Page 3 of Playing With Her

“We’re goingto circle back to that. Now, you don’t know me, at least who I truly am. You want to get to the heart of me, I’m all for that. New Orleans is my permanent residence as of next week. The building I was hoping to lock down was for the company my brothers and I own together. The bomb I’m about to drop on you will tell you I’m not the scum beneath your shoe, lumping me in with the asshole you call your father. I’ve got one of my own, Amelie. I’m Boston Westcott, son to the biggest dick in New York, if not the entirety of New England. What I am is not him.” I take a deep breath and wedge myself further between her spread thighs. The way she had no problem giving me the in I needed with one knee, and feeling the way she settles around me, pelvis to pelvis, I’d say she still wants me, weeks later without me so much as sending a text or a phone call. There was a reason behind that, and it wasn’t the media attention. Much like Amelie’s father, an asshole in his own way, Governor Wescott would hang her out to dry, reveal her deepest, darkest secret, exposing her until there’s nothing left but the shell of the woman, all in order to reel my ass into his three-ring circus of political bullshit.

“Oh fuck,” she sighs as my cock notches along the heart of her, searing me with her heat. Her white linen shorts would be so easy to divest her of. One pull of the strings, a shimmy of her hips, and she’d be bare. It’s a temptation. Too bad my consciousness is tugging at me to step away, to lose the sweet woman I’m pressed against, for the time being.

“Yeah, beautiful. It seems we’ve got more to talk about. Maybe against your great-grandparents’ building isn’t the right place, and out here in the open isn’t the right time.” I move, hands leaving the warm brick and going to Amelie’s hips, gripping them like I have many times before. The edge of her shirt lifts up, giving me the smooth skin of her mid drift. Unable to resist the lure, my thumbs sweep across the light tone against my darker. Damn, my cock is aching to get back inside Amelie’s tight little body.

“Is it even a good idea for you to be seen with me?” Her statement breaks the haze of lust, pissing me off. Clearly, Amelie Boudreaux knows all about the Wescott family. It’d be hard not to. Dad’s next move is heading for Presidency, and I want fuck all to do with the shit that comes along with it. There’s a reason the escape from New York came at the time it did. That’s also why my father can’t stop blowing up my phone, causing me to block his number, along with his minions’ each time an unknown number appears.

“We’ll be talking about that, too. Don’t like the way you’re thinking about yourself. That’s a reflection of my shit touching you.” I should have made an effort to call or text her. “Now, let’s go. We’ll head back to LeBlanc Inn, I’ll check in for the week, and we’ll talk without having to worry about others overhearing.” I pull her away from the brick, hearing a car idling over my shoulder. My hand takes hers, and I lead her toward the car.

“Boston, I can walk to the LeBlanc. It’s only a few streets away.” Amelie puts the brakes on our walk.

“Why, when we’re both going in the same direction?” I ask. Finally, she allows me to guide her to the back door, reluctantly. I open it, and Amelie slides inside. I follow her. Scott doesn’t say a word, only nodding his head. The door is barely closed behind us when he’s heading to LeBlanc Inn. The driving down here in New Orleans is similar to New York City, though I’m not sure our potholes are quite this bad. It works in my favor, though, especially when Scott has to take a sharp turn to avoid colliding with another car on the narrow streets. Amelie is pressed against me, board straight, and I’ve got one fuck of a feeling that we have a lot of shit to talk about. This purchasing the building is only the tip of the iceberg.

FIVE

Amelie

“At least he’s gone,for now,” I tell the window. He’ll be back. He always is, especially since Mom moved out of their once shared home, not taking anything except her personal items. We turn into the small parking lot. I’m back in my designated seat, no longer pressed against Boston even though he felt good and smelt just as delicious as before.

“Did you say something?” Boston asks. I shake my head, not needing to repeat anything since it was inconsequential anyway. I’m opening the door the very second Scott, Boston’s driver, puts the car inPark. The automatic locks give way, and I’m out, taking a deep breath.Overwhelmedis the only word I can use for what is going on my head.

“Come on, we need to talk to Mom, and fast, then probably her attorney. I hate to bring you into my family drama. The divorce has been nasty, and it’s only getting nastier by the hour. She needs as much documented evidence as she can get.” This is the least he can do for me, also while I’m walking at a steady pace toward the side entrance, away from where the guests usually mingle.

“Amelie.” Boston’s hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me from taking the first step up the small concrete stoop where, when I was a girl, I’d eat the cookies Mom would bake for new guests. She’d save a few for me for when I came home from school as an afternoon snack. “Give me a second. If you’re going to need a statement from me, the least you can do is look at me. Damn, not ten minutes ago, there was nothing between the two of us. What’s with the wall, beautiful?” Boston has no idea. This is the real me when we’re not shrouded in darkness. My guard is always up; my father made sure of it.

“Much like I don’t know you, you don’t know me. This version is the one I have to keep up, especially when there’s a chance my father will return.” That’s partially the truth. The other flip of the coin is, well, I’ve got a secret of my own, one that I really need to talk to Eden about first, figure out where to go from here before I finally tell Boston.

“Fair enough. I’ll give your Mom’s attorney a statement. I’ll need to have mine on the phone through the process.” Crap, this is becoming a fiascos neither of us deserve to get involved in, least of all Boston.

“Shit, I didn’t even ask with your name and all. Is it even a smart idea to do this?” My shoulders droop, ass dropping to the step. Boston’s hand around my wrist disappears. A tiredness like no other hits me deep in my bones, the lack of sleep, dealing with my father, Boston showing up, not to mention the elephant looming above us.

“Considering I’m not my father, yes. It’ll be fine. I’m still going to make sure everything is done well above board. Too many variables can result from this. Are you okay?” Boston asks, sitting down beside me. His arm wraps around my back, pulling me closer to his intoxicating scent. I shouldn’t be this close to him, allowing my walls to drop and about to tell him more of my life than anyone would ever want to know.

“Yes, no, maybe. I’d kind of like to rewind time, go back to yesterday, sleep without tossing and turning, thinking about the what-ifs, sleep in, not come downstairs hearing my father in a rage, worried he was going to escalate.” My father has yet to raise his hand to my mother. I fear it’s only a matter of time, though. One wrong move, and he’d do whatever he could to make her give him what he wants. Money, power, greed—that’s who he is, worse now since Mom is finally filing for divorce.

“I have a lot of money, Amelie, but I’m pretty sure it takes more than cash to turn back time. Hell, you’d probably need some scientist, and even then, it wouldn’t matter. If it wasn’t what they want, not even my billions can make it happen.” My head pops off his shoulder. Why I let myself do that is beyond me.

“I’m sorry, did you just say billions? Holy fuck, I really don’t know you, not at all.” My family is not rich. We don’t have a politician’s name attached to ours. What we do have is a family name that’s been passed down from generation through generation. We’re well known around this area. Humble is how I’d categorize us. We’re not rolling in the dough, and when we do have extras of anything, it’s donated. Food especially. Any money we do have is attached to buildings, the hospitality industry, and all that.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about. Part of that is my permanent residence down here. Sorry about your luck, but you aren’t getting rid of me that easily, Amelie.” He bumps our shoulders together.

“I’ll say.” Another worry pops up out of me from nowhere. Boston having as much money as he says he does could make my life pretty unbearable. Just what I need, another freaking concern.

“No kidding. Please excuse me while I pick my jaw up off the ground.” I say. Jesus, all the doubts keep piling up, one on top of the freaking other.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll, umm…yeah, go back inside.” We break apart as if we’re two teenagers getting caught sucking face.

“It’s okay, Mom. Mom, as you know, this is Boston Wescott. Boston, this is my mom, Isabelle. Everyone calls her Isa, though,” I formally introduce the two. We stand up in unison. I wipe the back of my shorts off. Dumb move on my part, sitting on concrete with white bottoms.

“It’s nice to meet you. I can see where your daughter gets her beauty from,” he turns on the charm, and my mother is silently eating it up.

“Nice to meet you as well. Won’t you come in? I’m pulling a breakfast casserole out of the oven now.” The Southern Belle comes easily with my mom, mainly because that’s who she is through and through.

“Yes, we will. Boston is going to tell you what happened and what Daddy has been doing behind your back. He’s also staying for the next week or so. Obviously, you’ve seen the books. If we can make a room available for him, I know he’d be happy, and really, he’s about to do us a massive favor.” Mom looks me over carefully. She of all people knows what her future ex-husband is capable of doing.

“We can do something for that, not that he’ll actually be in his room at night.” My mother and her verbal vomit states. Boston’s eyes lock on mine. There’s no way my face isn’t showing exactly what I’m thinking. This day, I’m going to need coffee, and a lot of it. Stat.

“Okay, this has been a fun conversation,” I groan, unsure if I should laugh or cry. Instead, I go with, “Mother, if you’ll lead the way,” shutting down any further discussion about Boston and me, using my hand in a fluttering movement to shoo her inside the door. My other goes to Boston. No need to have employees gossiping more than they have already.

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