Saints and Sinners (5 page)

Don’t forget the right words. She whispered the password Janet provided, and the door opened to allow her admittance. Down the smoke-filled hallway, she followed behind the middle-aged and balding man. A ragtime tune wafted her way. Cigar smoke filled her nostrils.

If nothing else, she could listen to the music and chat with the patrons. Every penny she earned in tips would be given to Janet for her family.

In a matter of speaking, the man put her in her place. The cloakroom was no more than a narrow cubbyhole and appeared fashioned as an afterthought by the builder. As she shrugged off her coat, the doorman glowered. Wasn’t her dress the bee’s knees? He probably didn’t think so. True, it wasn’t the most fancy dress ever to come off the rack at Bainbridge’s, but it wasn’t the cheapest, either.

Moira passed her time, chatting and accepting the generous tips of the patrons. From time to time, she watched the sweep on the wall clock’s hands. The evening wore on toward midnight, and with each passing hour, she prayed it would end. How her feet throbbed from the high heels. Moira looked at the change basket. She’d earned almost three dollars in tips already, and the evening still wasn’t over. Big spenders, the whole lot.

Then Heaven filled her field of vision.

Less than ten feet away stood Reilly Dunne. His reddish-brown hair tumbled recklessly over his forehead and teased the top of his left eyebrow.

“Well, if it isn’t the Queen of the Nile here to tease and torment me.”

What should she do? There was no way she could keep her mind on cloakroom business with Reilly around. It was almost time for the next girl to come on duty and time for her to leave before temptation caused trouble.

She removed her coat and examined the close confines of the closet-like room. Though a bit cramped, there was plenty of room in the corner for them to hide and have the time of their life. Moira stifled a laugh. Oh, to see his bare backside and the size of his sausage.

“Hope you’re thinking about me,” Reilly said, and she almost dropped her coat. “If so, I’ll have to come back there and check more than my coat.”

Was she dreaming? No. Her heart hammered inside her chest as though it were trying to escape. “Just getting ready to leave. My mind’s on a good night’s sleep.”

“That so? Could have fooled me the way those lamps are shining. Hey. Charlene’ll be here in a couple minutes. There won’t be anyone coming in at this hour,” Reilly whispered, his breath warming her ear. “Show me how you wear those heels down while we do the Charleston.”

As if in response to Reilly’s mention of the latest dance craze, the orchestra burst into a rousing rendition of the tune. Whisked away to the dance floor, Moira left her coat and her reluctance behind.

If he looked like a dream, he danced even more like one and kept pace with her every move. How his hands loved to touch more than they should. A few times she slapped them away, but at others she pretended not to notice.

“You keep a good pace, Grace.” Reilly’s eyes sparkled.

“Grace? My name’s Moira. Are you sure you’re dancing with the right girl?”

“Wouldn’t want any other.” He spun her around and pulled her through his legs.

Her scalp brushed his crotch. She inhaled. He smelled so good. The jet bugle beads she wore swung wildly and slapped against her chest. Her nipples hardened with each swipe of the gaudy strand. Every time he touched her body, she struggled to keep her sense of timing intact. What else might not remain intact if she stayed in this charmer’s company too long? Tonight she’d checked her modesty at the door, leaving it to hopefully rot and wither. Time to kick up her heels and experience life as other young women her age did. She wouldn’t burn in hell just for dancing with Reilly Dunne.

“Me, either,” she muttered, hoping he hadn’t heard her honest reply.

“What’s that you say? Do I have you so wound up you can’t talk right?”

Oh, she could talk, but that wasn’t what she wanted to do.

“No. I was counting aloud.” Liar.

Time after time, he put her through the steps. Each time through his legs, the top of her head brushed against his bottom. Her most sensitive spot ached as never before. How would he feel thrusting inside of her? He pulled her close as the band stilled. Her dress clung to her heaving body. She must look like she’d jumped into the bathtub with her clothes on?

Wilted like last week’s roses, but wanting to continue contact with Reilly Dunne, she tugged his hand. I’m not a sinner and am still innocent as daybreak. Hopefully that’ll change soon. “Care to teach me something else? Another dance, that is?”

“Elizabeth Welch has nothing on you. Don’t know about another dance, but would you care to join me for a drink?” He swept the unruly reddish-rust waves back from his forehead.

“Sounds wonderful. Who’s Elizabeth Welch?” One of his lovers?

“She coined the Charleston. Ever try a gin rickey?”

Moira shook her head. Whew. What good news. At least Elizabeth wasn’t competing with her for Reilly’s attention. “Will it taste as odd as it sounds?”

“Even odder. Although it ain’t bathtub liquor. Not at this club.” Underneath her chin, his fingers moved in a most pleasant way. “Don’t know if you’re ready for gin, but I have a few other ideas.”

“I’m ready for rest. At least for a little while.”

A bartender delivered their drinks. The liquor burned her throat, and she decided to nurse it for the rest of the night. While she sipped the strange concoction, Reilly watched her every move. Over her body, his lazy gaze traveled much as a puff of wind over an open blossom. Teasing. Twisting her to his bidding.

Seducing her without shame.

Reilly wrapped her jet beads around his first two fingers and pulled her toward him. The tip of his warm nose brushed against hers. The strange stirring resumed between her legs. Dampness intensified in her bloomers.

God in Heaven, such a forbidden fruit, he was. She wanted to take a bite out of him, but did she dare? Moira squeezed her legs together. She’d not had such tenderness down there since she fell off almost ten years ago.

She closed her eyes. Stroke me, there, Reilly. “Soon.”

“Soon? What are you talkin’ about?”

Oh, sugar. “Soon, it will be time for me to leave.”

Her gaze fell to the front of his pants. A distinct bulge pressed below his waistband. She shivered at his arousal.

“You’re keen, Moira. Like a clear lake on a summer’s day, I could dive into you and never come out.”

Okay, Reilly was a smooth talker. He didn’t really want to dive into a lake. He wanted to probe the most precious place in her body.

Slowly, his left hand stroked her knee and teased the stocking downward in the process. Drawn to his devilishness, she couldn’t fool herself. There was no denying the attraction between them. For once, a man—no, a terribly handsome man—was interested in her. By the time she finished an evening in his company, she’d wear out her rosary afterward, but she could always replace it.

“Care to join me for a different dance?” he asked, one eyebrow arched. Two of his fingers crept up the leg of her drawers and toward the very core of her being. Through the linen garment, Moira adored the way his fingers pressed against the tender flesh of her sex. Slow and sensual, his fingers massaged her mound. Moira closed her eyes to savor the sensation.

She started as someone poked her shoulder from behind.

“’Fraid not, Reilly. She’s supposed to be back there working and earning her pay.”

Reilly mumbled what sounded like Irish profanities and gave her thigh a final squeeze. Moira turned to find the slack-jawed doorman staring daggers at her.

Time to leave her lover boy. Lover? No, that he wasn’t yet, and with a bulge like his, he was as far from a boy as one got.

“Bye...and thank you for the drink.” Also for your hot caresses. Moira glanced around the room. Patrons and lovers clung together like tangled vines. Lust and liquor and the love of money. Yes, they all reeked of those things...among others.

Reilly remained behind, engaged in a heated discussion with the doorman. She reached her post and watched the men part company. Reilly resumed his roaming. Leaning against the counter in the cloakroom, she studied him as he worked the room in a confident way. Her body still burned from his touch. Cursing her luck, she reached down and repositioned the stocking he’d toyed with only minutes earlier. A small piece of cocktail napkin fell to the floor and she retrieved it. In bold black strokes, Reilly had written—

“A face so divine, I must be in Heaven...or are you my angel here on earth?”

Chapter 4

Moira stuffed the money into her pocketbook and blew out a long breath. How many hours did an evening have?

“Gawd. You had a good turn tonight.” Flossie chuckled as Moira flopped down onto the bed whose mattress had seen better days.

“Janet will be so happy when I show her how well I did.”

Something about this place both scared and excited Moira at the same time, but Reilly excited her more.

“Here. Try this on. It’d fit you swell.” Flossie tossed her a gaudy garment. “To have such a fine figure, I’d give almost anything.” A crooked grin spread across the bawdy woman’s mouth.

Moira held up her hand. “No. It’d suit someone else much better.”

“You never know until you try. Hey, I gotta get going. My man’s waiting outside. You make one keen, Cleopatra.” She blew Moira a kiss. “You’re a swell pal to Janet. Just turn the light off when you’re finished.”

Left to contemplate Flossie’s comment, Moira puzzled over the last word. Finished? Finished what? Just what did Flossie think she’d start that she’d have to finish in this stuffy dressing room?

Moira slipped her hand underneath her dress. The wetness remained between her legs. If only Reilly’s hand were under here now.

The bed creaked as she rolled off and sorted through the costumes hanging on the rack. Feathers? No. They’d tickle. A red and white two-piece caught her eye. After flipping the lock on the dressing room door, she stripped off every garment. Even her underclothes joined the rest on the floor. Gooseflesh appeared, but she didn’t care. This was a chance to live out one of her wildest fantasies without anyone around

The flimsy top was a couple sizes too small, and her breasts spilled over the top. She pulled at the bodice to prevent too much skin from showing. Striped short-knicker pants clung to her bottom and legs, but the overall effect wasn’t bad. Better than the new coat of paint on a porch railing. She spun and hugged herself tight. Such a bad girl she was, and no one was the wiser.

* * * *

Reilly turned the knob all the way to the left. That stupid lock never held. On the other side, someone hummed what sounded like a show tune. It wasn’t Flossie. His heart beat a steady tattoo in his chest. Opening the door wide enough to catch a glimpse of the songbird, he almost passed out at the shock. What beautiful gams and an even hotter ass.

There she was. Only a few feet away. Doll-faced Moira Monaghan posed in front of Flossie’s cracked mirror. How he longed to run his hands over her soft skin. Let them linger between her legs. Like a piece of peppermint candy, she appeared ready to shed her fancy wrapping at any time.

He reached down and adjusted his hardness. Damn. She was finer than fine. She’d melt in his mouth quicker than Timmerman’s taffy. Hot and wet, sticky and sweet. Such a snatch he’d never forget.

Those wicked shoes. Red as the engines that raced down the street in search of a fire. Tonight, she’d ignited a fire deep inside of him. A fire in his cock he wished she’d stoke before putting it in...and out...and in...and out.

Time to lessen the distance between them. This waiting was making his cock miserable. He opened the door wider and sneaked into the stuffy room. Underneath his large feet, the floorboards groaned.

The look on her face when she spun around and saw him. Priceless as one of Picasso’s paintings. This fine piece didn’t belong in a museum. Not on your life. She belonged in his bed until the sun came up again...or he did.

Her whole body trembled at his appearance. Quickly, she yanked the woolen blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

He was ready for that one. “Came to talk to Flossie. She’s got some of the best jokes I’ve ever heard. Ever hear the one about the sheik and the Queen of the Nile?” He met her gaze and held it for a while. Her eyes were the windows to Moira’s soul. Green as gallery glass.

She loosened her grip on the blanket and let it fall. Her heavy breasts heaved at the sight of him. Fuller than ripe melons at the market. How he longed to suck on them and bite the soft flesh. This little lost lamb was speechless at his intrusion.

“Come to me, Moira, and let me smooth your ruffled feathers.” I’ll pluck them and plunge into you until you cry out for more.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll change and head home.”

“Oh, but I do mind.” He popped a hard candy into his mouth and sucked on it. “You know, you look just like Clara Bow. What size shoes do you wear?”

“Size seven,” she said and looked down at the racy red shoes on her feet.

Reilly rummaged through an old cardboard box and produced a pair of tap shoes. “Try these on.”