Grim Shadows (Roaring Twenties) (21 page)

Only one ass he knew would cause a dress to defy gravity like that. And for one moment, he felt like one of those housewives who got chosen to participate in those radio game shows that are always giving away new electric washing machines for answering trivia questions.

He never knew he wanted a washing machine so badly.

Hadley turned around and her eyes locked with his. Her unrestrained smile made him want knock over tables to get to her. She gave him a little wave and ducked around club patrons to make her way toward him. Her boxy dress had short sleeves, and he suddenly realized he hadn’t seen her elbows since that night at the Flood Mansion. The ash gray bohemian silk scarf banded around her forehead and tied around the back of her jet black bob made him think of a dour fortune-teller who always gave depressing news.

God, how he loved her fatalistic sense of style. Curse or no curse, he didn’t give a damn. Every fiber of his being screamed,
Her—she’s the one you want.

And damn, did he ever.

He stood as she approached the table.

“Mr. Magnusson,” the club manager said at her side. “She insisted—”

“Yes,” Lowe replied. “It’s fine, Daniels. Thank you for letting her in.”

The man nodded, a palpable relief winding through his posture as he took his leave.

“What are you doing here?” Lowe asked in a rush, suddenly worried her father’s condition might’ve taken a turn for the worse.

But she appeared to be in good spirits and relaxed. She squinted up at him and gestured toward the arch leading to the lobby, a beaded handbag dangling from her wrist. “If you’d like me leave . . .”

“Oh, no—I’ll chase you down if you do.” He tugged the handbag until she stepped closer, grinning. “What I
meant
to say was hello, and have a seat, won’t you? You look stunning. And please tell me how you ended up in the same speakeasy.”

“Astrid.”

“Say again?”

“I called your house. Your sister told me I’d just missed you and where you were headed.”

God bless Astrid and her big mouth.

He pulled a seat out for her, then quickly shifted it closer to his. She laughed and sat down, holding a long strand of faceted black beads against her breasts to stop it from clinking. She looked a little breathless. About as breathless as he felt when he smelled her citrusy shampoo as he scooted her chair under the table. “I haven’t been inside a speakeasy since college,” she said. “I had no idea this one was so big. Elegant, even. Are your friends here?”

“What friends? Oh, them. No, they’re meeting at Coffee Dan’s. I decided not to go. I’m here to pick up something from the club owner. Magical charms.”

“Oh?”

“The woman who owns this club practices hoodoo.” He leaned closer and spoke in a lower voice. Mostly to catch the scent of her skin, but he also didn’t want to shout all his secrets to a crowded room. “She created the warding spell on Adam’s vault—which is where he’s keeping, you know,
important things
for us.”

“How intriguing.” She removed her gloves and tucked them inside her handbag.

“I should ask about your father and your day, but I really want to kiss you, so I’m feeling conflicted right now. I’m so glad you’re here. Why are you here, by the way?”

“Let’s see.” She ticked off a list of answers with her fingers. “My father is grouchy, so I couldn’t have been happier to move back into my apartment last night. I came here to make sure you weren’t meeting up with Ruby. And I really wish you’d kiss me, too.”

No need to tell him twice. He pressed his eager mouth to hers, smiling as he kissed her several times in quick succession. Then he slid his hand around the side of her neck to hold her captive and lingered a little longer. He was just about to deepen the kiss when another female voice addressed him.

“If you wanted a private balcony room, you should’ve told Daniels.”

Hadley jerked away. Standing in front of the table was a tall woman in her mid-thirties with pale nutmeg skin of indeterminable ancestry. Her hair was cut short in an Eton crop, styled into shiny brown finger waves molded close to her head, and she was dressed in a soft blue gown that glittered with beads.

He jumped to his feet to greet her. “Did you miss me?”

“The poker games upstairs sure did,” she said, a smile curling her lips. She set a pocket-sized cigarillo tin on the table before hugging him. Then she held him at arm’s length to look him over. “Your hair’s blonder on top. And you’re missing something.” She glanced down at his maimed hand.

“Gardening accident.”

Never one to believe his stories, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling before glancing at Hadley.

He placed a hand on Hadley’s chairback. “Velma Toussaint, this is Hadley Bacall, a curator at the de Young Museum. Hadley, this is Velma. She owns Gris-Gris.”

The women nodded at each other politely.

“Curious energy you’ve got there, dear,” Velma remarked.

Hadley’s eyes widened. She shifted in her seat as Velma looked askance at Lowe, as if asking for an explanation.

Not his place to tell Hadley’s secrets, so he just gave Velma a smile that was probably cockier than he intended. “Hadley knows why I’m here to see you. We’re working together, so she’ll be using the charm with me.”

“Well, then. Isn’t
this
interesting,” she said, keeping her eyes on Hadley as she flicked open the cigarillo tin’s lid. An herbal scent wafted out. Inside the slim box sat a glass vial and several small pouches made of red flannel, each about the size of a quarter. The tops were tied with white string. “Five mojo bags. They will keep your enemies away and give you protection from magical tracking spells, but only for a brief time. To activate a bag, you must feed it by anointing it with oil. A drop will do, right on the outside of the bag. Keep it in your pocket and don’t let anyone else touch it.”

“How long will the effects last?”

“Fifteen minutes, an hour. It’s hard to say. It’ll be strongest right when you feed it. Gradually wears off. One-time use only. When you’re done with it, you’ll need to throw it away at a crossroads. Any crossroads will do. Just toss it out of your car window if you’re in a hurry.”

“What’s inside them?” Hadley asked, sniffing the contents of the tin.

Velma shut the lid. “Herbs, charms. Innocuous ingredients. It’s the way they’re combined and prayed over that gives them power. And it’s the intent behind their deployment that makes them work. So while you feed a bag, if you have a specific enemy in mind to avoid, best to think hard about them. Understand?”

Hadley nodded.

“You’re a peach, Velma. How much do I owe you?”

“Just tell your sister-in-law to come see me. I’ve got a client who needs to have a word with their dead grandmother.” Velma slid the box toward Lowe and smiled as she took her leave from the table. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Lowe watched her depart as he stashed the tin in his inner suit pocket.

“Fascinating,” Hadley said.

“She is,” he agreed. “And now that we have some protection, we can begin searching for the third crossbar.”

Her reply was lost under a booming voice from the stage. The tuxedoed house band was taking its place to play their first set of the night. And as the drummer teased out a snappy rhythm, the clubgoers who’d been taking a breather at the bar now returned to the dance floor like ants infiltrating a picnic. Then the chords of “Bye, Bye, Blackbird” started up, and conversation became an impossibility.

He glanced at Hadley.

“Care to dance?” he said near her ear, raising his voice to be heard over the music.

She quickly shook her head and stiffened her posture. But curious eyes slid toward the dancers and a soft smile tilted her lips. She gave him a look that said “maybe.”

He pulled her to her feet and led her past tables to the crowded dance floor. And before she could change her mind, he gathered her close, one arm around her back, hands clasped, and swayed her into the crowd. A look of exhilaration swept over her features as they fell into step with ease. She was a good dancer, only looking at their feet long enough to catch the beat. He wasn’t sure why this surprised him. But he soon took advantage of it, swinging her around and laughing as she mouthed the song’s chorus along with the crooning singer on stage.

What an unexpected pleasure it was to watch her cheeks flush with excitement. He liked seeing her happy. It was infectious. They danced through another up-tempo song, and then he drew her closer for a Gershwin ballad. Closer still, holding her with both arms as she flattened her palms against his chest. He bowed his head to catch the scent of her hair and felt her breath tickling the skin between his ear and shirt collar. It made him dizzy with arousal and an aching, over-warm contentment.

“Take me home.”

He barely heard the words against his ear. Barely believed them. His breath came faster. Maybe he was giving them unintended meaning. Maybe she only wanted a repeat of the chair. Which, to be honest, he wouldn’t turn down in a hundred years, especially if they weren’t interrupted by her maid.

But if there was a chance she meant something more . . .

“I want to forget about everything,” she said. “Please.”

“Not sure I can do what we did again and survive—a man has his limits,” he said. “Let’s just dance.”

Tension tightened her shoulders for a moment. Then she relaxed and spoke into his ear again as if she were bartering for goods at one of the street markets in Cairo. “No clothes.”

“You or me?”

She hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Both of us.”

HE DIDN’T HAVE TO
talk her into riding on the back of Lulu again. It felt good to have her arms around him, but he would’ve given anything to be in the darkened backseat of a taxicab instead. And the torturous wait didn’t end once they got to her apartment building, where tenants were coming and going and chatting in the lobby. They hurried into the elevator, only to be forced to make small talk with the elevator man. By the time they made it inside her apartment, Lowe had adopted her counting technique.

He couldn’t lock the door behind them fast enough.

“Please tell me there’s no maid getting ready for bed in another room,” he said, shrugging out of his outer garments while she did the same.

She smiled nervously. “No maid.”

“No maid coming later?”

She shook her head, backing farther into the darkened apartment.

Thank God. “Where are you going?”

“It’s warmer back here.”

He paused mid-step, his eyes nearly fluttering shut with anticipation. He followed the sway of her hips through a hallway into a room that
was
warmer in both temperature and color. Dusky rose covered the windows and floors. Her black cat lounged on a pile of crumpled clothes in the corner, his tail lazily switching as he yawned at his owner in greeting.

“Sorry,” Hadley mumbled as she turned on a stained-glass dragonfly lamp. “No maid.”

Well, well. He rather liked seeing her messy. His gaze fell to the unmade bed, and alongside it, a wide vase of lilies sat on her nightstand, all different sizes and shapes and colors.
His
lilies: the ribbons were still tied to the stems.

It was all he could do not to grin like an idiot.

She untied the scarf around her head and dropped it on the bed. They stared at each other for several beats. Gone was the smiling confidence he’d held in his arms on the speakeasy dance floor. She looked wary now. A hand flattened over her stomach, as if she were trying to tame her nerves.

She was distressed.

Not exactly what a man wanted to realize while he stood in a woman’s bedroom. But what did he expect—that a few minutes in his lap a week ago would wipe away years of aversion? Sad thing was, he stupidly
hoped
it had. And something base inside him saw her unguarded and fragile, and it wanted nothing more than to rip off her clothes, throw her across the bed, and sink inside her.

What little blood was left in his brain whispered that this might not be the best approach.

Hadley was a prickly cactus. He could take his time to slowly, delicately find his way between her defensive spines. Or he could craftily trick her into shedding the spines on her own.

He crooked a finger. “Come here.”

She hesitated, then closed the distance between them, stopping a foot away.

“This is what we’re going to do,” he said, removing his suit jacket. “I’m going to take off every stitch of clothing.” He hung the jacket on the metal footboard of her bed and watched her eyes following its path. “And you get to keep your clothes on”—he slid a glance over her breasts—“for now. But only if you help me undress.”

She made a small noise, looking him over as if his clothes were an unsolvable puzzle.

He unfastened a cuff link and dropped it in his pants pocket. “You’ll be touching me while I keep my hands to myself. You’re still in control.” She absolutely wasn’t, and he hoped like hell she wouldn’t notice. Like a cardsharp using sleight of hand to trick his mark, he added a little misdirection. “Now, I’m going to remove everything above my waist while you take off my boots. Whoever finishes last has to take care of my pants.”

Her wide eyes fell to his bulging fly.

Suppressing a smile, he dropped the other cuff link in his pocket. “You’d better hurry,” he warned, tapping heel against toe. “These things are a bitch to unlace.”

Without a word, she crouched at his feet, dark head bent just south of where he wanted it, and untied the long bow at the top of his right boot. Then her fingers raced to loosen the crossed laces, from knee to ankle. Each pluck reverberated through his bones and sent muted thumps of pleasure through his tightening balls.

He nearly forgot they were racing. Vest, tie tack, necktie . . . he practically ripped them all off before yanking his shirt out of his pants.

Glancing up, she whined and frantically wiggled the boot’s heel. He curled his toes to impede her progress. “No fair!” she said, breathless, before tugging the leather off with a grunt and nearly falling backward.

“Told you they wouldn’t be easy,” he said with a chuckle.

Undeterred, she quickly loosened the second set of laces. My, she was motivated. But so was he. A shortcut made quick work of his shirt—once the first four buttons were unfastened, he easily slid the linen over his head while she wiggled the second heel.

“Socks, too.”

“That’s cheating!” she said, yanking the boot free and tossing it to the side with a
thunk
.

“Socks, Hadley,” he insisted.

She cursed under her breath but began stripping his socks off. He reached over his shoulder and waited until she believed she still had a chance to win before pulling off his undershirt in one smooth movement. “So sorry,
min käraste
. You lose.”

“You’re not sorry at all,” she said, throwing down the second sock as she pushed herself to her feet.

He clucked his tongue and pushed disheveled hair out of his eyes. “Don’t be a sore loser.”

Her blinking gaze flicked over his chest. She blew out a long breath and stepped closer. He inhaled the scent of her hair while they both stared down at the space between them. Slender fingers unbuckled and pulled his belt free from the belt loops, one by one. His curved dagger and its leather sheath slid free into his waiting palm.

Determined, she unbuttoned his fly, each tug of her fingers exquisite torture. Christ, he was harder than a brickbat. When she let his pants fall to the floor and hesitated, he took pity on her, tucking his thumbs into the waist of his shorts to spring his proud erection. Her little gasp and the accompanying scarlet blush that bloomed over her face made him want to throw his hands up in victory.

“Good God,” she murmured.

“It’s one of my better features,” he teased. Bet George didn’t have half of this. He wanted to ask, but didn’t want the bastard’s name floating around her bedroom. She already had enough baggage, and he wanted to deal with that first. “C’mere.”

“Lowe . . .”

Ignoring her weak protests, he gathered her in his arms and pulled her down to the rose-covered rug until she straddled him while he lay on his back. “Pin me down,” he said, throwing his hands over his head in surrender.

“What—
oh . . .”
She slanted him an irritated look. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Then humor me. Pin me down. Go on.”

Hesitantly, she stretched out and bowed over him. The black beads of her long necklace cascaded against his chest as her hands pinned his to the rug. Sweet Jesus, her body felt good on his. Her face hovered over his, strands of her bobbed hair tickling his cheeks with every hard inhalation of breath. Stockinged knees pressed against his outer thighs. It took every ounce of control he had not to pull her against him and roll her onto her back.

“Most interesting,” he murmured in a voice that sounded shakier than he intended. “What does it feel like to hold down a man twice your size?”

“You’re letting me.”

“Pretend I’m not. What would you do next?”

“This is silly.”

“Is it?” He slowly thrust his hips toward the thighs arching above him.

She groaned. He closed his eyes and waited, listening to her quickening breath. After a long moment, he felt warmth on his forehead. Her lips, kissing him. Once, then twice, on his eyebrow. And as she kissed a slow path from his temple to his jaw, chills raced over his skin. She picked up speed and confidence, opening her mouth against the frantic pulse on his neck, swiping a hesitant tongue over his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

Keeping a grip on his arms, she slid lower and pressed kisses on his chest. Did she know what she was doing? Because, for a moment, he couldn’t figure out who was the manipulator. Her lips grazed his nipple, almost seemingly accidentally. Pleasure rocketed straight to his balls. Now he was the one groaning. And when her kiss gained suction—God!—his tenuous restraint eroded. Again, he thrust his hips upward, and this time his cock rubbed against the silk between her legs—this time she squirmed and pushed back.

Out of nowhere, a familiar pressure gathered at the base of his spine.

Shit.

It was all too much. Far too long since he’d had a woman. He might’ve been able to hold out if it was anyone else but Hadley. But he’d never wanted anything so badly and his body was going haywire. Somewhere God was laughing as he cruelly took away all of Lowe’s willpower and turned him back into a fifteen-year-old boy who was on the verge of coming in his pants when the wind gusted.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered. “I’m not going to last. You’ve got to give me relief.” His hips thrust on their own accord now. It was nearly painful. “Please.”

Just as he was about to break free of her grip and take care of himself, she released one arm and slid her hand between them. He pushed himself into her palm and her slender fingers circled. Absolute bliss. One uneven pump of her hand and his hips lifted off the rug. A second, and he was struggling for breath. Two more and the floor fell away. He came, quickly, violently, as he spilled onto his stomach and the front of her dress.

His head lolled against the floor as he closed his eyes, reeling with relief and regret. If he was attempting to cure her touching phobia, he was fairly certain this wasn’t the way to go about it. “Sorry,” he mumbled as she released him. “I’m normally not this eager.”

A rustling movement tore him out of his thoughts. Soft fabric brushed his stomach. Was she cleaning him up? Before he could analyze this too closely, her warm touch disappeared.

He cracked open an eye to see Hadley straddling above him on her knees as the inner lining of her black dress glided over her shoulders. She tossed the dress aside and shook her hair out, breathing hard. Bare arms. Bare thighs, banded by ribbon-adorned black garters. And in the middle, a golden silk step-in chemise—so fine, he could see right through to her nipples and the dark triangle of hair between her thighs.

The chemise’s loose legs were embroidered with a field of alternating lotus flowers and fanning papyrus stalks. And over the tops of her breasts stretched the green and blue winged figure of Maat, Egyptian goddess of balance and truth.

Hadley shyly smiled down at him and he wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t died and ascended to some sort of heaven.

 • • • 

Hadley held her breath as Lowe’s gaze raked over the chemise. It was Madame Dubois’s finest embroidery work, and Hadley had sighed blissfully when she’d picked it up that afternoon. Silly, but she couldn’t curb the careening hope that he’d like it just as much.

“O-oh,” Lowe moaned, rising up on his elbows. Half of her wanted to cover herself up. The other half wanted him to put his hands everywhere his heavy gaze roamed. He pushed himself up until she was forced to sit back on his thighs. “
Vacker.
So beautiful—my God, Hadley.” His knuckles grazed her clavicle and stroked over the embroidered neck of the chemise, sending goose bumps down her arms. Thick blond eyelashes fanned over blue eyes as he blinked. His voice was low and gravelly. “Can I please touch you now? I need to touch you. I
have to touch you
.”

“Yes,” she said, gaining confidence. “Definitely yes.”

A heavy arm slung around her waist, and with a grunt, he pushed himself off the floor, hauling her with him as he stood. He set her on wobbly feet. “Steady, now.” Two big hands swiveled her around to face her bed.

“What—” She twisted around to see him ogling the embroidered papyrus fans that curved over her backside.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled. His willpower seemed to snap. One moment he was in a daze, and the next, his hands were all over her, sliding beneath the loose legs of her step-in chemise to palm her ass, igniting a thousand sparks across her skin. He kneeled behind her, talking more to himself than her. “These have to go.”

He lifted her foot and unbuckled the T-bar strap of one Mary Jane pump, forcing her to grasp a rail of the metal footboard for balance. The other quickly followed. Warm fingers pushed down her garters before circling her thigh to roll a stocking down. Shocking wet heat followed the stocking’s path down her leg—his mouth on the back of her thigh. Down, down, until he licked the sensitive hollow behind her knee.

The second stocking went twice as fast. He seemed to be racing her quickening pulse. She felt him stand behind her before he tugged golden straps down her arms. Silk whispered across her skin as the chemise fell, puddling at her feet.

She was naked. Utterly, completely naked. Her bare skin on display to his hungry gaze. Never had anyone seen her this exposed—not since the incident. Not even George; their brief encounters had been in the dark, beneath the cover of her skirt.