Saints and Sinners (9 page)

With a corner of the washcloth, she rubbed the swollen bean of flesh at the very top. Oh, Reilly, come kiss my body and make love to me in the most wonderful way. Lick me down there and make me wet all night.

Spasms shot through her lower body at her boldness. Wind whipped against the window, causing the pane of glass to clatter and shatter her moment of mischief.

Her fantasy proved fleeting as she spied the open curtains. Had those bad Bertolucci’s seen her naked and pleasuring herself? Moira shrugged. If they did, who cared? Her mother wouldn’t believe a word they said.

Still, she wouldn’t sleep tonight without confirming her suspicion. Completely naked, she strode over to the window and stared out. Sure enough, a male figure stood in the center of the Bertolucci’s window. The darkness almost made him invisible. Was he touching his body as he watched her wash? Did his organ thicken and turn plum-purple? Would his custard cover the window, hot and dripping over the grimy glass?

Unnerved at the fact a man other than Reilly had been the first to see her without clothes, Moira collapsed onto her bed. For some time, she couldn’t control the laughter that flowed from her lips. Only a soft tap at her door, and her mother’s voice, made Moira stifle her silliness.

“What in Heaven’s name are you doin’, girl?”

“Nothing. Something struck me as funny.” Moira sucked in a deep breath to keep herself from giggling. “Sweet dreams.”

“The same to you, my love.”

The door to the room across the hall closed. Her mother and father slept there. A man and a woman in love, they were married and happy despite all of life’s hardships.

She buried herself underneath several layers of bedclothes, not bothering to put on her nightdress. Moira tossed and turned, confused yet more aware of her sexual desires than ever before. With her left foot, she kicked at an empty hot-water bottle. Cold as a whore’s crotch at death because of her dawdling. If Reilly were here, he’d press his muscular body against mine and keep the chill away. She giggled. He probably slept in the altogether. Skin against skin, they’d press, filling every gap.

Moira stroked her belly and allowed her fingers to tangle in the coarse red thatch of hair beneath. Would Reilly bury his face and lips there? Kissing and teasing her tenderness much like the man did the woman in the photograph? Against her thumb, the bean of flesh throbbed. She squirmed against the sheets. Her honey trickled hot into the palm of her hand.

For a long time, she rubbed and caressed herself, making believe her hands were Reilly’s. Twice she plunged several fingers into her wetness, thrilling at the sensation of something inside her.

Finally, unable to keep her eyelids from closing, Moira relaxed and fell into another man’s arms for the time being. Tonight Morpheus claimed her body, but not her heart. That belonged to Reilly—or at least she prayed it did.

Chapter 7

Mrs. VanMuir scowled as she approached. Moira plucked the pins from her mouth and stuck them into the pincushion. How she hated Mondays.

“I never in my life,” muttered the society woman. “Of all the things.”

She shouldn’t speak unless addressed, but what bothered that woman? “Is there a bit of bad news?”

“Bad news? I should say so,” Eloise VanMuir said. “Your
friend
left this note for you with Willie.”

Now Moira really was confused. Why would Janet leave a note with the boy who swept the sidewalk every morning? Surely, she’d send someone around to my house to deliver any news?

Silent, Moira reached for the note and read it.

I’m in a bad way, dearest Moira. Carry on for me. Appreciate your kind heart.

Your friend forever, Janet
.

Usually one who wrote with a bold stroke of the pen, the writing on Janet’s letter was cramped and almost illegible. What exactly did Janet mean by being in a bad way? True, Janet’s brother Jack had mentioned she wasn’t able to keep even broth down, but nothing horrible.

“Well? What do you make of it?” Eloise VanMuir tapped her foot against the tiled flooring.

“I don’t know. She has the grippe. That can make people sick for some time. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your concern.”

Eloise sniffed. “Concern? Why would I be concerned about a tramp like her? She’s obviously come down with some disease she’s too scared to mention. Not that she was too scared to get herself into a position that caused it in the first place.”

Moira drew in a deep breath before squaring off with the store owner’s wife. “Maybe she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her? They don’t have much money to get a doctor. I suppose we, I, won’t be wanting the flat any longer.”

Several of Eloise’s rings flashed as she patted her hair. Gone was the Nestle wave, replaced with a straighter, more stylish cut. “To think I might have agreed to such a thing. I’ll not invite disease into my husband’s property.” Turning on her heel, she stomped away, leaving Moira to stare after her.

A friendly embrace from behind caused Moira to start.

“Hello, my wild rose.” Reilly peeped over her shoulder, his clean-shaven face and smile making her heart soar.

Any other time she might have shunned his touch. This morning she wanted nothing more than to hold him tight and never let him go. However, if Eloise VanMuir took notice, she’d toss her out without so much as a fare-thee-well. A pox on Eloise!

Reilly swung her around so they faced each other. “I stopped by St. Pat’s yesterday. You weren’t there.”

“Mother wasn’t feeling well, so I stayed home with her.”

“Sorry to hear it. Hope her cheeks are as bright as yours today. Say, did you try on that snazzy dress yet?”

Still reeling from her conversation with Eloise VanMuir, Moira shook her head. “Not yet. It’s the prettiest thing. How’d you know what size to get?”

In the air between them, Reilly wiggled his hands and traced an hourglass outline. “One thing I’m good at and that’s knowing what women want.” He walked away, whistling low.

Would he be rough or gentle in bed? Would he thrust his hard organ into her like a raging bull? He probably had only to snap his fingers and women came running to warm his bed with open arms and legs.

A customer called out to her, and Moira concentrated on business instead of the pleasure she desired. If she persisted and saved some money, she’d have a place to call her own—without having to kiss the shiny leather shoes of Eloise VanMuir.

* * * *

Oh, to be sure, the look on her mother’s face was one Moira would always remember. Though the room was chilly, her body burned with shame.

“Will you look at such a disgrace,” clucked Nola Monaghan. “You’re heading down a dark alley, my girl. If you’re not careful, you’ll be lost.”

The Flapper dress fit so well, it would be a pity to take it off. Why would such a simple pleasure bring her mother grief?

“You know I look swell, Mother.” She wrapped her arms around the frail woman’s waist and hugged her tight. Despite the fact her affection was returned, Moira shuddered at the coldness of her mother’s touch. “It’s only for tonight.”

“Tonight. Then tomorrow night. You’ll be no better than those women who live near Mott Street.”

Not waiting for a reply, she left Moira standing alone in the chilly room, searching for a way to escape the torment within and without. She must go see Janet. In the ten years she’d known Janet, never once had her friend been ill.

Round-faceted and seed beads were sewn onto the soft pink chiffon dress and winked when she walked. A sharp pain shot through her finger, and Moira cried out. Lost in her thoughts, she’d wound the strands of cheap pearls and Bakelite beads around her finger. The skin underneath them shone red upon release, and tiny dimpled areas appeared above her knuckle.

A simple yet elegant style of dress, she adored Reilly’s gift. But only one thing disturbed her. The bodice dipped down past her cleavage and revealed more flesh than she’d ever dared in public. Every time she shimmied, her breasts swayed and almost spilled from the opening. Any man had to just reach in and grab a handful of her flesh whenever he desired. Moira’s nipples hardened. Warmth flooded through her loins.
Show me the ways of the world tonight, Reilly. Take me into your arms and bed and show me how much you care.

She placed an old brooch into her crocheted reticule. In case of a draft, she’d pin it on. Who was she kidding? Her blood ran hotter than Hades, even though it was barely above freezing outside.

With trembling fingers, she opened the container of powder. Removing the puff, Moira hitched up the hemline of her dress. Tonight, no bloomers would come between her and the man she desired more anything. Twice she tapped the puff against her privates, but the dampness remained.

She smoothed her hair and slipped down the stairs. Voices drifted up to her from the ill-lit front room the family used for a parlor. Her heart raced wildly in her chest. Reilly had arrived.

The necklaces slapped against her arms and breasts as she clattered down each step. Oh, applesauce, I’m too excited to worry about them hearing me.

* * * *

In the parlor, her father and Reilly chatted. Each wore a wide smile when she walked in, but her mother was nowhere to be seen. Probably upstairs mending something for Mrs. Gruening.

Wait a minute. Hadn’t she only read about moments like this in storybooks? Was this real or part of a dream? She regarded Reilly, and her knees almost knocked. Tonight he looked ready for the middle aisle, dressed in a black tuxedo and shiny shoes.

“Say, now there’s a picture to take,” Reilly said. “Don’t you look like an angel come down to earth to keep me company?”

What a swell fellow. “As long as you’re not the Devil here to tempt me otherwise.”

Moira’s father brushed past and placed a kiss upon her forehead. “Have a good time. Don’t worry about your mama. I’ll give her a talkin’ to.”

Her pulse quickened at his promise. “Just don’t remind her how handsome Reilly is. She’ll have me leaving home before the sun rises.”

Moira’s father bent down and hugged her briefly. As the “Giant Greengrocer of Sullivan Street” nodded and left, only the faint odor of his pipe tobacco lingered in the drafty room.

With his arm wrapped around her shoulders, Reilly guided Moira in the direction of his Playboy. Even in the dark, she noticed the pumpkin-orange tires and honey-beige paint.

“Come on,” he urged. “Can’t keep them waiting.”

Moira squealed as he pinched her behind, caught off guard by his manners. “You’re not being good.” Before his hands could do more damage, she climbed into the roadster.

“And don’t I know it? But bad’s what I do best.”

Soon, Sullivan Street was far behind them. The urge to find out what he meant almost slayed her. “What do you do next best?”

Moira peered through the side curtains as they traveled uptown toward the nightclub. Such a swell car. She pressed her tingling thighs together, but she knew what he’d say before he opened his mouth. She might be poor but she wasn’t dumb.

“I’ll have to show you later,” he said and shifted into another gear.

“Please, do.”
Kiss me like you’ve never kissed another woman. Make love to me like there’s no tomorrow. Help me bring you lots of little redheaded babies.

Stars sparkled in the clear midnight sky. Nothing could hang a cloud over this special night. Playfully, she poked him on the arm. “If you don’t behave, I might run away.”

“Where? Who with?”

“Never know. Surely not one of the Bertolucci brothers.”

In the middle of the intersection, Reilly applied the brake and stopped dead. Was that steam coming from his nose and ears?

“Who in the hell are the Bertolucci Brothers?”

His tone was so terse. She shrank against the seat before answering. “They live in the tenement next to our store.” Okay, she was off Sullivan Street, but the Devil had followed her. “They watch me all the time. Last night I...”

Moira jerked forward as the car resumed its journey. She glanced in Reilly’s direction. From the set of his jaw, he must be gritting his teeth. Probably biting back any number of nasty words.

Time to have a little more fun with this handsome man. “I’ve even seen their naked bums.”

“What?”

When he appeared ready to stop a second time, she laughed. “Just yesterday the one pulled down his pants while I was hanging up the bedclothes. One time, his brother was watering the side of a building when I walked by.”

* * * *

The steering wheel cut into Reilly’s palm. Be damned. She wasn’t so innocent after all. Like any hot-blooded woman, she’d looked upon those Italians with lust. Though she denied any attraction, he heard her desire. He inhaled night air and Moira. Honey dripped between her soft thighs.

Only two more blocks until the Meridian. Then he’d show off the finest set of Irish gams those losers ever saw. If she wanted a wild time, tonight was ripe for it.

See what she says. How she behaved with those Bertolucci’s. “What did you do? Run the other way?”
Tell me you did, Moira. Let me be the only one to taste that piece of Heaven between your legs.