to the guy on the bench; he wisely hops up and takes off down the street.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it from my pocket.
“This is Fabien.”
“Did some digging,” Detective Pierre says by way of greeting. “You were right about your Hotel D’Amico friend. Federal Agent Benjamin Ringer.”
“Ringer? Don’t trust him already. What’s he doing in NOLA?” The feds’ Louisiana field office is in Baton Rouge, and palms are greased so they stay out of our business.
“Ringer met with the Chief as a ‘courtesy.’ Hasn’t been announced publicly yet, but the feds are opening a field office in NOLA.”
“What?” My jaw ticks.
“That was our reaction. Anyway, Ringer made sure to let everyone know he’s the Special Agent in Charge.”
I curse quietly. “Is this Ringer by the books?”
“Nobody knows. Ringer comes to us by way of Dallas; the fed’s got nearly twenty-five years in, so he should be close to retirement. From what I’ve seen of him, he’s a shifty motherfucker. Do with that what you will.”
Shifty. I can work with that.
“Thanks, man. Keep your ear to the ground for me.”
“Will do.”
The call ends, and immediately, another incoming call flashes. My nosy-ass cousin.
“What’s up?” I answer.
“You gonna leave me hanging like this?” Nic cries.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” Nic’s voice rises several octaves. “You don’t know the shitstorm you’ve kicked up?”
“Nope,” I say, popping the p.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nic shouts. “You and Michele get into a pissing contest, you pull a gun on him—”
“That’s being a little dramatic.” Yeah, I pulled my gun, but Michele wasn’t within range.
“And now he’s on a fucking rampage. And guess who had to deal with his bad attitude while you’ve been conveniently MIA? Oh, and that’s after I had to play food delivery boy and go to that dump of a motel—risking life and limb to get your girl’s stuff.”
“You’re a saint,” I tell my cousin.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Is she worth it?”
Sienna exits the building, her attention landing on me. The biggest smile stretches across her face. She’s so damn beautiful, the wind’s knocked out of my lungs.
“Yes,” I breathe.
Nic whistles. “Somebody’s down bad.”
Yeah, somebody is.
Giving my head a little shake, I tell my cousin, “I’m sending you a picture of Benjamin Ringer—”
“Ringer. Don’t trust him already.”
“What I said.” I forward Nic the photo. “He’s the fed that’s been lurking at the hotel lounge. Let me know if you spot him; I’d like to introduce myself.” Lest this fucker think he has the upper hand.
Sienna throws her arms around me.
“Gotta go.” I end the call.
“My tuition’s already been paid.” She beams. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“But I did tell you—I always make good on my promises.” I steal a quick kiss before snatching the papers from her hand. “Lemmie see your schedule. Design 1. Drawing 1. Art History. English. And last but not least, Math.”
“You any good with math? Because I’ll probably need a tutor,” she says with a sigh.
“I’m pretty good,” I admit sheepishly. “I’m no brain trust like my brother, but we all can’t be Mr. Ivy League.” The words sound bitter to my own ears.
“Your brother’s at a fancy Ivy League college?” Sienna raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah, but enough about his boring ass.” I flip to the next paper. “Supply list. Looks like I’m taking my girl shopping.”
Her brow creases. “I’m not sure how I feel about this power imbalance between us.”
Hearing her say there’s an “us” makes me grin like a fool. “Me neither.”
“And what power do I have?” Sienna demands.
Too much damn power, that I already know.
Helping her in the car, I hustle around and slide behind the wheel. “For starters, I’ve got a rep to uphold, and yet here I am, risking it all in search of bobbins. I don’t even know what the hell bobbins are.”
Sienna shakes her head with a grin, snatching the list. “Lacemaking tools.”
“Lace, huh? I’m getting ideas.” My voice drops to a seductive octave.
“Uh-huh. Please leave the ideas to the professional.” Sienna’s expression turns from playful to pensive.
“What’s wrong?”
“Will people think I’m a whore for auctioning myself?” she asks softly.
“Don’t ever talk about yourself like that,” I warn her. “And as far as I’m concerned, it never happened. You’re a design student, end of story.”
“Isn’t that revisionist history?” Her cat-like eyes search mine.
“In case you don’t learn this in Art History, piccola volpe, history is written by the victors.” I rev up the engine before peeling out, and her squeal of delight is music to my ears.