Saints and Sinners (15 page)

“Can I have my pearls back now?” he asked.

With a shrug and a wink, she cooperated and he watched open-mouthed as the creamy slick pearls came into view between her legs. Reilly lapped the wetness off before casting them aside. From his fingers, he sucked away the rest of her honey. Her damp fingers reached up and stroked his sensitive balls.

Reilly knelt between her legs and buried his face in her crotch. Like a wild horse, she bucked and carried on, but he gripped her gams and held on for dear life.

Almost ready to explode himself, he looked up to find her face bearing the same flush brides must wear.

“I never knew it could be like this,” she panted. “For the love of life, make me a woman.” She thrust her hips upward.

“You’re already more of one than most.”

If only she knew how much he cared about her at that very moment. At his silence, her heels dug into the mattress and her hips bumped suggestively. No more wasting his time on thoughts. Action was what she wanted.

Reilly plunged deep into her, merging his heat with hers. Back and forth they surged, sharing control of their sexual game. Skin against skin. Belly to belly. Reilly kissed her deeply. Now their passion soared above the ceiling and beyond.

“God in Heaven, Reilly. Faster and harder.”

“
Oiche tintri
, Moira.
Oiche tintri
.”

* * * *

“Yes, Reilly. I want so many hot nights with you, too.” Moira watched his body tense tight as a bowstring. He strained upward. Was he ready to explode like a Fourth of July rocket? She pummeled his bare backside with her feet and locked her legs around him. Her own release coiled through her body. Her toes tightened, and her whole body shook with spasm.

Every part of her awakened to the passion they shared. Suddenly, his body went slack, and he collapsed beside her in bed, sweat-soaked, yet smiling.

A pleasant twinge at her privates told the tale of her recklessness, but she didn’t mind it in the least. She’d given herself to the man who’d captured her heart and imagination. Nothing else mattered. Reilly lay beside of her, his breathing harsh and labored. Their bodies now stilled much as a pianist’s fingers against the keys once the last note sounded.

Reilly propped his left arm behind his head. Moira tugged at the hairs on his chest and armpits.

“Such a fine man, you are, Reilly Dunne.”

“And an even finer woman are you, Moira Monaghan. I’ve turned you into a wild one, I’m afraid.”

She shook her head in denial. “Not in the least. I only hope I wasn’t too ignorant.”

The callused pads of his fingers pressed against her cheek, and he drew her face toward his. Sweet as the fruits of summer, his kiss sealed her fate. If one day he’d have her, she’d agree to become his wife. Would ever he ask her or not?

“Didn’t do a very fine job of getting you cleaned up, did I? Here we lay with these damned sheets stuck to us like leeches.”

“There’s plenty more hot water, isn’t there?”

Reilly nodded. “If there be room in that tub, I wouldn’t mind joining you for a bit of a wash.”

Chapter 12

Moira arranged the fragrant red roses in a glass vase that had belonged to her grandmother. Reilly was so sweet, even her Father thought so. Still a bit skeptical, her mother was slow to warm to any notion of a possible son-in-law, although her mood was brighter today.

“So, you two are goin’ to pay a visit to Janet? Here, she always liked my bread.” Her mother smiled at Reilly and warmed Moira’s heart.

Reilly accepted the warm loaf. “Makes me hungry just thinking about it.”

Nola Monaghan rapped his hand lightly with the wooden spoon. “If you behave, I’ll have one like it for you when you get back. And some milk.” She laughed and returned her attention to the pot of stew simmering on the stove.

Still sleepy from the late night she’d spent in Reilly’s arms and bed, Moira forced herself to rouse. She took his hand and they headed outside. He’d parked in front of the greengrocery. Sunlight shone on the honey-beige paint of his Playboy, almost making it appear like human skin.

“She’s fond of you,” Moira said as they headed for the sidewalk.

“Are you sure? She looks at me sideways sometimes. Think she’s trying to find the saint beneath the sinner?”

At this, she couldn’t contain her laughter. “Why are you such a sinner? What have you done to place yourself in the devil’s den?”

“Don’t really know. Surely she’ll come up with something.”

As they walked down Sullivan Street, Reilly clutched her hand. When he released his hold, she flexed it several times to restore the circulation. How wonderful, walking beside the man who’d claimed her heart and her maidenhead.

“You’ve stolen my heart. Surely, that’s a crime?”

“A crime of passion, don’t you think?” He leaned over and kissed the top her head.

“We did the Devil’s deed to be sure.” Moira scanned his face. Nothing but happiness spread all over it. “I’d do it again without thinking.”

Ahead, Janet’s younger brother, Liam Muldoon, polished the front fender of their delivery truck. If he rubbed any harder, he’d wear a hole right through the metal.

“Hallo,” he called and brightened upon seeing their approach. “Janet’s been asking ’bout you. Come on up. Ma’ll put a kettle on.”

Moira shook her head. “Not a bit of that, Liam. We don’t want to put you out.”

Liam sniffed the air around him and grinned. “Say, I smell soda bread. That’s Janet’s favorite. Nobody makes it like Nola Monaghan, to be sure.”

While Liam remained behind holding open the front door and chatting to Reilly, Moira entered and surveyed the hallway and lower landing. Dust floated through the air like a ghost, covering everything in its path. Soon, Reilly’s footfall echoed behind, and she quickened her pace. Underfoot, the steps creaked in protest as they climbed to the second floor.

A young child whipped past them, riding the banister. He straddled that slab of wood much as she straddled Reilly’s lap last night. Upon reaching the upstairs apartment, Moira knocked. Sinead, the middle Muldoon daughter, opened the door and smiled in greeting. Inside the tiny apartment, two toddlers traded swipes at each other on the floor. Moira moistened her handkerchief and wiped some of the dirt from their otherwise rosy cheeks. Reilly tousled the hair of one tot.

“Heaven above,” cried Mrs. Muldoon, almost dropping the bundle of laundry she toted. “Janet’ll brighten at the sight of you.”

In a cold corner of the apartment, behind a threadbare drape, Janet cowered underneath several layers of covers. She raised her head when Moira and Reilly entered the area that served as her bed-sitting room.

How she wanted to hug her dear friend. “Don’t get up, now. You need to rest and get better.”

At their approach, Janet squinted. “Oh, what a sight for these eyes,” she said. “If only they’d work properly.”

* * * *

The little bit of breakfast Reilly had eaten now roiled in his gut. “Don’t tell me what I think, Janet? Tell me you’ve not sipped some of the Devil’s drink?”

Rather than appearing ripe red like Moira’s, Janet’s lips bore a bluish cast like that of a gun’s barrel. From time to time she jerked, spasms wracking her frail body.

“I’m feeling better now, but I swear I’ll never take another sip,” Janet replied, barely managing more than a whisper due to her weak condition.

He had to know. “Where did you get that liquor? Who made you drink too much?”

“Oh, I didn’t drink much at all, but it tasted funny. Skinny said it was a fresh batch they’d just brewed.”

“Skinny! Damn that bastard. Are you talking about Skinny Lonnigan, the amateur boxer?” The cousin of Peg-leg Lonnigan, mentor of the Junior League.

Janet tried to focus on his face. “Yeah. The same keen fellow.”

“What’s this Skinny have to do with Janet’s sickness?” Moira asked, placing a wet cloth over her friend’s forehead.

“I mean to find out exactly what right now.” Reilly adjusted his Homburg and headed for the doorway. “Wait here, and I’ll be back in a little while.”

“I’m going with you,” Moira said.

“No, you’re not. I’ll not have you stumbling around the docks. That’s no place for ladies to be seen. Day or night.”

“What’s wrong?” Janet struggled to a sitting position.

Mrs. Muldoon bustled in bearing a bowl of steaming broth. She and Moira started feeding their frail patient.

Moira smoothed the sweat-soaked strands of deep auburn hair back from Janet’s face. “Why are you squinting?”

“Everything’s like looking through a dirty window. Don’t know what’s going on, but I feel a bit better than yesterday.”

Reilly balled his hands into fists. “That no-good will pay for what he’s done if I’m right.”

No use lingering longer than necessary. Reilly kissed Moira goodbye and promised to provide an answer for Janet’s sickness.

He’d flush out Skinny. That lout always hung around the wharf, despite the money he made from winning various prizefights. Money he pissed away on booze and broads. There was only one place people liked Skinny holed up. Too stupid to do anything other than serve as one of Morgan Dunne’s runners.

Reilly retraced his steps to the roadster and sped to the section of town he dreaded most. Seeing an open stretch of curb, he parked the Playboy and hoped for the best. Decay and disease filled the air around the ramshackle building. Up two flights of stairs, according to the desk clerk. What a flophouse. The smell of grease and stale sex surrounded him as he walked in on Skinny and his whore. Too dumb to lock the door. A plump middle-aged woman straddled Skinny’s face while the fighter’s hands clenched her fat bum. She rolled off when Reilly entered the room without knocking, her blotchy face screwed into a scowl.

“Scram, you two-bit trash,” Reilly said. “I’ve some business to discuss with this bastard!”

“Don’t talk to Tillie that way,” The pasty-faced aging boxer struggled to locate his clothes.

Reilly’s blood boiled. “I’ll talk to that whore any damned way I please. As for you, what are you doing giving hooch to sweet girls like Janet Muldoon?”

Skinny slipped into his threadbare shirt and held up his hands. “Don’t come barreling in here and accusin’ me of liquoring up any of your uncle’s women.”

With one swipe, Reilly swept the contents of the end table onto the floor. Glass shattered. “Did you give her any hooch the other night?”

Skinny scratched his head as though that action might provide an answer. “We made a batch in Hellcat’s bathtub. There’s still some left—”

Reilly’s struck Skinny’s jaw and sent him sprawling back onto the bed. Bright-red blood seeped from the split skin and dripped down his chin. The whore fled the room, barely managing to fasten the buttons on a dress two sizes too small.

Reilly sniffed the contents of Skinny’s flask. He tasted a small amount, but it seemed fine.

“You dirty freakin’ bastard. This isn’t the same stuff you gave to Janet, is it?”

“No. What’s it to you? She wanted a taste, so I let her try it. We brewed up some others that night.”

“She’s half-blind now, because of you and your filthy hooch. You’re finished Lonnigan. Don’t bother to pick up your pay day after tomorrow.”

“Morgan Dunne tells me what to do, not you.”

“Well this time I’m doin’ the talking for both of us. If I see your stinking arse around the speakeasy ever again, it’ll be the last time.”

Skinny nodded and lit a cigarette.

“Why don’t you do everyone a favor and take a swim in the river. With a brick or two tied around your neck!” Reilly stormed from the room.

Upon reaching the Muldoon’s apartment, he found them fixing supper and no sign of Moira. Why hadn’t he severed ties with his uncle long ago? He had to break away. Unlike Reilly’s father, an honest man who’d loved his wife and family, Morgan worshipped money and all that came with it. Whores and hooch and fancy hotels. Not so with Reilly Dunne.

Reilly cursed his past. Late nights spent among that liquor-loving lot. An empty bed and an empty heart. Too freakin’ many days when he should have paid more attention to his schoolwork. Whores opening their lips and legs to him more times than he could count. He always turned them away. How they cursed him and his handsome face.

No sense in things staying the same. He’d get himself a place and move out of The Meridian. Moira was the salve his sore life needed. Today and always. Hopefully, she wanted him in her life. Three people living in that cramped apartment on Sullivan Street was one too many. Reilly headed for the roadster and the next bit of business. He’d do something about Moira’s situation, but first he’d tell his uncle what he really thought of his filthy business.

* * * *

Two bare-breasted women knelt in front of the captain’s chair where Morgan Dunne sat. Their broad asses bobbed as they sucked his erection. Like snakes, their tongues lashed out and licked his bare cock and balls. Loud moans filled the air like a fog that wouldn’t part.

Reilly clenched his fingers into fists and flexed his shoulders. These whores would have to go. It was time to talk business. What he had to say was no damned business of theirs.