Saints and Sinners (7 page)

“It would cost more than I’m able to pay.”

Eloise waved off her concern, the arm of her coat flapping in emphasis. “Not at all, my dear. I’m prepared to make amends for that.”

“Really?”

Mrs. VanMuir leaned closer. The woman’s lavender scent irritated her nose, and Moira stifled a sneeze. “Yes. You see, I know you and can trust you to keep the place habitable and clean. If you’re interested, we’ll work something out that’s reasonable.”

Might be worth the benefits. Moira rubbed her bottom. Then she wouldn’t suffer the groping hands of those men on the subway. She could still offer her parents a small portion of her wages as before. To cover emergencies or her mother’s special liniment.

“I more than appreciate your generous offer. Do you need an answer now, or can I discuss this with Janet once she’s feeling better?”

“Janet!” A sour expression smudged across the woman’s rouged lips and face. “She has a bit of a drinking problem.” Eloise lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. “Or so I’ve been told. Can’t have that type of woman living on my husband’s property.”

Drinking problem? Moira’s thoughts tumbled about like the hoodlums in the alleyways. “I’ll think about your offer. I never knew this about Janet. She tells me most everything.”

“Not this time, she didn’t. Her family says she has the grippe, but I know otherwise. You know she still does a bit of our tailoring work when we get behind. Well, one of our employees spied her coming out of a speakeasy. Told me all about it the other day.” Eloise’s narrow, dark-blonde eyebrows arched with each word she spoke. “The law needs to take a closer look at those filthy places, but I digress. She was with a man. Several times he had to catch her to keep her from falling over herself in drunken disarray.”

No. She wouldn’t believe such nonsense. Moira longed to clamp her hands over her ears to blot out this busybody’s comments.

“I didn’t know. Let you know my decision...Monday.”

“Fine, fine.” Mrs. VanMuir patted her arm. “You’d do better to keep away from such riff-raff. Those people will steal you blind. All their money goes for liquor and…”

As though thinking the wiser of revealing any further thoughts, Eloise VanMuir headed toward the front entrance, leaving a trail of bitter words, lavender and suspense behind.

* * * *

Two thick dollops of chocolate syrup landed in the bottom of the tall soda glass, followed by a liberal pour of ice-cold milk. Moira’s stomach rumbled. How good the creamy confection would feel sliding down her sore throat.

Without pausing, the soda jerk siphoned a precise jet of Selzer into the glass. The milky mixture foamed and sizzled.

Moira accepted and tasted her treat. Mmmmm. Almost as good as Reilly’s kisses, but the paper straw didn’t feel as nice against her wet lips. Why had she let him kiss her last night? Surely, it wasn’t a sin? By age twenty-three, most women had done a lot more than kiss a man. A whole heck of a lot more.

“How is it?” Reilly inquired, taking a long draught of his own egg cream.

“Really good, and yours?”

He didn’t answer but stared at her face for several heartbeats. Must be the mess she’d made of her mouth. Before she licked away the froth, he intervened and traced his tongue across the smear. A fire flared deep within her womb at his boldness. In public yet.

Moira jerked back and almost sailed off the stool. Her emotions in turmoil, she struggled to regain her composure and posture. Dampness developed between her legs. Even crossing them didn’t help. That only made it worse, especially when she squeezed her thighs together tighter. Funny, she’d never been sensitive down there before meeting Reilly. Moira silently cursed her wicked thoughts. Already she’d forgotten her confession at St. Pat’s and was accumulating a slew of other sins to present to Father Shanahan at next visit.

“Best egg cream I ever tasted. Glad Russ and Jim watch the shop when I’m away.” Reilly drained the last of his drink.

No wonder women pay him attention. They probably follow him home. He’s so smooth and dresses too well to live in Lower Manhattan or the Five Points district.

“They must be good workers. How’d you know this place?”

“Oh, I have friends all over the city. Some of those friends will be at Uncle Morgan’s party Monday night. I could use a pretty face at my side. If you’ll agree?”

Her head pounded at the notion of attending a party. “No. Thanks, but I can’t. I’m busy.”

Reilly toyed with his straw. He sucked out the contents and slipped the cylinder of paper between her fingers. Moira closed her eyes. How she loved the way his Adam’s apple stuck out when he swallowed.

“You sure? It’s at the Meridian Hotel. If you’re up to that sort of wild time, I promise it’ll be a night you won’t forget.”

She opened her eyes at this comment. What kind of wild time? One where liquor flowed more quickly than water from the hydrants? What type of women attended such parties? Probably not ones who confessed at St. Pat’s on a regular basis.

Behind them, a woman’s high-pitched laughter rang out. Moira swiveled on her stool and froze as she recognized the woman’s face.

Sally Hixson nodded in Moira’s direction. “Imagine her. Trying to get on the good side of Mrs. VanMuir. Huh. She isn’t good enough to shine that woman’s shoes. Owning her own dress shop some day? What utter nonsense. She doesn’t have enough money to buy an extra loaf of bread each week. Maybe those grandsons of Plug Uglies she hangs out with will grease her palm for...oh, well.”

Sally rolled her eyes and giggled, walking away before Moira had a chance to comment.

To hell with that snob. She’d go with Reilly to the party and have the time of her life.
No matter what other people think.
It was high time she start enjoying herself and stop worrying about what others think. Reilly’s nostrils flared. For a moment, his devilish smile blotted out all of the badness in her life and replaced it with romantic notions.

Dangerous? Definitely, but what better way to shed her shyness and innocence than to accept his invitation?

“I’d love to go to the Meridian.” She sucked the last drop of egg cream through the straw and licked her lips. Oh, to see him squirm at her teasing. “What should I wear?”

She dropped her head and then raised it coyly. That come-hither look was sure to go straight to his heart and other places. Moira peeked to make sure. Success. The front of his trousers was tented.

“Sure thing. Now for your surprise.”

“Surprise?” Moira’s thoughts tangled. Probably more details about Monday. If only Janet weren’t ill, she’d help me get ready. Poor soul. If Janet’s family said she was down with the grippe, then that made it so. Eloise and Sally Hixon would burn for their wrong ways. To hades with them both. Today, all Moira cared about was having a high time with Reilly at the Meridian.

* * * *

Reilly watched the flush rising on Moira’s otherwise ashen face. How cruel, those two bitches. Laughing at Moira’s expense. She wanted to fight back but was too much of a lady to do anything about their insults. For now, at least. She’d remember their unkindness. Oh, yes. Those green eyes glowed with a ferocity and determination.

He never told her what he wanted her to wear. He’d rather see her bare and in his bed, but…“You can wear anything that shows off those gorgeous gams.”

He fingered the note inside his coat pocket. Written on the crumpled piece of paper was his Uncle Morgan’s directive. In no uncertain terms, the elder Dunne demanded that “the green-eyed goddess” accompany his nephew to the bash at the Meridian Hotel. No other details were disclosed. Reilly knew an ultimatum when he read one. His uncle might want a stab at Moira’s sweet hole, but this time he wasn’t about to get what he wanted. He wouldn’t let Moira become a pawn in any of Morgan Dunne’s putrid games. Hot damn. Those lovely lamps of hers would be opened wider than ever at the Meridian.

She poked his hand and roused him from his reverie. “Maybe I should head back to Bainbridge’s? They’re open until six o’clock. They’ve lots of lovely dresses. I’ve saved a—”

He kissed her quivering lips. “Come on out here to the curb. I have something I think you’ll find more suitable than anything they sell.”

Moira’s tiny feet, clad in fashionable flappes, skipped across the floor of Epstein’s. Her curiosity was contagious.

Arm in arm, they left the soda shop and headed into the sunshine. A sudden breeze whipped past and caused the edges of her coat to flap open. Reilly groaned at seeing the simple clothes she wore. Quite fitting for a day at Bainbridge’s, but she couldn’t wear something that conservative to the Meridian.

When they reached his Playboy, he pulled a large box from the front seat. He placed it into her outstretched arms. Opening the lid, he lifted the evening dress for her examination.

“Ooooh,” she moaned, her mouth forming a perfect oval.

His cock surged at the sight.

“What things your lips do to me, Moira. Hop in and I’ll take you home. Can’t have
you
coming down with the grippe.”

If anyone ever possessed an hourglass figure, Moira Monaghan did. His tongue tingled as he imagined tracing it along the nip of her waist and across the slight swell of her belly.

He helped her into the car and soon took his place behind the wheel. As she hiked the hemline of the straight skirt upward, he whistled when her smooth stocking-clad knees came into view.

“Can I ask you something, Reilly?”

“Sure. Anything your heart desires.”

“Are you...I mean is your uncle...”

“Are we what?”

How her lips twitched. Why was she afraid to speak? Unsure of whether her words would upset him. Moira stared at the dashboard. A smooth section of her bobbed red hair fanned over the side of her face, hiding her expression. This swell doll couldn’t conceal her emotions.

Only once he pulled from his parking place at the curb and started down the street did he probe for her thoughts. ”Gangsters? Some of dad’s clan were Plug Uglies. A cousin joined the Junior League. Papa always stayed uptown and clean.”

God Almighty, he hated that term. Plug Uglies. True, a couple generations ago, some Irishmen fell into that lot early in their life. Uncle Morgan was more a dishonest businessman than anything. He ran a couple whorehouses and several speakeasies. Quite a different sort than Moira’s father.

“No. My uncle...I won’t lie to you. He’s involved in the sale of illegal liquor. That much you know from being at the speakeasy.” Didn’t she know her father’s greengrocery was owned and protected by Morgan Dunne? Every week, Reamonn Monaghan made payments to the “fund” his uncle controlled.

Her scowl softened. “That’s bad, but not the worst thing in life. Not a saint, but not the worst sinner, either.”

“No, but while your father sells groceries, my uncle also profits from the sale of flesh.”

Her eyes squinted. “The sale of flesh? Women?”

“Yes, whores. He has several brothels.”

“I see,” she mumbled. “Don’t forget to turn left at the next intersection.”

Reilly heaved a sigh. Good. She didn’t want to discuss the sordid business anymore than he did. He careened around the corner. Before she sought further enlightenment as to his uncle’s affairs, he brought the Jordan Playboy to an abrupt halt in front of 334 Sullivan Street.

“Someday you’ll get off this street.” With his help. “Too filthy for a fine woman like you.”

Women liked to be treated with respect. Moira was no exception. Before she could emerge, he sprinted to her side and offered his assistance.

“Your hands are warm,” she said and smiled. “You never wear gloves.”

“Don’t need ’em.”

Reilly surveyed their surroundings. Good. No one around. Eager to touch Moira, he swatted her swell ass. Firm and shapely underneath the heavy woolen coat she wore. He hugged her close, her waist so narrow his hands spanned it easily. When he traced a trail along the cleft of her bottom, she laughed.

“How would you like it if I did that to you?” She brought her hand against his backside with a resounding smack.

His balls bounced at her playfulness. He chased her around the car. A baseball sailed through the air and nearly conked him in the head. Reilly cursed his luck.

“Stupid idiots!” He shook his fist at two Italian boys who scampered after their wayward toy.

Moira’s face remained calm. She could become a good poker player. Always kept him guessing. He groaned and walked her to her front door. No woman ever held his interest this long without him screwing her until she couldn’t see straight.

She tapped his arm. “Too bad you ducked. They might have knocked some sense into you. You and those hot hands.”

Moira laughed and climbed the steps in front of the store. Reilly examined the building. A home to her, but just another real estate holding to Uncle Morgan.

“I might be taking you to another home soon. Isn’t that what you said?”

She screwed her face into a silly expression. “Oh, that. Janet and I might get a place someday. I don’t know yet.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Reilly prodded.

She gasped and pointed to the front seat of the Playboy. “Yes. How can I ever thank you enough?”