Saints and Sinners (10 page)

“You actually think I stayed, don’t you?” She crossed her arms tightly against her heaving bosom, and he almost laughed at her moment of feigned modesty.

“No. You’re a good girl most of the time.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Underneath those beads and baubles beats the heart of a hell-raiser.”

“Ah!” she replied and slapped at his hand.

“’Tis true, isn’t it, Moira Monaghan? My little kitten is a tigress. Only no one but me knows it.”

A growl gurgled in her throat. Behind those closed lips, he imagined her tongue. Hot and wet like the piss flaps between her legs. No doubt, her red curls probably had tiny bits of white powder covering them earlier. Now it was covered in a sugar-sweet and sticky glaze like those crullers at the bakery. Ready for his cock and tongue.

He unbuttoned his fly. “Like to see
my
bare arse?”

“You have a dirty mind, that’s all I have to say.”

Between the folds of woolen fabric, his cock lay squeezed in an odd position. He unfastened the lower buttons of his union suit. Damn this cold weather anyway. Jerking the erection free, he allowed it to poke though the gap in front of his pants. One hand on the wheel and one on his hard cock, Reilly stroked it and her feelings a bit more.

“You make my engine run, Moira. Care to shift the gear?”

She never gave any indication that she noticed his display. Never noticed his hand working against the hard flesh like there was no tomorrow. Maybe she did and didn’t let on?

Tonight he wasn’t worried about catching a glimpse of any other cleavage or snatch. Only Moira’s soft body would satisfy him.

Reilly glided the Playboy into a spot behind a flashy Ford. Moira remained plastered against the side curtains, watching people surge onto the sidewalk. Good enough. That gave him time to shove his shaft back into the skivvies before she became wise. Hopefully, tonight his geyser would gush into her honey pot. His thick custard would coat her cunt like nothing else.

As they came to a stop behind another roadster, Moira’s fingers fumbled with the door latch.

“Ah, ah,” he warned. “I’ll be right there. Can’t let you twist those swell ankles.”

Michael Finnegan shouted a greeting at Reilly as he helped Moira from the car. The pretty toe of her right slipper scuffed against the sidewalk. Her beauty riveted Reilly’s gaze. Where that gam ended, Heaven began.

“Check all of your troubles at the curb and hold on tight, honey. You’re about to enter the most sinful suite at the Meridian. The place where everything happens and nothing doesn’t.”

Chapter 8

Dark and foreboding, the hotel pierced the New York sky. Moira craned her neck to get a better view of The Meridian. Pity any poor clouds that might pass by. It would split them like a virgin’s sheath if they dared get in its masterful way.

A large golden rendering of a globe adorned a plaque beside the entrance. With great flourish, Reilly opened the front doors. What a palace, like the pictures she’d seen in books. Chandeliers glittered above while polished marble shone underfoot.

Reilly hugged her close, and Moira rested her face against his coat lapels. She filled her nose with his scent. Only the faint odor of cigar smoke lingered along with a bit of hair pomade. No cooking odors. Did he not have someone to prepare his supper every night? Her scalp tickled as his breath stirred against it.

“She’s something, isn’t she? Just like you. And you haven’t hardly gotten past the front door yet.”

Moira swallowed hard. “More than I ever imagined, but I’d never be able to afford a night in such a special place.”

“Well, you won’t have to. For a doll like you, my door’s always open. I live on the tenth floor. Room 1011.”

Warm and wonderful, his index finger brushed against her nose and lingered on her lips. He extended an invitation she found hard to resist. Though proper ladies didn’t visit men in their rooms, she’d make an exception when it came to Reilly.

“I might surprise you sometime.”

“Sweet face, you can drop by anytime. Day or night. Just ring first to make sure I’m around.”

Ring? “I don’t know what number to ring,” she said and toyed with her beads.

“That’s easy.” He crooked his finger and motioned to a man behind the front desk. “Michael? A piece of paper, please.”

After he’d scribbled for a few seconds, Reilly gave her a most devilish smile. With his hand tucked underneath her coat, he traced one finger down her spine and brought it to rest at the cleft of her bottom. Moira quivered as he fitted his finger between her cheeks and wiggled it.

Nothing shamed Reilly, and he called out to a passing couple. “Hey, Barbara. John. Great to see you both. We’ll be up soon.”

In a hurry, the couple nodded briefly and headed toward the elevator. The ends of John’s fur coat flapped as he walked. Once they’d disappeared from sight, Reilly dropped the note into her beaded reticule.

“It’ll be safe in there. If I put it somewhere else, I’ll find it too quickly.”

What did he mean by that? He could have stuck it in her shoe? Surely, she’d have no reason to remove them tonight?

“I’ll memorize it later on,” Moira said. “Then I won’t have to worry.”

He pulled her into his arms with an urgency he’d not displayed before now. “My lovely Irish Rose. Before we go upstairs, I have to let you in on the deal.” His gaze swept over the room as though he were searching for something or an answer. “If you don’t want to stay...if you’d rather go now, just say the word and we’ll scram.” Hard and demanding, his mouth pressed against hers, draining every drop of energy from her body as they kissed. His ornery tongue tapped against her teeth.

Finally, she freed her lips from his passionate kiss. “Aren’t you afraid someone might see us?”

He laughed at her remark. “Honey, that’s why I’ve just given you a warning. Our kiss is nothing compared to what goes on in that master suite on the tenth floor. Like I said, it’s as close to Heaven as any man or woman’ll ever get here on earth.”

Moira remained silent. How thrilling, seeing how the other half lived and loved. She wouldn’t run away like a frightened fawn. After all, it couldn’t be that scandalous could it?

She tightened her grip on his hand. “I didn’t get dressed up and come all this way for nothing, did I?”

Reilly’s deep blue eyes flashed. “
Undressing
has more to do with it. No you didn’t, doll. Hang on to your drawers cause we’re goin’ up in a hurry.”

The stale odor of women’s perfume and cigar smoke hung heavy in the cramped elevator. From the sour-faced attendant’s vigorous tugs on the pulleys, his upper lip shone with sweat. Something about a man at his most virile made her swoon and her body prickle

When the elevator reached their floor, Reilly pulled her from its confines. A Ragtime tune carried down the hallway, and they traveled toward its source. Reilly’s strides were so wide she had trouble keeping up with him. Upon reaching the proper suite, he rapped out a code and the door swung open.

She gasped at the spectacle ahead. Where was her rosary when she most needed it? If there was ever a chance for her to witness the depths of hell on earth, she’d just stepped into the center of it.

They barely entered and two women ran past them, emitting whoops worthy of a wild Indian. One clutched a stocking in her hand and waved it overhead like a banner of some sort. A slack-jowled man shoved a steel flask into Moira’s hand and sneered.

“Take a sip. It’ll get you looser than a goose, girlie.”

Reilly yanked the flask away and returned it to the stranger. “She’s not for any of that, McGuinty.”

Moira shuddered at Reilly’s reaction. Sapphire-blue fire flashed in his eyes, and she hoped she’d never see him that angry again. As they moved deeper into the room, she prayed she’d remember half of the circus acts performing around her tonight. Janet would never believe something as shocking as this.

Instead of whiskey, Reilly found a full bottle of champagne and poured them each a glass. The bubbles tickled her nose, but she savored every bitter sip. Tiny puff pastries melted in her mouth. She licked away some of the stray crumbs from her lip.

“Oooh,” squealed a bare-breasted young woman wearing only a pair of flimsy lace bloomers. “Doesn’t she make your mouth water, Horace?”

Horace’s hand disappeared inside his trousers and emerged with a handful of limp flesh. Moira backed away yet didn’t avert her eyes.

“Love to lick that away for you,” he offered but Moira declined.

“Come on,” Reilly growled. “I have to see someone.”

“Who?” Perhaps the ringmaster of this carnal circus? “Does he have his clothes on?”

“Hard to tell, but it’s still early.”

Through another doorway, they trudged. Reilly tugged on her arm as though he wanted to get her away from the bawdy players in the front room.

Someone’s soft moans caused her to shift her gaze from Reilly. A half-naked whore had draped herself like a wet washrag over the loveseat. Moira’s eyes burned, and a sickeningly sweet odor made her giddy.

Between the slut’s legs lay a liquor bottle. Moira gasped at noticing the mouth of the bottle wedged into her womb.

The whore motioned to Reilly. “Hey, handsome? Care to take a sip of Dolly’s gin?”

Moira heaved a sigh when Reilly ignored the lewd invitation. With such slurred speech, the woman was definitely drunk as any of the boozers down on Baxter Street.

While Dolly’s right hand raked through her greasy dark-brown cootie garage, her left hand pulled the bottle free. Her stomach rolled and she looked away when the woman directed the bottle toward her lips.

“Ah! Reilly, me boy. Good to have you and the sweet face with us tonight.”

The outburst startled her, and she strained to see the man’s face through the curtain of smoke. A ruggedly handsome fiery-haired man rose from the poker table and displayed a grin every bit as devilish as Reilly’s. Was this Reilly’s father?

“Uncle Morgan. This is my wild rose, Moira Monaghan.”

Pulling a large hand across his wide chin, Morgan Dunne proceeded to undress her with eyes the color of meadow wildflowers she’d never had the pleasure of picking. Her body burned under his intense stare. He was interested in only one thing. She tightened her grip on Reilly’s hand.

“Such a sweet doll,” the man named Morgan said. “You’re no Mrs. Grundy, are you? Not a bit of that for
my
nephew. He likes ’em swell and big titted.”

She crumpled her chiffon bodice together. Her nipples hardened at his bold remarks. Yes, siree, that man didn’t miss anything. If she didn’t miss her mark, she’d swear he was a gangster. As he’d stood to shake her hand, she noticed a peculiar bulge in his coat jacket. When she looked up, Morgan Dunne winked.

Whipping aside his coat jacket, he produced a pistol. It gleamed in the amber lighting, menacing to say the least. His thumb cocked the firing pin. He pointed it at a moose-head trophy on the wall and pulled the trigger.

Click
.

No bullets.

He perched on the corner of the desk, his trousers taut against his crotch. “I see you’re eyeing my piece, doll. This thing’s accurate.” Morgan examined the gun. “But I’ve something that shoots even straighter.”

Laughter erupted at the table, and two of the card players tossed their hands down. What did he take her for? A floozy like the one sprawled on the love seat?
Love seat
?
Love
didn’t have anything to do with what went on over there.

Reilly attempted to leave with her and Morgan noticed. “What? Leaving so soon?” Morgan protested in a booming bass. “Come on over here and let the lady play awhile? Besides, Reilly, we have to talk about our little arrangement, hmmmm?”

Arrangement?

Reilly’s body stiffened at his uncle’s words. What arrangement? What did she know about playing cards while they chatted?

“Moira? Do you feel up to waiting outside in the other room?” Reilly frowned. “We have some business to discuss that won’t take but a couple minutes.”

Her body buckled as though struck by a bolt of lightening. Alone out there with those rowdy people?

As the whore rose from the love seat and approached the poker table, Moira made her decision. “Okay. Just don’t be too long or I might not stick around.”

“It won’t take long. Not as long as something else I have.” Reilly winked and made everything right again…at least for the time being.

* * * *

The party was running full on when she returned. These people never stopped for nothing.

A youth, whose body shape resembled the Sunday dumplings her mother made, tapped her arm. “You play piano?” he asked in a nasally tone.

“Why, yes. Not so good, but enough to get by.” With all of the noise around them, no one would hear if she made a mistake, anyway.

Sheet music lay scattered on top of the piano, and Moira picked out a piece that didn’t look too hard. She’d heard this tune before and had some idea of her ability to play it. Soon, drunkards and deviants alike sang along as strains of the song filled the smoky room.