by Addison Cain
He harrumphed but looked fractionally contrite.
Charlie kissed his forehead. “Got you some new pajamas too, since I ruined your last set. Though, I do kinda like the idea of you continuing to sleep half naked next to me.”
He gave her his amused version of a scowl, pulling her to sit on his lap. Resting with her man, she watched the scenery until Eli called them in for supper. After the meal, they turned in early for the night, Matthew worn-out. But Charlie had plans for her lover, coming to bed with a peppermint on her tongue, ready to see if the tale was true. By the time she had his cock in her mouth, he was just about gone to pieces… He never even had a chance to try on the new pajamas.
Easter weekend, while the men were making a delivery to Radcliffe’s warehouse, Charlie unpacked their suitcases at the Drake. He didn’t leave her for long, the woman not half done before the door opened behind her. Matthew sauntered in, setting his hat aside to wrap his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck.
“I’m meeting Martha for dinner tonight.” She smiled as she spoke, gasping when he nipped her ear. “She had a message waiting when I checked in.”
His answer was to bite down just enough to give her a thrill, then lick the little mark. At her back, he pulled down his suspenders, nudging his thickening cock at her backside. It wasn’t long before he had her out of her dress and spread beneath him, his head buried between her thighs as she panted and begged for more. He brought her to the pinnacle twice, manhandling her body the way he knew she liked, before succumbing to his own well-deserved release.
By the time Matthew dropped her off at the restaurant, her hair was wild and her legs a little wobbly. Martha stood at the table, flawless in her tailored suit, a fox pinned around her shoulders—unlike bedraggled Charlie, who’d barely had time to rouge her lips.
“It’s that Monroe man Beaumont likes, isn’t it?” The meaningful smile on the woman’s face made Charlie blush red up to the roots of her hair. Martha teased further. “He is a handsome devil.”
“Beau likes him?” Charlie was actually surprised.
Martha took her seat. “Well, he took the time to sit your man down and give him the business weeks ago.”
“You’re kidding me…” Laughing, she asked, “When?”
Chocolate eyes glimmered devilishly. “Last time you were in town together.”
The morning coffee.
Matthew must have hated being cornered by the big bad mobster who he saw as the devil in her childhood. “You should know, Martha, I told him I would marry him.”
The woman sighed as if accepting something she didn’t like. “All the men in Chicago… rich, famous, powerful… and some country boy is really what you want?”
“He is.”
The older woman whined, “But he is so surly… hardboiled.”
“How would you know?” Charlie asked, raising a brow.
Martha lowered her chin and gave her an I know everything look. “Tomorrow, we will start looking for a gown, lace and satin, something exquisite. Sebastian could make you one.”
Raising her hand, Charlie waved her off. “Slow down there, Martha.”
Before she could finish, the woman’s eyes grew big as plates. “What the hell happened to your arm?”
The red, angry scar was on display. Self-conscious, Charlie pulled down her sleeve and demurred. “A man took a knife to me.”
A voice that had been jovial grew dark. “He still alive?”
Rouged lips formed the words. “Not for long if I have my way.”
“Hmmmm,” Martha was all business. “Beaumont know?”
Charlie nodded.
“You will have to wear gloves when you get married… or long sleeves.” Her voice was going back to its normal singsong, but it was clear from the look in her eye, Martha’s mind was grinding down what she’d just learned.
They ate dinner, drank wine and split warm chocolate soufflé for dessert. When the night was near ending, Matthew was already waiting near the door, watching over her and ready to take her home.
Martha looked at the country boy stuffed in a nice suit and then looked back to Charlie. “Word of advice, girl. Let him handle it.” The chocolate eyes looked right at her scar. “Men get awful touchy about this type of thing, and your Mister looks like a hands-on problem solver. Let the man be a man.”
Charlie ground her teeth but hid it with a small smile, knowing exactly what the woman was referring to and disagreeing. Martha kissed her cheek and they went to the door where the queen of Chicago looked to Matthew and shot him a smirk. One last glance at Charlie and Martha reminded, “I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow.”
When Martha left the room, it was almost as if the sparkle of the restaurant faded. That very magic Charlie had always admired.
“Charlotte,” Matthew waited for her attention, gruff and grouchy. “What she sayin’ about tomorrow?”
Smiling up at the handsome scowl, Charlie explained, “She wants to take me to buy a wedding gown. Don’t worry though, I know you’d rather have all your fingers broken then stomach a grand Radcliffe wedding. I’ll just go to please her.”
Matthew shifted on his feet and looked to the side. After a moment, he asked, “You want a fancy dress and party?”
She looked dumbfounded. “I wouldn’t have anyone to invite.”
“You, ah, get whatever dress you want. All that frilly lacey stuff you like.”
Her slow growing smile let him know he’d said the right thing. Looking shyly at his chest, Charlie murmured, “I would like a nice photograph—you in a suit and me in a veil. I don’t need a party or a fancy wedding.”
Nodding his approval, happy to see her smiling like she was, he took her fingers in his. “How much money you want for the dress?”
“That’s awful sweet of you, but it’s not your place to buy my dress.”
This was going a direction he was uncomfortable with. “What do you mean?”
“I have my own money saved up, Matthew.” Proud, Charlie added, “Besides, I have a feeling Beau and Martha are going to want to buy my bridal gown.”
He let out a breathy growl, “Let’s get back to the hotel.”
“Oh, no, sir.” Batting her eyelashes, she took his hand. “I am taking my sweetheart out tonight. There is this little jazz club nearby with a singer with a voice like velvet. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”
Said with a hint of reprimand, Matthew grumbled, “I’ll buy the drinks.”
“Well, all right then.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, rubbing against him ever so subtly, promising she’d make it worth his while.
Chapter 11
Martha lounged, hip atop a satin covered chaise. Hot tea at her lips, she looked at the fifth dress to grace her little protégé. “Now that is beautiful.”
Charlie did not agree. The country girls would think her a floozy to dress so lewdly at her own wedding. “I could never wear a dress this elegant in Monroe.”
“Well, good thing you’re getting married in Chicago.”
Not rising to the bait, Charlie ignored Martha and explained, again, to the dressing assistant, “Please bring something demure.”
“Oui, Mademoiselle.”
It was corny, that fake accent, and Charlie couldn’t help but shoot Martha a smirk before ushering in the greater issue, “Don’t wheedle Matthew tomorrow. Neither of us wants a big wedding. After all, I have no family but you.”
“You are my niece, darling,” Martha pronounced the endearment with her own phony French twist. “It is who I would invite.”
Unmoved by the attempted emotional manipulation, Charlie stepped out of her dress, tossing it atop the growing pile of white fluff in the corner. “Small ceremony. Dinner after.” Blue eyes met brown. “In Monroe.”
Cool as a cucumber, Martha said nothing.
The attendant returned, Charlie too busy staring down a woman just as stubborn as she was, to pay any attention to the new garment buttoned up her spine. I
t was not until the attendant cleared her throat for the third time that Charlie glanced towards the mirror.
One look and Martha’s machinations were forgotten. Every bit of white lace was perfect, turned Charlie into something pretty, transfiguring the spitfire into a bride. Smiling at her reflection, Charlie breathed four happy words. “I like this dress.”
Purring, Martha agreed with her stupefied ingénue. “I would say so… And the veil? Do you want something long or just a cap?”
Stupidly, Charlotte nodded.
“You must carry delicate flowers en masse, Lily of the valley or something equally fragile. Not those god-awful calla lilies that are so popular with brides these days.”
“Uh huh.”
Wicked, Martha continued, “And of course you must ride an elephant through town while men dance naked before you.”
Charlie muttered, nodding, “Whatever you say.”
Martha and the attendant burst out laughing.
Confused, Charlie glared over her shoulder. “What?”
Martha eased up behind the bride and met the attendant’s eyes in the mirror. “We’ll take the dress.”
Easter came. At the Radcliffe’s estate, Matthew sat puffing a cigar beside Beaumont—Martha and Charlotte chattering like magpies across the room.
Beaumont seemed to find his guest’s behavior, the way Matthew stared at his woman, rather funny. “You been enjoying your time in town?”
Matthew bit down on his cigar, unhappy to look away from Charlotte, and less than happy to feign small talk. “Listen, we can cut the chit-chat bullshit.”
Beaumont reached for a bottle of nearby whiskey, laughing under his breath. “I like you, Matthew. Straight to the point.” He poured them both a measure, glancing towards the scowling visitor in the lush chair at his elbow. “So, I’ll return the favor. The man you been looking for, I got a few of my boys with their ear on the rail.” Beaumont offered the glass and took a hearty gulp of his own. “But no word yet.”
Evaluating the offered liquor, Matthew studied the quality, unsurprised it was superb. “Is that so?”
“In my humble opinion, whoever hired him wasn’t too pleased with the outcome—cleaned up the mess, so to speak. Your man is probably lying in an unmarked grave.”
Matthew frowned.
Loud laughter, Martha and Charlotte beyond caring what the men were up to, made a ruckus across the room.
“Look at them.” Radcliffe cocked his chin. “Happy as two parakeets.”
Charlie did look damn happy, leaving Matthew a little jealous.
Martha seemed to sense they had an audience, capitalizing on the opportunity by raising her voice enough the men might hear. “What do you mean you won’t have a housemaid?”
“Okay, my cooking might be terrible, but,” Charlie, full of pride, glanced at her man, “Matthew is teaching me.”
“But who will do the wash and tend babies?” The hostess turned to her husband. “Tell her, Beau.”
The look the gangster gave his wife was dismally sarcastic. But he acquiesced and followed Martha’s lead. “Lottie is not the domestic type, if you get my drift, Matthew. For your own sanity, hire a maid.”
Charlotte snorted, offended, “I can learn.”
Of course she could, but Charlie wouldn’t like being tied to a kitchen or being made to sweep floors all day. Also, Matthew would be damned if he couldn’t make her a lady of standing in their county. Speaking above his normal drawl, he spoke his piece, “When the house is finished, plenty of Monroe women will come knockin’ looking for work. Hire whoever you like.”
Charlotte pursed her lips and dragged down her brow. “My cooking really that bad?”
The smallest of smirks and Matthew smoothed it all over. “No.”
The topic was dropped, Martha far more intrigued with what she’d heard. “You’re building her a house?”
“Actually,” Charlie beamed, squaring her shoulders, “we’re renovating a house I found in the woods. Well, it needs a lot of work, but by the end of the year, it should be a grand ol’ manse by the lake.” Clearly excited, she took Martha’s hand. “Once it’s done, I think it just might be up to your standards.”
Martha pouted. “You make me sound so spoiled.”
“You are,” Beaumont stated dryly.
Charlie tried to say more, eager to talk all about it, only to be cut off by her hostess, “Did I mention we found her bridal gown yesterday, Beau?”
The question didn’t need an answer. Martha was building up to something, ready to strike home while she had her audience in her palm. “Now we just need a venue and a date.” Before Charlie could argue or Matthew could intensify his scowl, Martha preached, “Weddings are important affairs—a social necessity where more than just the vows of husband and wife are made. They’re good for business.”
Matthew sipped his whiskey and said nothing, refusing to be browbeaten by Charlotte’s aunt.
“Fine.” Martha threw her hands up in surrender. “But you can’t deny me throwing her a bridal shower.”
Charlotte didn’t seem at all amused at the prospect. “Bridal shower?”
Martha held her thumb and forefinger fractionally apart. “Just a little party at Lucia’s. Bring your country friends and I’ll invite some of the more intimate women of my acquaintance.”
Beaumont knew his wife would get her way, and the look he threw at Matthew warned arguing was pointless.
But Charlie couldn’t have a party. “There is only one girl I would invite, and I guarantee her daddy would never allow it.”
Martha smiled, stiff. “If you agree, it would make me very happy.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Charlie muttered, rolling her eyes.
“Language!” Martha smacked her arm. “You have always had such a mouth on you.”
Matthew grunted, nodding in agreement.
Throwing him a glare, Charlie cooed, “That’s easy for you to say, you hardly talk at all. Took me months to decipher the difference between your scowls and glares.” Pointing, her lip curled, she added, “That one, for example, means you think I am funny… or not funny. I can never tell.”
A knowing look was the only response Matthew offered Charlotte, choosing to address Martha instead. “She’ll go to your party, Mrs. Radcliffe. And she’ll behave like a lady.”
Victorious, Martha purred, “I am liking you more and more, Matthew Emerson.”
Before Charlie could cook up something smart to say, a maid entered the room announcing, “Mr. Kennedy is in your office, sir. Says it’s important.”
Beaumont made no excuses, just stood and left the room. Not five minutes later Tommy came in, Beau at his back.
Grinning like a Romeo, Tommy greeted the ladies, “Must be my lucky night to see the two prettiest ladies of my acquaintance.”
Martha offered her hand, Charlie only sent a wave. But that had been enough for her sleeve to slip and the scar to show.
Tommy reached for her arm, frowning over the red puckered wound running from wrist to elbow. “I’d heard you’d killed some men. I didn’t realize you had been hurt, Lottie.”
Uncomfortable, Charlie pulled back her arm, turning it to hide the mark. “Oh… I shot him. I shot them all.”
“When you going to wise up and come home? Being embroiled in some redneck squabble is beneath the Blackbird I know.” Tommy’s eyes flew to where Matthew sat comfortable in the guest chair. “And you—”
Radcliffe spoke up, a warning hiding under his honeyed voice, “I don’t think Mr. Emerson appreciates you trying to woo his fiancée back to the city.”
Outright disgust sat on Tommy’s pretty face. “Fiancée? You let that country boy knock you up? Don’t you have any shame?”
She was out of her chair before he’d finished, snarling, “For a man who’s stuck his pecker in more women than Al Capone keeps whores in the city, you got some nerve.”
Matthew hadn’t said a word, he just unrolled from his seat, moving to stand between
his woman and an armed man.
Martha tugged Charlie’s wrist, urging her to take a seat. But it was Beau’s warning glare that buckled Charlie’s unwilling knees and put her ass back on the couch.
Matthew moved, breathed, so slowly it was frightening to see how saturated he was in anger. “Out of respect for the Radcliffes, I am not going to knock your fuckin’ teeth in and get blood on Martha’s fine carpet.” Shoulders hunched lower, a gritty voice turning nasty. “But you listen good, you two-bit sack of shit. If I ever find you disrespected my wife again, you won’t be walking away. You’ll be lucky if you’ll still be breathin’.”
Chapter 12
Glad Easter was at an end, Matthew took his woman home. Charlie had been happy as a clam, so happy she practically floated around the grill for weeks.
So when he come home to find Charlotte sitting on the porch, staring forward as if looking down the Devil, Matthew frowned.
The sun was sinking in a pretty orange sky. Since he’d known her, more than once he’d caught her taking a moment to enjoy such a view. Yet her attention was not on the horizon. It was on nothing. Charlotte didn’t even acknowledge that he and his brother had returned. She just sat, an almost empty jar of applejack at her lips.
Nathaniel offered a cautious, “Howdy, Charlie.”
“Howdy.” Wasn’t nothin’ nice in her reply.
Climbing the porch steps, Nathaniel gave her a good once over. Finding her drunker than a boiled owl, he clicked his tongue. “Damn, Charlie, if I’d known you wanted to get three sheets to the wind, I’da joined ya.” Plopping down in the rocking chair beside her, Nathaniel reached for her jar. “What’s the matter with you?”
Charlie jerked her arm away, grumbling that she didn’t want any company.
Leaving his brother to waste time asking questions he knew Charlie wouldn’t answer, Matthew took himself inside where he cornered Eli and dragged out an explanation.
