by Addison Cain
Not one to back down, Charlie let him pull her closer, plopped her toes on his laces, and burst out laughing when Tommy waltzed her around the floor in big showy circles. When the band hit its zenith, Tommy leaned her back, dipping her low to the floor, Charlie laughing and laughing when the world went upside-down.
Feeling the flex of arms pull her up and hold her close, Tommy exercised the same practiced smirk she’d seen him give countless women over the years, and Charlie lost her grin.
“You do look very pretty. Little Blackbird all grown up.” Tommy reached up, eyes warm as he smoothed a stray curl. “I’m glad you wore the dress I sent you.”
She’d thought the Radcliffes had sent the dress. But, of course Tommy had—the man was a cad who would have pegged her size with one glance. Snarky, Charlie shrugged him off. “Why didn’t you sign the card?”
Grinning and honest, he admitted, “I wasn’t sure if you’d wear it, and I did want a glimpse of what you had hidden all those years.”
“Had I known it was from you, it would have gone straight into the fire.” Her hand went to straighten his bowtie, the small strip of cloth twisted to strangle him just enough to make a point. “Like I said before, I don’t much like you.”
“You’re warming up to me.”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “You must be nuts.”
Tommy’s palm came to rest on her bare lower back, a smug smirk on his face as the man led her through the crowd. Back at the table, they found Martha conveniently scurrying off to powder her nose, leaving Beaumont alone with Charlie once the mobster waved Tommy away.
The setup was about as subtle as a train whistle.
“So just what the hell have you been doing all these years?” Beaumont asked, striking a match to light the customary cigarette he enjoyed during interrogations.
“This and that…” Charlie put her weight on her forearms, leaning closer. “I also kept my eye on you whenever I passed through town.”
“Yeah?” He shook the match and puffed the rolled tobacco.
“Yeah.” She cocked her head. “October, 1927 at Cicero. Did you think those bullets magically fell from the sky to take out Capone’s men when they had you cornered?”
“I should have known it was my little Blackbird.” A dangerous smirk appeared. “Why didn’t you say hello?”
“I think you know why. And you can ask me about it all you want, Beau, but I ain’t gonna say shit. Just be grateful I took the time when I caught wind of what was going down.”
“Keep your secrets.” Beaumont Radcliffe didn’t get where he was by being a stupid man. The look in his eyes communicated he knew, at least in part, what she’d been doing with her time. A puff of smoke escaped his mouth, the man slyly adding, “Damn good to have you back though.”
Charlie, unintimidated by the fixed determination in her old mentor’s gaze, warned him, “I’m retired, Beau. Prohibition won’t last forever and there is no way in hell I’ll be involved in any of the other works the mobsters of Chicago fuck around with. I’m tired of all that shit.”
Beau’s eyes held a trace of pity and a far larger manifestation of resolve. “I know you are, kid.”
“Then let me live in peace.”
“I know you, Blackbird. You’ll get bored of it, the quiet life.” Dangling from his lips, the cigarette bounced with each word. “Settle down here where you can keep one toe in the action.” His finger tapped the table. “Get married, have some kids.”
“Nice try, Beau. But men aren’t going to line up to tie the knot with the bastard daughter of Ronnie Pearson and a mad whore.”
“No.” He nodded in agreement, blue eyes glittering. “But they’ll want to marry the kin of Beaumont Radcliffe. Doesn’t hurt that you grew up beautiful neither.”
“Give me a break. Do you really think I would take orders from some man? Some gangster? I would probably end up killing the guy and hangin’ for it.”
“You took orders from me for years,” he stated with pride, settling lazily back in his chair.
Charlie’s face softened, and she gave him a dopey grin. “That was different. I love you.”
“You were a good kid.”
She knew where she stood. “You’re only sayin’ that ‘cause I’m a dead shot with a gun.”
“It didn’t hurt.”
They both started chuckling, the undercurrent of tension fading just in time for Martha’s return. Standing, so the scheming couple could talk about the little interlude, Charlie excused herself so she might powder her nose too.
HE’D MANAGED to find a spot at the bar running the length of the crowded ballroom. Steady, Matthew took in every face, sipping on overpriced whiskey and watching for any sign of trouble. It was the same he’d seen at any watering hole—voices got loud, smiles and tempers growing larger. Only at the Drake, the consumers were all dressed in fancy clothes and wearing perfume.
His position offered barely any glimpses of her profile or the chiseled face of the clean-shaven gangster turned towards her. From the moment he saw Tommy smiling at her, wearing the leer of a man thinking only one thing, Matthew wanted to rip the pretty boy’s goddamn head off.
The crystal tumbler went back to Matthew’s mouth, ice clanking against the glass as he drained it. He’d watched her dance with the prick—glowing, laughing, while the gangster pulled her close enough their bodies touched. When Tommy had bent her back over his arm like some goddamn prince charming, Matthew was sorely tempted to walk right over and pop him in the mouth.
“Matthew?” Sultry and timid, dulcet and cool—the practiced voice of a flirtatious woman—a voice he never thought he’d hear again, cut through his murderous thoughts. “Matthew, what are you doing here?”
Charlie was still bent over Tommy’s arm, laughing in the distance, but Matthew could no longer see her, his line of vision blocked by the beauty of one Alice Mulberry.
Dressed in the short sequined uniform of a cocktail waitress, all her dark hair styled and smooth, she offered a coquettish smirk. The way she caressed his arm and leaned nearer, the warmth in her eyes... it was just how she’d used to look at him when she’d come to work at the grill.
“Look at you. All spruced up in a fine suit.” Alice gave him a proper once over. “A regular gentleman.”
Jesus H. Christ.
“Excuse me, Alice.” Leaning a bit to the side, Matthew found no sign of the golden girl on the dance floor. Pale eyes darted around, looking for a flash of blonde in the crowd. The second he saw Charlotte seated alone with Radcliffe, Matthew was not certain if he was relieved or concerned—especially considering the aggressive set of Charlotte’s shoulders. But it seemed she was holding her own, not at all intimidated by a man Matthew knew was nothing but bad.
As if Alice took his behavior for shyness, she reached up, cupping his freshly shaved cheek to entice his attention. “Was it fate, or did you come looking for me?”
Taking her wrist and removing her hand from his face, Matthew explained, “I’m here on business.”
She smirked, shaking her head. “Then let’s mix it with pleasure. My shift ends in an hour. Stick around and I’ll take you to the best place in the city for coffee.”
Matthew gave a noncommittal grunt, too busy once he realized Charlotte was gone again to notice Alice sauntered away. Again, the golden girl had disappeared. He let out a breath, glaring at the crowd that kept swallowing her up. And then there she was, her head down, walking right towards him.
That dress… the satin flowed over each dip and curve, revealing more of Charlotte’s body with each step she took nearer. It was impossible to miss the hungry looks of other men, how they openly stared at her rear and draped bosom. He hated it. Fisting his hands, knuckles cracking, Matthew leveled a death glare on the most forward gawkers, missing the look of outrage the golden girl pointed right at him the instant she spotted the interloping Emerson in the crowd.
Chapter 13
Matthew Emerson, dressed in a fine suit, clean shaven, hair
trimmed, and more handsome then she could say, stood amongst the snobby Chicago masses as if he had a right to be there.
He didn’t. Which led Charlie to snarl, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Caught growling at a man ogling her behind, Matthew’s pale eyes snapped to the irate woman, his answer simple, “I’m here to keep an eye on you.”
Lashes flared at the insult. “Why? You think I’m squealing to Radcliffe about your stills? That I’m gonna muck up your deal?”
“Of course not, Charlotte.” Clearing his throat, wishing he could loosen the damn tie, Matthew spoke over the din, “I’m here in case you need me.”
Fidgeting with her hair, brows drawing together, Charlie frowned. “So you followed me here from Monroe? Are Nathaniel and Eli spying too?”
“No.” Matthew reached out and gripped her arm, tugging her a little nearer so they wouldn’t have to shout. “I came here alone.”
Feeling her cheeks heat, Charlie stared at Matthew’s askew tie. “In a suit…”
“In a suit, Charlotte.”
Vaguely aware she sounded ridiculous, she stopped her mouth, glancing up shyly. Those pale eyes were waiting for her—eyes she’d stared at enough times to know they were the faintest shade of green and downright pretty against his tan skin.
The hand on her arm began to stroke a slow steady path from shoulder to elbow that soothed her irritation, and left a trail of soft tingles in its wake. “I’ll wait right here. When your dinner’s over, I’ll escort you to your door.”
Nodding mutely, Charlie found her eyes drawn to his mouth, hoping for a taste of the whiskey and sweet cigar she smelled on his breath.
A deep rumble came from the male towering over her. “Best get back to your supper now.”
Snapped out of her fancy, Charlie almost stumbled as she backed away, turning around as ordered and gliding right back to her table.
Dinner arrived, and while her party ate, Martha dominated the conversation. “Have you found yourself a man, Charlotte?”
“No, ma’am, I’m a spinster,” Charlie answered plainly. “I can’t cook, or sew—don’t know a thing about babies.”
Martha gave her a secret smile. “A good man won’t really care about the trivial skills, so long as you work hard in other areas.”
Fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder to where Matthew stood at the bar, Charlie blushed, knowing full well what Martha was alluding to.
Brown eyes sparkled, the woman just as much trouble as her kingpin husband. “You look mighty fine sitting next to Tommy. The two of you make quite the handsome pair.”
Setting down her fork, Charlie met Martha’s eyes and was blunt as could be. “Don’t go putting any fool ideas into his head, Martha. I am fully aware of the reputation the man sitting at my side carries.” Her attention darted to Tommy, noting his cocky smirk. “Seen him many times over the years with his menagerie of women.”
“But not one of them were near as pretty as you,” Tommy cooed, daring to press a teasing kiss to her cheek.
“Tommy.” Charlie ground her teeth, glaring right at the mobster. “I do have a gun in my purse.”
Beaumont burst out laughing, his hand smacking the table. “Boy, you’re gonna have to try a lot harder if you want to catch my Blackbird’s eye.”
From the expression on Tommy’s face, he seemed more than willing to rise to the challenge. But, wisely, he mellowed the flirting; Charlie stopped glaring and conversation grew natural once more.
When the meal was over and the bottle of champagne empty, it was hard not to find easy comfort in what felt familiar. The talk, the city, old comrades… a small part of Charlie almost wished she’d told Beau she’d stay. As if Martha could read her mind, she took Charlie’s hand when they walked from the table, asking the blonde girl to swear she’d come back to town for Christmas. In the lobby, engulfed in the tight embrace of Martha’s mink draped arms, Charlie made a promise to do just that.
Watching the women have their overlong moment, Radcliffe blew out a fresh puff of smoke. “You better wrap it up before your guard dog starts to growl, Lottie.”
Pulling away from Martha, Charlie was confused. “Guard dog?”
Beaumont cocked his chin, signaling she might want to take a look behind her.
Matthew was there, leaning on a distant pillar, making his presence known.
Another puff of smoke. “Looks like you’ve got some competition after all, Tommy.” After a kiss on her cheek, Beaumont murmured, “Don’t answer the door should anyone come knocking tonight.”
Charlie understood perfectly and nodded.
The Radcliffe contingent left, Charlie waving a final goodbye. Feeling a growing sense that the world might not be so bad, Charlie turned around and saw Matthew still waiting… for her. There he was, straightening from where he leaned, looking grand in that new suit. It all seemed so unreal, so dreamlike, that when a raven-haired beauty slunk up, linking her arm through Matthew’s, Charlie almost tripped as if jolted awake.
Alice… that pretty face and glorious dark hair were unforgettable.
“There you are.” A smile of familiarity, of fondness, came from the woman petting Matthew softly. “Ready to get that cup of coffee?”
Of course Matthew had come to see his sweetheart. Charlie felt utterly duped. She’d been deluding herself entertaining the idea for even a moment that a man like him would want her.
Working hard to keep the congenial smile pasted on her face, Charlie nodded her understanding and turned a bit too fast towards the elevators.
She made it ten quick steps before a hand came from behind to grip her elbow.
Eyes forward, Charlie sighed. “Really, Matthew, it’s okay. Take your sweetheart out for coffee. I can see myself upstairs.”
“Alice ain’t my sweetheart,” he growled, tugging her so she’d hold still for a damn second. “I didn’t even know she worked here.”
Unwilling to humiliate herself further, Charlie began to seek out an escape, her eyes everywhere but on the slack-jawed woman who’d chased after them.
“Miss Elliot.”
“Christ, what now?” Charlie muttered under her breath.
An approaching stranger outstretched his hand. “You should have informed us you were family to our illustrious Mr. Radcliffe.”
Not having a clue who was speaking to her, Charlie faced him squarely, leaving Matthew the odd man out. “And you would be?”
“George Parks, night manager, at your service, Miss Elliot.” Reaching out, he earnestly shook Charlie’s unoffered hand. “Had we known you’d be joining us, champagne and light refreshment would have been waiting in your room. I corrected the oversight. Here at the Drake, we always take special care of our favored guests.”
Yeah. Special, bribing care so that no bad word might get back to a man who, when offended, would probably kill you.
Pulling her fingers from the overeager man’s grip, Charlie resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her dress. “That’s very kind of you.”
Enough was enough.
Matthew put a hand on the greasy manager’s chest, pushing the fop away. The second Charlie opened her mouth to get difficult, Matthew marshaled her away. Leaving a stunned Alice and an insulted Mr. Parks behind.
Even though they stood in stony silence for the entire elevator ride, the flat of his palm remained on her back, warm and persistent. When the doors opened, he led her down the hall, Charlotte awkwardly fumbling for the key in her clutch.
She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. “Thank you for the escort. I hope you have fun with Alice.”
When she jammed the key into her door’s lock, a large hand covered hers. “Alice ain’t my woman, Charlotte. Like I said, I didn’t even know she was here.”
She felt all jumbled, strangely panicked—sad, eager—like she might cry. “Then wh—”
Trapping her between the door and his body, Matthew pressed right up against her. He took her jaw. He made her look, m
ade her listen. “I didn’t come all this way for Alice.”
And then he kissed her. Hard.
The searing press of his mouth seemed far more inflaming than, what by comparison, had been a chaste kiss in the woods. Matthew devoured her, firm lips perfect, tongue dipping into her mouth in a way that drew a shameless mewl from her throat. He was flush to her satin draped body, his hands anything but timid—the curve of her hips palmed, the dip in her waist stroked, his arm burrowing between her and the door so he might grip the fleshy swell of her rear.
The man groaned against her mouth so beautifully she just about lost her footing.
Fumbling for the knob, Matthew pressed her back into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. Once the lock engaged, Matthew’s attention went right back to her swollen lips.
Far too mixed up in the soft abrasion of his tongue teasing hers, Charlie didn’t demure when the straps of her dress were pulled down, the silken fabric slipping low. Uncovered, the tips of her breasts scraped over fine wool, and then the glorious feeling of rough palm gripped the suddenly aching flesh.
A swell of noise caught in her throat. The things he was doing... kneading her, his thumb and forefinger seeking out and tweaking a nipple ripe for attention, it was all she could do not to outright beg him for more.
Matthew left her mouth, Charlie panting into the air as his teeth and lips moved down her jaw. After marking the column of her throat, he bowed, pushing up her breasts for his lips.
The pleasure of feeling that pert nipple sucked into a warm mouth—Charlie arched into it, greedy for more, certain the entire floor could hear the cry she’d made. It was… it was absolutely thrilling: the rapid flicks of his tongue, the teeth, the sounds of slurping when he left one breast to suckle the other.
Somehow gravity disappeared and her back bounced on the mattress, the huge male already crawling over her body. His coat was off, his hands tugging at her gown, yanking, pulling, doing anything to reveal more creamy skin. Satin pooled and a hand began to search under her skirt, slipping right up the soft inside of her thighs.
