Saints and Sinners (6 page)

She dipped her foot into one and slung it off. Her grimace spelled defeat.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal, glamour puss. Put those red-hot shoes of yours back on and meet me on stage in a couple minutes. Everyone’s gone home for the night. This place needs a bit of class, and you fit the bill, Miss Bow.”

“But, I’m not…”

“Oh, to me you are.” He blew her a kiss and winked. Time to let Moira contemplate his next move. Keep her guessing. Most of all keep her laughing. She was so pretty when she smiled. His rainbow after a rainstorm.

After turning on the stage lights, he admired his handiwork. Now she’d shine in the spotlight. His mouth watered. Her skin would glow the color of clotted cream. He’d suck her ripe strawberry mouth until she moaned for more. He’d run his hands through her gorgeous bobbed red hair. Yes, Moira and her beauty set his heart aflame.

From a vaudevillian’s trunk, he pulled a pair of baggy black and white-striped pants and put them on over his trousers. He added a pair of red suspenders. Underneath the billowing fabric, his cock was hard and ready. Ready to slip between Moira’s wet flaps and do her until dawn.

Reilly jumped down to the makeshift orchestra pit. Well, not exactly the pit he wanted, but it was soon time to play while Moira performed. He uncovered the ivories of the slightly out-of-tune house piano. Slippery and cold, they responded to the slightest touch of his fingers. Just like Moira. What to play? Something jazzy? She’d like that. He cracked his knuckles and hunched over the keyboard.

Only a few bars into “Tiger Rag”, the burgundy-velvet-stage curtain swayed. “Come on out, sugar babe. I’m getting warmed up.” His cock was already hot, but his fingers weren’t quite warm and limbered up yet.

He snapped to attention and almost missed a couple notes. Moira sashayed across the dusty stage. Bathed in even bad lighting, she looked ready for the pictures. She’d primed her lips with a fresh coat of cinnamon-red paint. His heart lurched at the sight. A perfect bow. Ready to be opened ever so slowly. How good her tongue would feel against the throbbing head of his hot cock. She’d lick him and love every drop he spilled.

“Well?” She sighed. “What now? I must look quite silly all told.”

Reilly let out a long whistle. “No way, Irish Rose.” He stretched and snapped the suspenders against his chest. “What song would you like me to play?”

Click. Clack
. Her red heels struck against the stage and sounded like tiny firecrackers. What a firecracker she was. His wick was already lit and burning hot.

“How about the one you just played?”

“Nah. I got a snappier one. How about this?” He finessed a medley of various ragtime tunes. He didn’t need to look at the sheet music. Instead, he watched her kick and tap her way across the stage and into his heart. Every time she shimmied and shook, a faint smile played across her ruby lips. This sweet doll wanted to take a walk on the wild side for a change. Who better than him to guide her along the road to pleasure...and maybe romance?

Twice she tripped. Their laughter echoed throughout the club as she fell flat on her bottom.

“Not quite ready for the show, am I?”

“You’d have ’em clamoring for more, Moira. You have a natural sense of rhythm and timing.” Not to mention gams that led all the way up to Heaven.

She pointed toward the pit. “I play the piano. Only a little, but it doesn’t sound too terrible. At least the neighborhood dogs don’t howl.”

To hell with the piano. “How high can you kick?” This he couldn’t wait to see. Maybe he’d get another peek of her moist pink flaps?

“About this high,” she said and displayed a move worthy of Ziegfield’s finest. Along with the creamy curve of one soft ass cheek.

“Ever take lessons from Evelyn Law? Ziegfield could use you. That’s some hitch kick.”

“Evelyn Law? Elizabeth Welch? You know all of New York’s dames.”

“And you’re jealous.” Reilly chuckled. He pounded the keys now, but at other times, he’d stroke them like Moira’s skin.

“I can do this too.”

Was he at the Follies Bergere or did she just perform the most sinful split he’d ever seen?

Reilly sprang from the bench and almost banged into the side of the piano. He joined her onstage. Time for a closer look at those gorgeous gams. All soft and white with tiny freckles.

His head pounded with passionate thoughts. On impulse, he knelt and traced his finger along her upper thigh. What a game, connecting several of the pinkish-brown beauty marks on her skin. She shivered underneath his touch. He slowed his strokes. Take your time and don’t rush a good thing. Savor her and her reactions like you would a good cigar.

Moira pushed his hands away. “I, I have to be going. Someone’s supposed to pick me up soon.”

“Relax. What’re they driving?”

“An old black delivery wagon. Why?” Hints of honeyed-amber appeared in her green eyes. Every time she blinked, tiny specks of wax on her lashes caressed her cheeks. What a set of lamps.

Reilly to the rescue. “I’ll drive you home. No need to stop having fun just because it’s getting late.”

“But I have to work at Bainbridge’s tomorrow.”

Reilly smiled to himself. He wasn’t about to give up this easily. He leaned over and placed his lips next to her ear. Even her sweat smelled so sweet. “You won’t lose any beauty sleep. Besides, if you do, you’re pretty enough already.”

Her breathing quickened and her nostrils flared like a wild animal’s. Moira met his gaze with a wide-eyed one. “Promise?”

With his index finger, Reilly traced a wide cross over his heart and her lips. “Promise, angel face.”

He clasped her hands in his and brought her to her feet. His gentle coaxing proved successful. Together they tapped and twirled, not caring how fast the clock’s hands moved.

“How’d you learn to play the piano so well?” she asked, not missing a single Sugar Foot step.

“My mother. Started when I was eight. Prissy pieces like Mozart’s and Chopin’s. Give me Jelly Roll or Fats Waller any day.”

“Ragtime?” Again, her eyes widened. Reilly wiped a drop of sweat from her brow.

“Nothing better. The Great White Way. Broadway. Show tunes. Say, how about joining me at the bench?”

Moira waved off his suggestion. “Oh, no. I’m not nearly good enough. My left hand loses its way from time to time.”

Unwilling to let the idea fade, he guided her down the stage steps and toward the piano. “Only one way to find out.” Once seated, he eased her down onto his right leg. “You play
right
and I’ll play left. If you’re not careful, I’ll play you like a slide trombone.”

She squirmed, but he hushed her concerns. Now to concentrate on the notes he should play. What a task with her hot bottom so close to his hard cock. Reilly counted them down.

Soon, the first notes of “I’ll BeWith You in Apple Blossom Time” floated through the club. Her fingers relaxed over the keys and she played quite well. At his approval, she relaxed. He remained stiff as a board—and ready to hammer his prick home. Once, while engrossed in her playing, Moira leaned slightly to the left. Her nipple popped into view. If she kept this up, he’d split his fly. Reilly gritted his teeth and willed his mind to remain on the music.

“Oh, sorry,” she muttered and almost slipped off her perch.

As the second verse ended, the heat between them intensified. Especially where that snatch of hers rested. What a risqué rhythm they could make together. Now at the piano, but hopefully sometime in his bed.

Moira’s lack of concentration soon matched his. She lifted her hand from the keys and stood. Oh, to pull her back down. How pretty she’d appear riding his cock like a wild horse. He groaned as she sat down beside him on the bench. Several times, she cleared her throat. Did she want to tell him something?

He rubbed her arm. “You getting cold? Here, put my coat over your shoulders.”

“No. It’s been...”

“Been what, Moira? Fun? Hell on earth? Boring? What?”

“Different...in a nice sort of way.”

Well, that was something. Not an exclamation point but not a period either. Maybe a comma? Yes. A curvy comma. Just like Moira Monaghan’s sweet, creamy ass and tits.

He snuggled her close to warm her goose-fleshed arms. “Well, you’re nice in every way.”

Moira gripped his thigh just below his hardness. Like beacons, her eyes searched his face and then looked away.

“You’ve been patient with me, Reilly. A friend. I’ve always wanted to step on stage and perform. Just like Clara—”

He claimed the bright-red bow of her lips and silenced her sentence. Through her costume, Moira’s pebbly nipples pressed against his chest. Oh, yes, he could suck them all night. Damn it all. He hated blue balls more than a trip to the dentist. She broke away. Reilly licked his lips and tasted the faint hint of cherry left behind. “Moira Monaghan. You’re so sweet, I could eat you up from head to toe, but I’ll save you for later...until you’re ready.”

She gasped at his forthright manner but remained otherwise silent. For a fleeting moment, when their breathing slowed and their lips met again, Reilly experienced warmth inside he’d never known until now. A sharp snap of elastic against his right nipple caused him to start.

“Hey!” Like a bee’s sting, her action put an end to his naughtiness.

“We match, you know.” Her green eyes twinkled. “If I oversleep, I might never speak to you again.”

In the upstairs office, the grandfather clocked chimed twice. Reilly nodded. “Can’t have that.”

As though hounds from hell nipped at her heels, she sprinted across the stage and vanished. With each bounce of her ripe bottom, his balls ached. Their magical moment had passed. He stripped off his clownish costume and waited for her in the cloakroom.

Soon, she appeared. Devoid of her dramatic trappings. Clad in the poppy-red dress and black wool coat. She passed him his suit jacket and smiled in a coy manner.

Good thing he parked out front. Reilly puffed out his chest as they mounted the steps to the sidewalk. Night air wafted over his warm face. Cold weather was a curse. To their left, his roadster occupied a space at the curb.

“It’s lovely.” She clapped her hands in approval.

He opened the door for her. A faint hint of her floral scent seduced him. Once her legs were tucked safely inside, he closed the door soundly.

Soon, the car’s engine roared to life. The leather seat crackled each time they moved. “A fine-looking Jordan Playboy, right off the assembly line.”

“A what? Are you sure you’re not referring to yourself?”

Touché. She’d read him like a dime-store mystery novel. Figured out all his angles.

“Maybe? What do you think?”

She yawned. “Too dark to tell and too late to care.”

The Continental Club faded fast as Reilly pressed his foot against the pedal. He wanted to see more of Moira. A whole lot more. Starting at the top of her red head and ending at the tip of her toes. A journey his lips would love to make tonight. He swallowed hard. With Moira he’d slow his approach.

For the entire ride, she stared straight ahead and remained silent. In front of the weatherworn greengrocery where she lived, he stopped and helped her out. For a fleeting moment, she stood, silhouetted underneath the streetlight. So beautiful he hated leaving her.

Reluctantly, Reilly waved goodbye. He slowly pulled away from the curb, singing at the top of his lungs. “I’m just wild about Moira.” He paused. “The heavenly bliss’s of her kisses fill me with ecstasy.” She probably hadn’t heard him, now lost behind the door that needed a new coat of paint or two. Damn. She deserved better than this neighborhood offered. Now, he’d return to an empty bed, warmed by a hot-water bottle instead of Moira’s body. How he longed to kiss her again—especially in places where the sun wouldn’t ever shine.

Chapter 5

Moira adjusted the counter display in the Ladies Department. One glance at the wall clock and her pulse quickened. Only fifteen more minutes until her workday ended. The snap of someone’s shoe heels brought her back to reality. A slight turn of her head revealed VanMuir marching in her direction.

What could she possibly want with me? All of
her
clothes are specially tailored and some come from Europe.

“Hello, dear.” Eloise VanMuir extended a gloved hand to Moira. “You’re such a good worker. A simply lovely window display you’ve done for us over there. On your feet from sunrise to sunset. Surely you must tire of traveling here by that dirty subway every single workday?”

What a peculiar conversation. Probably similar to one between a scullery maid and the lady of the manor. “Oh, it’s not too bad. I’ve met many kind people during my rides. Better than walking in the winter.”

Eloise VanMuir sniffed. “Really? Must have been a different crowd than I’ve ever come across. Not that I ride on the subway, mind you. Only once and that was more than enough.” She placed the tips of her fingers together and propped them under her chin as though for support. “Would you be interested in renting the flat above this store?”

Were her ears deceiving her? Hopefully, not, since for the past year, she and Janet discussed sharing a small flat. If they found one where the rent was reasonable, then they could leave life on Sullivan Street behind.