If I Had You (15 page)

“Oh?” Did he want to go on another date before they became lovers?

“Yes, it's Vera's birthday. My sister? I'm having a small party.” He looked rueful. “You'll only know Boris, but the food will be good and there will be dancing. Would you come?”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Yes, at my flat. I know it's not a good neighborhood, but if you come by taxicab I'll escort you in from the street, and back again. I'd tell you I'd come pick you up, but I'll be over at Boris's flat cooking all afternoon.”

“You cook?” She couldn't imagine those big hands finessing food.

“No, he does. He's very good. I'll be doing whatever he tells me.”

She squeezed his arms, enjoying the firm biceps under her fingers. “It sounds like fun. I'm sure I can come to the party, but I don't think I could have the afternoon, too.”

“It will be wonderful if you can come for the evening.” He released her and stepped back.

She supposed he really was going home. If she asked him to stay, well, she courted disaster. No wonder she needed to be the one to take care of preventing pregnancy. Lovemaking opportunities came about when you least expected them. She tingled all over at the possibility. “Do you have enough records? I could borrow some of Sybil's.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, could you? We'll be playing the same five records over and over again, otherwise.”

“I'll manage it. I can't wait to try Russian food.”

They smiled at each other, but the distance between them had grown to two feet. “Thank you. I hope to see you tonight.”

“The usual place, and an entirely different one tomorrow.”

“Yes. Oh.” He fumbled in his coat, then held out a scrap of paper. “My address. Do you have money for the taxicab?”

“Yes, I haven't spent a penny of my pay yet. Maybe I'll have a new dress for tomorrow. I plan to shop for one.”

His gaze raked her body. “How exciting. I can't wait to see it.” He yawned.

She held out her hand to the door and picked up his cap. When he nodded and took it, she opened the door a crack and peeked into the corridor. “Out you go.”

He kissed her cheek as he passed by her, then he was gone. She closed the door and turned to stare at her bed. Now she was awake, and fidgety. Maybe she'd go to the Coffee Room and look at newspapers.

Downstairs half an hour later, she found a C&A advert illustrating the various outfits a woman might wear over the course of the day. She liked the satiny pink dress the model wore for evening, though of course, it was just a line drawing. The pleated skirt floated at the knee. She couldn't discern the shape of the top because a matching cardigan was worn over it, but it was probably loose and sleeveless.

“Here's my best darling,” Sybil cooed, appearing in the doorway of the Coffee Room in a dropped-waist satin dress most women would wear in the evening. She'd topped it with a voluminous brown fur coat, no hat.

Alecia smiled at her. “Coming in? Going out?”

“Oh, I couldn't stay in the suite this morning. Stuffy upstairs today, isn't it, darling?” Sybil opened her purse and found her cigarette holder, then opened her cigarette case.

Alecia took the offered lighter and held the flame to Sybil's cigarette. “It's not stuffy down here, but chilly.”

“Yes. You need a fur coat, darling.” Sybil blew smoke from the side of her mouth.

What could she say to that? “Shall I fetch you some coffee?”

“Black, darling, and a naked little piece of toast.”

Alecia hurried to do as she was bid. It didn't take long. She placed the items in front of her employer, then reseated herself.

Sybil touched the advert with the tip of a perfectly groomed nail. “Planning a shopping trip?”

“I've been invited to a birthday party tomorrow night, if you don't need me.”

“You can go if I can take you shopping. That's some appalling viscose number judging from the price, darling. It will never last the season, with London's damp.”

“I can afford it, though.” Alecia frowned at the newspaper.

“We must not be paying you enough,” Sybil mused.

“It's not every secretary who can stay at the Grand Russe,” Alecia said.

“Yes, but it's taken out of your wage, really.” Sybil took an antlike bite of her toast. “You must have a silk dress. Are you set on pink?”

“It suits my coloring.”

Sybil nodded. “Not mine. I must have red for evening, if I'm trying to be sexy. Is this party for your Russian?”

“He's the host.”

“We could try you in red. Save your money and wear something of mine.”

“Won't I look too fancy for a party that is probably full of Russian refugees?”

“It's never wrong to be the best-dressed girl at the party. Especially when you are connected with the theater. No, let's buy you an evening coat and save your dress money. We'll try that new dress shop by my manicurist. The girl who owns it is the daughter of a baronet and knows
nothing
about business. She'll be so star struck by me that you'll have it for a song.”

She hoped Sybil was right. “I could use a new coat.”

Sybil nodded. “Let's have our nails done, then to the dress shop we'll go.”

“What about Richard?”

“We'll stop at the front desk and leave him a note. I have to spend all afternoon with him rehearsing anyway. Such a bore.” She rolled her eyes. “As if I don't know my part perfectly. I've played Lady Macbeth dozens of times.”

“Can I help?”

“Oh yes, you should be in the room with us. Script prompts, if anyone needs them. I don't know who Richard has hired for the other roles. Poor darling, so much for him to do. I much prefer to act than tend to all the business he does.”

“He's been very busy,” she said cautiously.

“As have I,” Sybil said. “Now run along and retrieve that ratty old coat of yours. I'll meet you at the reception desk in a few minutes.”

* * *

Alecia couldn't wait to take off her tired old coat and dance in the silk and velvet dress she'd borrowed from Sybil. They had considered, at length, a beaded silk dress, but Sybil was just a little taller than Alecia, so the beautiful red dress seemed matronly on her. The sleeveless dress with the high-low hem that she wore now had a pink silk lining that showed behind her legs, and embroidered flowers across the waistline. The top part was stark black, perfect for a rope of pearls, if she'd had one. Her mother had owned beautiful pearls, but they'd gone down in the
Lusitania
with her.

She wouldn't think about that tonight. While she hadn't come home from her shopping excursion with a new coat, she had fixated on a pair of pale pink leather T-strap shoes with a rhinestone button that made them work for evening as well as day. With the purchase of them, she had just enough room in her budget for a dress pattern and some fabric. She'd make herself a new dress to wear with her shoes eventually, but tonight, she'd dance in borrowed finery.

She paid the taxicab driver and stepped onto the cracked pavement, holding her bag of records. In this part of town, she might be safer wearing her old coat. It didn't smell very nice here either. She hoped she didn't ruin her new shoes.

“Alecia!” A figure peeled itself from the wall of the residential building.

She recognized Ivan's voice and trotted to him, careful to watch where she stepped. “Hello! Did you finish your cooking?”

“Yes, wonderful things. Potato dumplings, my sister's favorite lemon dessert, pancakes, some beautifully spiced lamb from Boris's secret recipe. A fish soup, too.” He stepped forward.

“It sounds like a real feast,” she agreed.

He picked up one of her hands and kissed the back of her glove. “A feast for all the senses, just like you.”

She blushed, forgetting the night's cold. “You are sweet.”

He tucked her hand around his arm. “Now, we must go in so you can meet these crazy Russians. You may hear things you'd prefer not to, but hopefully, they will be speaking in Russian and not English.”

“Are they trouble, your friends?”

“My sister's friends,” he corrected, sounding stern. “Let us go in.”

Alecia wondered what she had landed herself in as she climbed the stairwell behind a greengrocer's. The truth was she was simply happy to be spending time with Ivan. Since he had only one day off a week, they wouldn't be able to have another date soon. She thought he might just be too tired after his shifts to pursue her in the morning hours, whatever he hoped.

He ushered her in through the door at the top of the stairs. She saw an assortment of bushy-bearded men in the small room. It must be the fad among Russians. Most people looked to be about a decade older than she was. She recognized Boris Grinberg from the pawnshop, presiding over a tureen of soup. By the far window she saw the clerk who worked at the pawnshop. A woman with a wedding ring sat on an ancient sofa pushed against the wall. She hoped Ivan saved most of his money instead of paying it in rent. These damp walls scared her. No celebratory cheer was present.

On the other hand, she'd never seen a gramophone like the one on the table in the center of the room. The sight of it instantly made her happy. The sound was good, however primitive the machine appeared to be. “Are we dancing already?”

“No, but Vera loves music almost as much as you do.” He indicated her bag. “Did you bring records?”

“I did.” She opened the bag and showed him.

He clapped his hands with pleasure. “What's in the wrapping?”

“A gift for Vera. It's a new recording by the Wolverine Orchestra.”

He shook his head. “Oh, you didn't need to bring a gift. I didn't expect that.”

“I wanted to. After all, she's a music lover like me.” She wanted Ivan's sister to like her. “There's beautiful cornet work on it.”

“I heard the Piano Suite on the seventh floor is empty tonight. Maybe we can go back to the hotel later and you can play for me?”

She blinked. She had mentioned to him that she knew how to play the piano a little, but hadn't expected the opportunity to do so. “My goodness. You can do that? The seventh floor?”

“Yes, I can get the keys. I'm a watchman. I have to be able to respond to emergencies.”

She noted the pride in his voice and liked it. Did she want to go to a hotel suite with him late at night, alone?

In a word, yes. Whatever happened.

A
fter Ivan had made his suggestion and she'd agreed, the party became torture. Alecia's first priority was making sure her borrowed recordings were played, so that she could take them with her when she left. Ivan found her a plate and Boris gave her a mouthwatering selection of his culinary specialties. Then, while Ivan talked to a thin man in his early thirties, introduced to her as Vera's fiancé, she sat with the married lady on the sofa. Actually, the woman was a widow, the sister-in-law of a man named Anatoly, who she never heard speak to anyone during the hour and a half she stayed at the party.

Vera had come up to her after about twenty minutes. Her English wasn't as good as Ivan's, but they talked about music and Alecia felt like she'd done well, though she didn't feel as if she'd made a friend. Vera seemed nervous and vague.

Then, very soon, Vera had unwrapped her presents and settled into the business of serious dancing with Sergei, who probably stayed so thin by vigorous exercise. She'd never seen two people move their feet so fast when they danced. Boris asked her to dance once, but the Russians gave her a wide berth. Ivan was kept too busy pouring drinks to dance more than once with her either. When he signaled her, she put Sybil's records back into the carrier bag and slipped out with him.

“I have a taxicab waiting,” he said, as they went down the stairs.

“I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had left.”

“The music had you swept away.” He grinned at her as they went out the door of the greengrocer's shop.

“I need my own record player.”

“You'd never leave your room,” he teased.

“I would.” She grinned. “To buy more records.”

The taxi was at the corner and they scurried toward it. The temperature had dropped dramatically. Alecia could see her breath in the night air. Ivan kept his arm around her the entire way to the hotel, only letting her go when they walked into the Grand Russe.

The temperature change upon entering made her teeth begin to chatter. “It will be quite warm in the basement,” he promised. “We'll get the keys and then take the service lift up to the seventh floor.”

“I can't wait. What's the Piano Suite like?”

“Very musically oriented. It's done in white and gold, with photographs of American musicians on the walls. Pure luxury.”

She followed him through a door off a corridor by the Reading Room that she'd never noticed before, and through another door that he needed a key to unlock. Then they moved into an industrial part of the hotel, down a flight of plain wood steps, the walls painted white but marred by many scrapes and even a little dirt along the baseboards. A low hum from electrical equipment picked up volume as they stepped down. Ivan unlocked another door and they walked through.

“You shouldn't be here, so stay close,” he told her. They went into a long, rectangular room with rows of hooks, shelves above, for employee belongings. A corkboard dominated the wall alongside the door.

“That's where Mr. Eyre posts his memos every day,” Ivan said.

Alecia glanced at the creamy sheet of fine paper, with “Peter Eyre” across the top in lettering that matched the hotel's. “Greetings from Peter Eyre” was the first line typed underneath the letterhead.

“That's yesterday's note. I don't know when he posts them. I've never seen him down here.”

She read the note. “You have a plumbing problem on the seventh floor.”

“Or Miss Page is exceedingly dramatic,” Ivan said. “No one else complained, but the seventh floor must be perfect.”

“Why aren't Mr. Fortress and Miss Page in the Piano Suite?”

“They are in the Sleeping Princess Suite. It's the second nicest in the hotel.”

“I see. It sounds marvelous, just from the name alone.” She waved her hand in front of her face. It was very hot down here. She unbuttoned her coat and unwound her muffler.

Ivan nodded. “I'll just get our key.” He unlocked a glass-fronted cabinet with duplicates of every key that was kept behind the desk, and chose the one he wanted.

“You're certain we won't be in trouble?”

“Absolutely.”

He looked stern for a moment, but she had no idea why. “Tell me,” he asked. “What are the Marvins doing this evening?”

“When I went to make myself ready, they were still rehearsing downstairs. All the actors came in today for the first time. I was the script supervisor during the afternoon, but a lot of them weren't off-book yet, so I wasn't much use. They weren't expected to know their lines. Mr. Marvin didn't mind me leaving and Sybil had already approved it.”

He didn't seem to be paying much attention. “Did my sister look familiar to you at all?”

“You mean, did she look like you?” She considered this. “She's tall and I think she has your build, but I saw a family photograph on your mantel and it seemed that you look like your father and she looks like your mother.”

“Mother was a beauty. Vera has aged faster. A different sort of life.”

“I hope you don't tell her that.”

Ivan shrugged. “As long as Sergei admires her, that's all that matters.”

“Will they marry soon?”

Ivan gestured to the door, and Alecia followed him out. He went the opposite direction from before, heading for the service lift. This one wasn't manned, and had blankets covering the walls.

“To the seventh we go,” Ivan said, operating the controls.

Alecia leaned against the wall as they rose, feeling the tug of gravity. She stared at her shoes, glad to see they hadn't picked up any East End detritus and still looked brand-new.

“Every time I've looked at you all night, you've been staring at your shoes.”

She put her hand over her mouth, trying to hide her giggle. “I know, so silly of me, but I can't believe they are really mine.”

“London shoes.”

“Yes, exactly! Can you imagine wearing shoes like this in a muddy rural field? What the church ladies would say if they saw me wearing them at my grandfather's services?”

The lift stopped with a shudder. “They'd say you'd been sinning,” Ivan said.

He opened the door and the gate and stepped out, then held his hand out to her. She took it and stepped off.

“Am I going to sin in these shoes?” she whispered.

“I thought I'd take them off you first.”

He was so beautiful, even in the faint light of the corridor, that she had to stand on her tiptoes and lean into him. Her mouth only came up to his chin, but she kissed it, that cleft there, then trailed her lips down his neck.

His breath expelled harshly, and he shifted his stance, supporting more of her weight. She slid her hands down the buttons of his winter coat, then up again, unbuttoning them as she went. Leaning in again, she felt the hot, hard length of his manhood against her belly.

He wrapped his arm around her and she could feel the key in his hand, the heavy brass fingerplate, the long, old-fashioned key. She couldn't pull herself away as he plundered her mouth, and met him in intensity, curling her fingers around his belt, rubbing against him like a cat. Every time she moved her torso, her engorged nipples sent fireworks of liquid heat through her entire body. She had desires she'd never known before. She wanted to claw and bite his clothing off.

He lifted the key to eye level between them, and broke the kiss. “I have to—” He panted between each word.

“Open the door?” she asked, equally breathless.

He nodded. His pupils looked huge in the dimness, his lips swollen. She wanted to go down on her knees and worship. Once, her sister had made a comment about what flappers did on their knees. She had no idea what Sadie had meant, but she wanted to find out.

Ivan opened the double doors of the suite and stepped in, turning on the light. She had thought she wouldn't be able to tear her eyes off of him, but the sight of the room had her dumbstruck with wonder. She hadn't realized this floor of the hotel had vaulted ceilings with stained glass upper windows. The entire space was pure white. Carpets, sofas, the piano. Even the tables were some kind of white lacquer with oriental detailing cut into the wood. The touches of gold seemed inspired. Pillows. Ornate fans in frames. Then there were the white- and gold-framed photographs of musicians dotting the walls, a mixture of dark and light faces, all in suits, often with their instruments at the ready. She wanted to go to them and read all the group names, but then Ivan stepped back into view and she was lost in him again.

“Can I take your coat?”

She let it slide off her arms, and he gathered her coat before it hit the ground, placing it neatly on a coatrack. Next came her muffler, her hat, her gloves. They both glanced at her shoes, but she'd unbuckled them before she even left the front hallway, not wanting to leave shoe marks on the immaculate carpet. He began to disrobe too, until he was in shirtsleeves and trousers.

“I've always wanted to feel this carpet on my toes,” he said.

“Then you should,” she said.

“There's a bearskin in front of the fireplace.”

“What part of your body did you want to feel on that?” she teased.

“Why, Miss Loudon,” he said. “Not such a
myshka
now.”

“All those kisses took my fear away,” she murmured. “Isn't it lucky that I know how to undo your tie?” She put her hands to work.

He swallowed hard. She could feel his Adam's apple bobbing as she unknotted. Then she slid the fabric away from his shirt and tossed it on the hook with his coat.

“What?” she asked.

“I brought a sheath,” he said in a gravelly voice that made him sound even more Russian.

She felt her face go hot. Yes, she wanted
it
, but his words made it all so real. But she'd made her decision.

“Do you want to go into the bedroom?” he asked.

“What about that bearskin rug?”

His mouth worked. He spoke slowly. “That's a Russian dream. I've spoken English since I was a child, but I'm finding the words hard.”

“Is your brain addled, Mr. Salter?” She wondered if he could see her nipples peaking under Sybil's dress.

He nodded.

“Mine too.”

“We should have champagne.”

She shook her head. “I have bubbles in my blood when I look at you. I don't need anything else.”

His teeth showed when he smiled. “I'll take my socks off,” he said. “Take your stockings off too.”

She complied. “But you have to remove your shirt.”

He did, staring at her. As each inch of golden sand-colored skin revealed itself, she felt like she should
ooh
in admiration. He had the lines of a Michelangelo sculpture.

“Now you,” he said.

“What?”

“Your dress.”

She didn't hesitate, merely reached behind herself so she could undo the back of her dress. It fit quite tightly compared to many modern fashions. When it fell open in the back she let it slide off her shoulders and down her arms, exposing her bralette. His stare held only admiration. When the dress pooled around her thighs, her tap pants were exposed. She had bought these today too, sateen instead of silk, but pretty for the price.

Ivan muttered something in Russian, his gaze full of partiality. Then in English, he said, “I have never seen a lovelier girl.”

Alecia was grateful for her grandfather's abstemious dinner table, followed by the Marvins' even more dramatic diet, which had kept her figure so streamlined. Her sister was inclined to a certain amount of chubbiness that seemed adorable now, but her own face had never looked well when it rounded. “I have never seen a more handsome man,” she admitted.

“I want to make love to you on the bearskin rug,” he said. “I'll light the fire. You won't be cold.”

She nodded and took his hand. When they reached the soft pelt in front of the beautiful white marble fireplace, they sank to their knees together, hands clasped. His lips met hers. She could taste a faint saltiness that indicated he'd dipped into the caviar before they left the party. How fitting that they'd had a lovely feast before coming here.

“I meant to show you the piano and listen to you play,” he said, smoothing a hand along her hair.

“No, you didn't. You meant this to happen.” She smiled to show him her enthusiasm with the idea.

“We still have clothes on.”

“We should remedy that.”

“Do you want to discuss the future?” he asked.

“There is no future. It's 1925 and all I need is now.”

“That is how we think these days,” he agreed.

She put her hands to his lips. “No more talking. I don't want to be afraid. I just want you to touch me, make me feel the things that I know you can. Love me, Ivan, before I think too hard about it.”

He let go of one of her hands, reached to the sofa and grabbed one of the gold pillows. Placing it behind her, he maneuvered her back until she lay with her head against the pillow. He stayed on his elbows to keep his weight off her.

“Is it going to hurt?” she whispered, caressing his shoulder.

“Not if I can help it.” He kissed her tenderly as he removed her bralette.

She felt his gentleness in the way he contained his strength. When his mouth moved to her neck, she shuddered a little. He roved toward her clavicle, then for the first time, a man's mouth touched her breasts. She arched into him as his tongue found her nipple, not afraid in the least. All she wanted was more, more, more.