Seduction of Moxie (6 page)

“So, that was nice,” Wil said, her voice thick with innuendo. She offered Moxie a glass of an alluring amber liquid. “And so is this.”

“What is it?”

“A sidecar,” she explained. “You’ll love it.”

Violet looked cautious. “You know, it may be a good idea to stop drinking.”

“This
is
good,” she exclaimed, drinking some more of the tart cocktail.

Violet sighed.

“And you said you’re not a drinker,” Wil said, tapping glasses with her. “Even I’m impressed, kid.”

Lady Dulce chimed in. “That says a lot. I’ve seen her drink for over twenty-four hours straight.”

Wil chuckled. “Remember that time the coppers gave us the buzz?”

As Wil began her tale of bold, drunken debauchery, Moxie’s attention kept drifting elsewhere. Her eyes settled on Violet, who had a rather nice profile, she decided. She really did look like a beautiful movie star. Her face was so striking and expressive, and her light eyes mesmerized Moxie.

What was going on? How did this woman, a stranger, really, draw her in this way? Why was she having to force herself not to stare? Why had she enjoyed that dance more than her last dozen dates? Well, she really hadn’t had much of a sexual history, she mused. It wasn’t like she was able to properly compare the sensations that Violet elicited to the ones her old beaus evoked.

Hell, it had been well over a year since she had even gone on a date. Most of the time the fellas were so dull she didn’t even bother to accept their invitations. The ones she had gotten involved with seemed attracted to her initially, but somehow the relationships always culminated with them pulling out their dick, usually in the most inconvenient locations. Sometimes it took a few weeks for it to happen, sometimes just a few minutes. Every man she had known seemed like a large jack-in-the-box. If you decided to play, at some point it would come flying out at you. And even though you knew what to expect, it somehow
always
startled you and, in her case, left her wondering what to do with it.

She gazed again at Violet. Was she so different from those palookas Moxie had dated? Violet seemed just as intent on making time with her as all the others had, though she was a slightly better dancer than most.

Good Lord, was she actually considering Violet as a prospective lover? Had the drink, coupled with her abysmal love life, somehow skewed her perspective? When she got up this morning, she knew two things—she was not cheap, and she was not a lesbian. What odd turn of events would make those two certainties blur from fact into ambivalence in the span of a day?

Julian reappeared and took a seat across from Violet. He now looked somehow rumpled, and Moxie wondered if he had found what he came here for.

She glanced back to Violet and watched her index finger ever so lightly trace her lower lip as she seemed to take in Wil’s anecdote with interest. Somehow the thought of the touch of that hand, combined with the feel of those lips, intrigued Moxie. Violet was nothing if not sexually charged, and in some way distractingly magnetic.

“So what’s it like to kiss a woman?”

All conversation stopped and everyone stared at Moxie with expressions that ranged from amusement to stunned surprise.

Violet’s eyes twinkled as she played with her necklace idly. “Well, based on present company, I’ll assume that question is directed to me.”

Lady Dulce and Julian looked at each other and shrugged in unspoken agreement.

“Not so fast, darling,” Wil said, taking a drag from her Chesterfield. “I’m sure I’ve kissed a lot of women.”

Violet was struggling to stave off laughter. “And do you remember any of them? Or is this based on what people tell you the next day?”

“Ah, yes. Good point.” Wil took another sip of her drink and sat back again. “Go right ahead, then.”

“Kissing a woman is a lot like kissing a man, with the exception of a few fundamental improvements.”

“Like what?” Moxie took another sip of her drink.

“You don’t need to worry about being chafed by stubble.”

Wil licked the rim of her glass briefly. “Not from kissing her on the mouth, anyway.”

“You’re getting way ahead of yourself, toots.” Violet looked back at Moxie. “Women also have a certain softness.” Her gray eyes took on an intensity that made Moxie’s stomach flutter. “They tend toward more of a slow burn, while men are like dynamite. Once you light the fuse you have maybe ten seconds before they explode.”

“I take umbrage at that,” Julian said.

“Which part?” Wil asked. “The metaphor, or how long she gave you till detonation?”

“All of it,” he replied. “Some of us have a slow fuse.”

“That’s right, honey.” Lady Dulce patted his knee supportively.

Violet put up her hands in mock defense. “Now, now, boys. You can’t help the way you’re designed—with all your wares on the outside.” She gestured vaguely toward their laps.

“Very true,” Wil agreed. “It’s a bit like having a live grenade in your pants all the time.” She looked up to see D.B. approaching her. “And here comes my little bombardier now.”

“Wil, is that you?” He appraised her and stood with his mouth open in poorly feigned excitement.

She looked downcast for the first time all evening. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“How have you been? It’s been ages since we’ve caught up.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “If by caught up you mean fucked, then yes, it has been a while.”

He laughed a deep, forced-sounding guffaw, but when he saw that no one else was joining in, he immediately stopped. “Say, what are your plans for the rest of the night?”

“Plans?” Wil looked desperately to the other members of her party. “My plans for the night.”

Moxie tried to look earnest. “You did want to go home soon and apply that ointment the doctor gave you.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Violet added. “Before the blisters start to ooze.”

Wil smiled at their quick thinking. “And how have you been, Floyd? Has anything been red or inflamed?”

His face fell. “What?”

Wil lowered her voice to simulate discretion. “Does it burn at all when you pee?”

He looked stricken. “No. Are you saying—?”

“I thought the doctor told you that men don’t always show symptoms,” Moxie said, unable to stanch her curiosity regarding how far they might be able to take this charade.

Wil turned to the man and looked reassuring. “I’m sure you’re fine. You look plenty healthy.”

“Good night,” he spat hurriedly, darting out of the room. They could hear him not too far away shouting, “I need my hat and coat
now
!”

Wil seemed impressed by Moxie’s clever stratagem. She raised her glass in a toast. “Quoth the douchebag—”

“Nevermore,” they all answered happily in unison, clinking their glasses together.

*

4:05 a.m.

“Come on, tomato. We’re almost there,” Violet said as she managed to nudge her apartment door open without losing hold of Moxie, who was so incapacitated from drink that she couldn’t stand unassisted.

“Where are we?”

After Clitty darted inside, Violet closed the door behind them with her foot and made her way into the bedroom, her arm around Moxie’s waist. “We’re in my suite at the Algonquin.”

“Al…gone…what?”

“It’s a hotel, darling. I live here.”

“Is this a come-on?”

Violet struggled to prop her up so that she was seated on the edge of the bed. “And what would your husband say to that? What was his name? Pistachio?”

“I don’t have a husband,” Moxie said, seeming confused.

“Well, earlier you said you did.” Violet knelt to remove Moxie’s shoes.

“I think you’re mistaken.” She wiggled her liberated toes for a moment. “That feels
so
good. I love toes.”

“Yes, they’re the unsung heroes of our feet. Turn around, so I can get to your buttons.”

“I think you’re trying to undress me, Miss London.”

“
Trying
being the operative word. You could actually help a little, you know.”

“I’m not a whore.”

Violet sighed. “Which is truly a pity, because I could easily run and get my checkbook.” She reached around Moxie and unbuttoned her blue evening gown down to the small of her back. She pulled the stitched fabric forward and Moxie’s arms slipped out, but she now sat on the rest of the dress from the waist down. “Hmm…Lie back for me, darling. This will only take a moment.”

“What about your slow burn?” She sagged back across the width of the bed.

Violet tugged the gown from under Moxie’s bottom, over her shapely legs, and then draped it neatly over a chair. When she turned back around, she froze at the sight of Moxie in her chemise, garters, and stockings. “Damn, damn, damn,” she mumbled. The most beautiful woman she’d ever met was lying across her bed in her underwear—very sexy silk, no less—but she was too drunk to actively participate in anything. As though this wasn’t cruel enough, Violet’s train left at 7:45 a.m. “Let’s get your head up on the pillow.”

“I can’t move.”

Violet lay down on the bed next to her. “You need some help?”

“Possibly.”

“Well, you don’t want to sleep lying across the bed sideways like this. Come on, just shift a little.” Violet moved over her to guide her up to the head of the bed.

Moxie wrapped her arms around Violet’s neck provocatively. “I like you.”

She smiled. “I like you too.”

“I had a really good time tonight.
Really good.
The best.”

“Remember that tomorrow when it feels like your head has turned inside out.”

“Thanks for showing me the town.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Come here,” Moxie whispered.

Violet chuckled. “I
am
here.”

“No, closer. I have something to tell you.”

Violet moved her face within inches of Moxie’s, and Moxie unexpectedly kissed her. It was slow, deep, and passionate, and Violet enthusiastically kissed her back. The eroticism of Moxie’s movements against her, coupled with the sweet taste of her mouth and the feel of her tongue, was driving Violet mad with hunger.

Abruptly, Moxie pulled away. “You’re right. That was
much
better than kissing a man.”

“Uh…you need to do any more research on that?”

“I feel funny.”

“So do I,” Violet said, throbbing with unrealized desire.

“Is the bed spinning?”

“No. But let’s get your head on the pillow.” She grabbed Moxie and shifted her so that she was lying lengthwise on the bed. Then she kissed her forehead softly before she stood up.

“Don’t leave me,” Moxie murmured with her eyes closed.

“You’ve got me for a few more hours, doll.”

Within minutes, Moxie was asleep.

Chapter Two

When Moxie finally awoke, she was racked with a throbbing headache, cottonmouth, nausea, and a generous amount of confusion.

“What the hell?” She looked around and saw this was definitely not her apartment. She was in a large, rumpled bed. A closer inspection revealed that she was in her underwear. She slowly sat up. This room did not look familiar at all, and she didn’t detect another sound from the next room. “Hello?”

No one replied.

She struggled to her feet and saw that last night’s clothes were folded neatly on a chair by the window. As much as she wanted to be dressed again, the bright sunlight through the window currently repulsed her. She mulled on the most painless way to get to the garments, finally settling on turning her head, closing her eyes, and flailing her arms wildly at the drapes to force them closed and shut out the light.

When she was satisfied that a fair amount of sun was blocked, she grabbed her clothes and headed back to the bed. Resting on top of her rolled stockings was a sealed envelope with her name written in flamboyant cursive.

For some reason, the handwriting instantly made her think of Violet, and snippets of the previous evening flooded her brain in no particular order. She sat on the edge of the bed, laid her clothing down, and ran her finger under the flap of the envelope.

Moxie,

I hope you are neither too terribly hungover nor filled with drinker’s remorse. Sadly, I had to make my train this morning, so I wasn’t able to wait for you to wake up. I very much wished we could have had breakfast together.

There’s no hurry on when you need to leave. The apartment’s paid up through the end of the day. Stay as long as you’d like. I’ve left a couple dollars for you to get a cup of coffee, a bite to eat, and a cab ride back to your place.

Just so you know, last night was one of the most amazing evenings I’ve had in quite some time, and I’d give anything to kiss you again.

It’s my dumb luck that after six years in this goddamned city, I’d meet you on my last night in town. You are an astoundingly beautiful and sexy woman.

I’ll write you from the train.

—Violet

Moxie dropped the letter in shock and watched it slowly drift to the floor.

“Holy snappin’ assholes!”

*

On the train to Chicago, Violet was utterly distracted. It seemed that nothing could take her mind off the festivities of the previous evening and a certain fair-haired singer who spent the night in her bed.

She sighed and looked out the window as Clitty twitched in his sleep in the seat beside her. Though she was exhausted, every time she closed her eyes, she imagined that kiss again. The memory of it made her stomach drop like she was on a ride at Coney Island.

Naturally Moxie would kiss her like that and then pass out. It was just her luck. Overcome with sexual frustration, she had gently removed Moxie’s stockings and garter belt, though she
might
have taken her time, lingered a bit. She fought off a grin at the thought.

She had curled up next to Moxie for a couple hours of sleep, and the feel of her body had been arousing, yet blissful.

“She’s a mystery, Clitty.”