Jezebel

by Koko Brown

  Her hair, which barely grazed her shoulders, was as black as licorice just like her eyes. Cat eyes, they called them because they tipped upward slightly in the corner and flecks of brown twinkled in them whenever the stage lights shifted.

  Just watching her made him feel alive as if jumpstarted by a sudden kick of electricity. The more he looked, the more he wanted.

  Perplexed by his growing interest, Shane frowned. Why her?

  Celeste Newsome was a good-looking dame, but she wasn’t his type. No way, no how! They were like night and day.

  Raised on a dirt farm outside Chattanooga Tennessee, Shane preferred country girls, looking to raise a family, take care of their man. Not a good time girl, who probably ate her man for breakfast.

  Still, he couldn’t deny the pump of adrenaline rushing through him at the prospect of their paths crossing again or the emotions she elicited in him. For some reason, she made him feel both carnal and protective. And for the first time in his twenty-nine years, Shane wanted to take care of someone other than himself.

  Shane silently cursed his luck. Celeste Newsome was a beautiful disaster he would be smart to steer clear of. Unfortunately, he’d never been accused of being Einstein.

  “Hey Daddy Long-legs, you wanna dance?”

  Shane tracked the nails on chalk–board whine to a bottle redhead barely reaching his armpit. He took in her garish bow-painted, thin lips and promptly dismissed her.

  “I said do you wanna dance?” she squeaked, looping her arm through his.

  “No,” Shane said without taking his eyes off Celeste.

  “Hells bells, Charlie!” Her bone grinding screech made him grit his teeth. “You came to pick up one of them shines,” she spat.

  “What did you say?” Shane grabbed the woman’s hand and squeezed. “My name isn’t Charlie.” He squeezed harder. “And the reason I’m here is none of your business.”

  “O-w-w-w, you’re hurting me,” the redhead whined. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Please, mister, let me go.”

  Shane didn’t bother with watching the floozy scurry off. He had bigger fish to fry.

  Properly sauced, Celeste was in her element.

  She flirted outrageously with anyone who found themselves lucky enough to cross her path. She wooed them, charmed them with witty banter and plied them with sexual innuendo. And when they fell under her spell, begged for some kind of commitment, mostly the overnight kind, she moved on to the next.

  This was her scene and she had complete control of it, even Shane. Celeste smiled. She’d made him long before he’d started dogging her trail. In truth, he was part of the reason why she’d flirted so outrageously.

  Unfortunately, many of her admirers couldn’t take no for an answer, particularly a set of handsome number runners with ties to the Jersey Shore. Taking on both of them was tempting, but to her overt consternation they paled in comparison to Shane.

  In her mad dash to elude them and her confounding attraction for a man she would be best to avoid, she ran into someone less appealing.

  Instantly recognizing the woman in white, Celeste stiffened. The last time she’d heard hide or hair of Beatrice Gerard, she and her all-colored troupe had boarded a freighter bound for Europe, taking Celeste’s fiancé, Ralph, with her.

  Not yet seeing her, Beatrice held court over an entourage of a half a dozen or more. Elegantly dressed in an evening gown with dramatic split sleeves, her exaggerated movements caused the white silk to slide open and resemble the wings of a moth.

  Aside from Beatrice’s finery, Celeste noted every single person in the woman’s entourage. Thankfully, Ralph wasn’t one of them and for that she breathed a sigh of relief. After all these years, she still wasn’t ready to come face to face with her former beau.

  “Is that you, Celeste Newsome? Oui, c’est toi. Ma Cherie, come here and give me a proper welcome.”

  Beatrice motioned for her. She even had the nerve to open and close her hands as if Celeste were a babe.

  Was Beatrice privy to the events from five years ago? Was this exuberant display simply a show of sympathy for the jilted fiancée left behind?

  Celeste strangled the bourbon bottle she’d pilfered from Hiram. She absolutely hated pity parties.

  But who said she had to come alone?

  CHAPTER six

  Celeste glanced over her shoulder and met Shane’s gaze. She even hit him with one of those thousand-watt smiles that advertising bigwigs used to peddle everything from Coca-Cola to RCA phonographs.

  Poor thing. He bought it hook, line and sinker, practically lighting up like a billboard in Times Square.

  Confidant she had him on the end of her line, Celeste crooked her finger, reeling him in. Everyone and everything faded into the background as he stalked toward her.

  Get a grip, sister! You just charmed a dozen men without feeling a thing. This big bruiser smiles at you and you get all fuzzy in the brain.

  “Care to do me a favor, lover?” she asked somewhat breathless when he finally stood over her.

  “Ask away,” He said it in such a trusting manner, Celeste almost felt guilty as she looped her arm through his. A jolt zipped up Celeste’s spine. His arm felt harder than a rock

  “No time to explain, Daddy.” Already in motion, with Shane in tow, Celeste stroked his arm. Of course, if anyone had asked her later if she’d meant it as a way to comfort him or to get her kicks she might have been hard pressed to give an answer. The man was made of steel! “I just want you to meet some friends of mine.”

  “You’re going to pay for this,” Shane snarled, but allowed her to pull him into her con.

  “Now is this any kind of way to treat an old friend…” Beatrice’s gaze jumped from Celeste to Shane. A consummate performer her expression didn’t slip, her smile remaining precocious and bright. “Speaking of friends, who’s yours?”

  Afraid Shane would ruin her ruse, Celeste rushed through introductions, “This is the one and only “Sugar” Shane Brennan, the prize fighter.” Celeste paused, allowing a rapture of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ to filter around the table. “He’s training for a bout at The Garden.”

  The only one who looked unimpressed was Beatrice. “So…how long have you two been an item?”

  “Not long.”

  Beatrice’s gaze jumped back and forth between them. Celeste stiffened. Had she seen through her little white lie? Expecting to be called on the carpet, Celeste found herself confused by the other woman’s laughter. “And here I thought you would still be carrying a flame for Ralph.”

  Celeste laughed a little too brightly even for her own ears. “Ralph is old news.”

  Beatrice cocked her head and eyed Celeste a little too long for comfort. “Interesting,” she said, edging closer. “I assumed you two would try and rekindle things.”

  Even if she desired it, would Ralph take her back? Was she up to even facing him again? The very thought of it made her insides churn. Even her knees filled with champagne.

  Slightly wobbly and ashamedly lightheaded, she leaned into Shane. Thankfully, he seemed to sense her quandary because he slid his arm around her waist and took on her full weight.

  She couldn’t still be in love with Ralph could she?

  Thankfully, Beatrice changed the subject. “Europe was absolutely fantastic,” she said. “Everyone welcomed us with open arms and I wish we could go back, but it looks like we’re staying. Most of us have signed up for Mike Todd’s The Hot Mikado.” Beatrice’s eyes widened as if hit by an idea. “Countess Vaughn has volunteered to host a welcome home party for the entire troupe. You should come,”Beatrice looked at Shane, “both of you.”

  A ready refusal on her lips, Celeste opened her mouth.

  “When, where and what time?” With one simple question, Shane turned her misery into a two-bottle fury. That’s how many bottles of scotch Celeste would need to cool off from his overstepping reach.

  “Thursday after next. And don’t worry about the time.” Beatrice leaned in as if i
mparting a secret. “It’s an all-nighter.”

  “Well, we’d love to stay and chat, but Trudy needed some help getting ready for her performance,” Celeste said providing them with an escape.

  Beatrice’s eyes widened in surprise and Celeste almost rolled hers. How the woman missed the three-foot twin marquees out front advertising tonight’s performers was beyond her. Still, Celeste allowed the woman to play the ingénue. “Trudy’s performing tonight, c’est vrai?”

  Celeste nodded. At this point, any more verbal confirmation could result in jail time.

  “What about you, Celeste? Are you booked? The last we heard you had an audition with MGM. Ralph swore he’d see you on the big screen one day.”

  Reminded of the audition she blew by showing up so drunk she couldn’t execute her trademark triple spins, beads of sweat peppered Celeste’s upper lip. Suddenly yearning for a bottle of Wild Turkey and a quiet corner to curl up in, she slipped from Shane’s arms.

  She didn’t get very far. Possessed of lightening quick reflexes, he clasped her hand at the very last moment. Once again, Celeste gasped. Deliciously warm and strangely comforting, his touch caused her demons to scurry for cover. In turn, her confidence returned in spades.

  “I lost the part,” Celeste replied with a breezy lift of her shoulders as if movie roles came a dime a dozen and not once in a lifetime. “But there will be others.”

  Shane didn’t give the other woman the opportunity to pry further. To both of their surprise, he placed two quick pecks on Beatrice’s cheeks then exchanged polite farewells with promises to meet up again at her welcome home party.

  Celeste would savor Beatrice’s deer–in–the–head lights look until the cows came home. So much so, she didn’t care where Shane led her. With each step, she gulped in fresh air and her head started to reel with clarity. For the first time in a very long time, she liked the feeling.

  Somewhat lightheaded, she even allowed him to back her into a narrow hallway beneath the stairs, leading to the second floor. The space provided a modicum of privacy and an intimacy she’d been running from all night. Overwhelmed, Celeste tugged on her hand.

  To her relief and mild disappointment, Shane let her go. Well, not exactly. He blocked any hope of escape by placing his hands against the wall at her back. She should’ve felt threatened or even pissed at his audacity. Unfortunately her libido, fueled by a half a bottle of top shelf bourbon, sang its usual tune. Her body temperature and pulse increased exponentially. Her breasts felt heavy and that secret place between her legs became moist and sticky.

  Unable to help herself, Celeste reached out and slid her hands over his shoulders. He was so rock solid and masculine, he made breathing difficult. Although he’d been a gentleman all night, he looked like a man who took what he wanted. The thought of him taking her, made the little button between her legs throb and the tone of her voice dip to a seductive level. “You got me, Daddy. Now what are you going to do?” she asked, proud her voice didn’t quake like her insides.

  “You’re a real party girl aren’t you?” He brushed his hands over her forearms and Celeste called on all her reserves and years of experience to keep from wrapping her legs around his waist. “You’re all fun and games.”

  Not the least bit insulted, but the consummate flirt Celeste touched her finger against the tip of his nose. “There’s nothing wrong with having a good time as long as no one gets hurt.”

  His green eyes darkened to a dark coffee color and his nostrils flared. Even though she wanted to run for cover, Celeste held her ground.

  “Even at another’s expense?” he asked.

  Called on the carpet more than once in her life, Celeste studied her polished fingernails. “There wasn’t any harm done.”

  “No harm done?” Fascinated, Celeste watched his Adam’s apple bob with each syllable.

  “Nope,” Celeste replied cheerfully. His dark mood seemed to lighten hers. Anger was so much more manageable than kindness. With a coquettish tilt of her head, she traced the edge of his jacket lapel with a finger. “Don’t have a hissy, Daddy. All of this can be rectified quite easily. After tonight we’ll simply steer clear of each other.”

  Celeste ignored the pang of regret her words caused. Somehow and in the most surprising way possible, he’d crawled under her skin. He made it impossible for her to think about anything except the two of them naked rolling around in clean white sheets.

  “That’s not going to work for me. I’m calling in the favor and aim to collect.”

  “You won’t get any objections here,” Celeste gushed in relief. Then in a purely submissive move, she placed her arms behind her back and leaned against the wall.

  To her surprise, his gaze narrowed and she faltered. Had they not been on the same page? And he didn’t help matters by simply standing there with his trap sealed shut. He was probably married, why hadn’t she thought of that earlier?

  Embarrassed by her faux pas, Celeste felt her cheeks explode with heat. Thankfully, her dusky skin hid her humiliation. In an effort to save face, she ripped open her purse. “How about I even the score. Let me buy the next round.”

  “I’m in training,” Shane reminded.

  “You said that earlier, and yet you also sucked down a stogie. I doubt one of those can be good for an eight rounder.”

  Shane’s eyebrow lifted as if surprised by her answer. She might be a floozy from Brooklyn, but as a performer on the road more than not, Celeste had seen more of the world in the past three years than most people would in their entire life.

  “It’s ten maybe twelve rounds depending on the promoter,” he corrected.

  Celeste blushed furiously. Not only had she failed at seducing him, but her attempt at impressing him fell pathetically short.

  “Not many dames know the technicalities of boxing. I’m impressed.”

  Even though she wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, even under the threat of death, his compliment thrilled her from her natural roots to the tips of her toes.

  Suddenly bashful and woefully out of her element, Celeste dipped her head. Not for long, Shane thumbed her under the chin until she met his gaze.

  Celeste sighed in wonderment. His eyes were a perfect shade of pale green, ethereal like a shot of Crème de Menthe mixed with heavy cream.

  The lust she’d felt earlier crept back in and wrapped her around its naughty little finger. Wanting to suddenly connect, she reached out and straightened his silk tie, tweaking the Windsor knot.

  For the longest time neither of them said a word. Wait staff climbed and descended the backstairs. At the top of the landing, an argument erupted over an unpaid tab. Yet none of it could pull her full attention from Shane Brennan.

  Flummoxed by the inexplicable chemistry zinging between them, Celeste focused on something more mundane like the lines of his suit, the off-center placement of his nose. But her eyes kept drifting back to his mouth. The fink had the most kissable kisser this side of the Mississippi.

  “About collecting that debt,” he said, crashing through her thoughts before they became illicit. “I’m gonna take my pound in flesh.”

  His matter-of-fact approach should’ve been a green light. Instead it felt like a bucket of cold water thrown in her face. Did he think of her that cheaply? She wasn’t a virgin, but she deserved to be treated better than a rent girl.

  “And if I object?” she said tightly.

  “Can’t.” Not noticing her sudden change in demeanor, Shane slid his hand down the wall, setting her on edge from wondering where it would land. “You forfeited that right when you pulled me into your con.”

  Moths were drawn to flame, and ended up with their wings singed, Celeste mused, feeling the burn of his words and the consequences of her actions. “Name your damage,” she conceded, no longer amorous, “but absolutely no funny business.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled and her libido crackled with renewed momentum. “Funny business?”

  Celeste almost rolled
her eyes. He couldn’t be that green? “Like kissing me and taking liberties.”

  His voice was dangerously soft, “There’s nothing funny about kissing.”

  Before Celeste could wrap her head around how he’d suddenly turned the tables on her, his fingers slipped through her hair, pulling her head back to meet the assault of his mouth over hers.

  Closed mouth and a simple pressing together of lips, the kiss was much too innocent for Celeste’s liking. She wanted Pre-Code film action--uncensored and dirty.

  Still she moaned loudly when he stepped back, breaking the kiss. “See you didn’t laugh.”

  How could she when he dissolved her brain into fizzy water? While she silently questioned her sanity, Shane pressed his suit by selecting a day and time not too soon after her father’s funeral.

  “Where’re you staying? I can pick you up.”

  Deflecting a potentially disastrous situation, like inviting him up and allowing him certain liberties, Celeste offered a neutral location. “We can meet outside my father’s store. It’s 245—”

  “Flatbush,” Shane finished for her. He looked somewhat uneasy as he stepped back and leaned against the wall. His stance was casual, and yet Celeste could sense something was off. Was he that beat up over her father’s passing?

  Before she could offer up an alternative, Shane agreed, “I finish up around four o’clock at the gym,” he said. “I’ll bring an extra set of clothes and we can take in a movie. There’s a picture house a couple of blocks from your father’s shop.”

  A vision of him half-dressed in snug boxing trunks, preferably black, flashed in her head. “Sounds like we have a deal,” she said, while her mind remained stubbornly stuck on him all sweaty and out of breath after sparing.

  “Well, I…ah,” not really ready to part ways, Celeste struggled with an exit line, “I better skedaddle.”

  You couldn’t come up with something wittier than skedaddle? As she beat herself up, Celeste backed out of the alcove. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice she was practically dragging her feet. Ironic, considering she was well-known for executing seventy-five taps per minute.