A Taste of Shine (A Trick of the Light Book 1) Page 11

  Charlie looked almost pained, her lips parted, little gasps of breath sucked in each time he unsnapped an exposed garter.

  Chapter 14

  Enthralled by the effect his touch was having on the woman, Matthew grew unbearably hard. The need to be inside her, to thrust as hard and fast as he might, ate up his caution. She didn’t seem to mind his aggression—pale legs parting so his palm might cup her heated sex.

  “God,” Charlie’s hips rolled, the action absolutely instinctive.

  Over that damp patch of silken fabric, he teased. The shape of her sweet pussy, the line of a slit wet and ready—letting her adjust to the pets of a grown man before he tore that damn scrap away and filled her full of aching cock.

  Her intoxicating moans, God, they did things to him. Sack already drawn up tight and spine tingling as if release was on the horizon, his fingers inched toward the waistband of her bloomers.

  Right when he dipped in to tease that spot that drove women wild, several staccato knocks banged against the door.

  Finger to her nub, she jumped, but not from pleasure.

  The moment was ruined at the chipper announcement of, “Room service. Champagne, compliments of the house.”

  Matthew went rigid, the man glaring at the door with an expression of outright temper.

  Right there, right by the entry already sat the aforementioned bottle of champagne the night manager had promised.

  Half naked, and ignoring the snarling man on top of her, Charlie tried to manage a friendly, “No thank you. Tell the night manager, Mr. Wolfe, I am all set.”

  The muffled voice persisted, “Mr. Wolfe sent this up personal, ma’am. If I take it back, he won’t think I did my job.”

  Matthew wasn’t a criminal, not of the sort Charlotte had rubbed elbows with downstairs, but even he knew better than to plan a hit in a hotel and not at least try to learn the names of the key staff members.

  The fuming lady under him seemed to agree. Rolling her eyes, Charlie let out a whine when Matthew shifted off her and began to roll up his sleeves.

  Jaw ticking, downright furious, whoever was on the other side of that door was in for a world of hurt.

  By the edge in her tone, it almost seemed Charlie pitied the fool. “Run along now. It ain’t seemly to pester a woman so late in the evening.”

  The very nature of the intruder’s speech shifted to menace. “Open the door.”

  Matthew did just that.

  By the time Charlie had pulled up her dress, grabbed her rifle, and scrambled after him, her would-be assailant was already bleeding on the ground.

  “Well I’ll be damned, Matthew.” Charlie looked over the goon’s shattered nose and all the blood pouring down. “That must have been one hell of a swing.”

  “You come here to harm this woman?” Standing between her and the thug, Matthew grew in temper, but his tone was cold as death.

  Even with his bell rung, the sniveling goon tried to crawl away. The barrel of Charlie’s rifle pointed right at his skull put an end to that right quick.

  “That he did,” she purred. “Mr. Whittaker here works for Bugs Moran.”

  He actually looked scared. “I wasn’t told to kill her, just…”

  “Show me a good time?” Charlie spoke low, her grainy rasp furious. Barrel to his brain, the weight of her foot settled between the man’s legs. Rocking forward, she put her weight right where it would hurt most, slowly crushing his balls. “Send a little message to Radcliffe?”

  Caught between a squeal and gag, Whittaker tried to deny it, to say anything to get her to stop pulverizing his nethers.

  A long, angry growl burst straight from Matthew’s chest. “Charlotte, step back into the room.”

  “I can’t do that, Matthew. As much as I would personally like to assure this piece of shit has to sit to piss for the rest of his short life, we have to hand him over to Radcliffe. This isn’t Monroe. The rules are different here, and I won’t see you get caught up in Chicago’s filth.”

  Without waiting for his reply, the butt of her rifle cracked against the pleading goon’s forehead hard enough he wouldn’t be waking any time soon.

  The elevator dinged.

  “You all right, Lottie?”

  Tommy and one of Beaumont’s burly underlings strolled into the hall.

  Tossing her head, Charlie snapped, “Of course I’m all right.

  Scowling something fierce, Matthew took her arm, putting himself between her and the pretty boy gangster. “You knew this man was coming tonight, that Charlotte would be in danger.”

  It was not a question.

  Coolly, Tommy motioned for his underling to lift the body. “Beaumont told her not to open her door.”

  Matthew took a step nearer, one big finger poking Tommy right in the chest. “Now I don’t know how you men do things in Chicago. But endangering a woman where I come from is only done by raw cowards.” His beefy finger pushed harder, forcing Tommy to take a small step back. “And here you are sauntering up like a goddamn hero ‘bout five minutes too late. She could have been hurt. That man there—” Matthew gestured to the crumpled body hanging from the burly goon’s shoulder, “—had plans for her.”

  “If he’d made it inside, she would have shot him.” The flashy gangster smirked, even gave Charlie a wink. “Blackbird never misses.”

  “Oh?” Matthew mocked, his voice smooth as he tore the man down. “And you’d just let her do your dirty work for you, huh?” Taking Charlotte by the elbow, he ushered her through the door of her room, glaring at the gangster while he demanded, “Get that son of a bitch out of here and tell Beaumont Radcliffe, Matthew Emerson sends his regards.”

  Slamming the door behind him, Matthew locked it.

  Charlotte stood at the center of the room, her rifle dangling from one hand, staring dumbly.

  Stepping towards her, looking ten kinds of pissed off, Matthew took the rifle from her slack fingers and set it aside.

  “You ever been hit so hard the world spins, and for a few moments you have no idea what the hell is going on?” Charlie asked. “That’s how I feel right now.”

  His voice was angry. “Beaumont’s men shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

  “I used to be one of Beaumont’s men, Matthew. They don’t look at me the way you do.” Once she’d said it, her color rose, and she stammered a self-conscious, “I mean…”

  “Hush now.” He moved to stand before her, admiring the flush on her cheeks. “I’m gonna stay with you tonight. I’ll sleep in the chair and keep an eye out.”

  Utter confusion ruled her features. “Matthew Emerson, I don’t even know where to begin… Where did you find lodgings?”

  “Fleet street, Wayside Inn.”

  “You lookin’ to get your throat cut?” Charlie smiled and shook her head. “Matthew, that place is in the middle of one of the worst neighborhoods in the city. You better stay here for both our sakes. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt on some foolhardy mission to look after me.”

  “You need lookin’ after,” he argued, sitting down in her chair and setting her rifle on his knee.

  “Not as much as you do.” Voice and eyes soft, Charlie disagreed. “Looks like someone needs to take care of you for once.”

  He leveled her with such a look, the only thing keeping him from throwing her back on the bed was the off chance there might be another dangerous knock on the door.

  As if she meant to tempt him beyond his flagging control, Charlie tentatively ran her fingers through his hair. And then she destroyed him. All it took was a simple, grateful kiss to his mouth. And he was a goner.

  Swallowing when she pulled back, he muttered, “You best not be doing that, Charlotte.”

  “Why?” it was whispered, her sweet breath running across his lips.

  Shifting his weight, feeling his pecker once again straining to be free of his britches, Matthew steeled himself because she was worth so much more than a quick tumble. “Dressed like that, smellin’ like
you do… You’re making it difficult.”

  “Was that a compliment, Mr. Emerson?” It was shyly asked, more pink already creeping into her cheeks.

  He swallowed thickly and just said it. “You look more beautiful tonight than any woman has a right to.”

  Fingers fiddling with his crooked tie, Charlie grew shy. “Now that was a compliment if I ever did hear one.”

  She flitted back toward the waiting refreshments, innocent as she could be when she offered, “You want something sweet?”

  More than he could possibly say.

  Chapter 15

  Where Charlie had taken the night’s excitement in stride, Matthew had only begun to seethe. Radcliffe was trouble. Here the girl was, trying to start a life outside the nightmare that ate up her childhood, and that gangster was gonna ruin what she had going. As far as Matthew was concerned, the two shouldn’t mix.

  He’d brooded on it while she was in the bathroom preparing for bed. When she’d emerged in her dressing robe, she hadn’t been timid—as if set on distracting him from his mood.

  Playful, Charlie bounced on the edge of the mattress, gobbling up a tiny slice of cheesecake from the tray. “Have you ever had this? Really, Matthew, you gotta try it.”

  She’d waved the dessert before his face until he gave in and took a bite. Watching her lick her fingers clean, so caught up in that little pink tongue, he’d hardly tasted anything at all. She’d even tried to coax him to share the bed, but there was no way on earth he could stand after her show. If he’d climbed in that bed, no matter his good intentions, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands, or his cock, to himself.

  So long as there might be danger, distance was best.

  Charlie fell asleep quickly. Matthew had not allowed himself the same reprieve. After taking off his tie and loosening his shirt, he’d sat back and looked his fill at the woman he wanted. Sleeping like a log, hair messy against the pillow, she took up the full space of the bed with her sprawling.

  Anger faded to staunchness and the night was spent debating how best he could show her the sense of things.

  At daybreak movement came from the covers. The second Charlie sat up to stretch, Matthew grumbled, “What did Radcliffe say last night?”

  Yawning, bleary-eyed and sleepy, Charlie asked, “What?”

  After a sleepless night and too many hours of worry, Matthew’s patience was worn thin. “Beaumont Radcliffe… what does he want from you?”

  A portion of her silk covered bosom peeked from her robe, Charlie leaning back on her hands to think it over. “We came to an understanding that I’m out of the game.” Mulling it over, she added, “I think he… I don’t know, wants me to settle near the family.”

  Fuse spent, Matthew snapped. “You ain’t marryin’ no gangster to forge some alliance for him.”

  Charlie pursed her lips, nodding at her thoughts. “I hadn’t considered that, but I wouldn’t put it past him to try.”

  CHARLIE SAW the question through Matthew’s eyes: why Tommy had been at their table, why Martha had seemed hell bent on painting the pair of them in a flattering light. It was in Beau’s character to use everything around him to his best advantage. If he got his way, he got to keep her close. It would set Tommy as successor, throwing a bone to what might otherwise become one power hungry pooch tired of waiting for the old man to die naturally. And, it made the gang look solid. Moreover, fantastical weddings delighted the press and offered plenty of opportunities for business to flourish under the guise of legitimate transactions.

  It was a win-win for everyone. Everyone but her.

  She may have been fool enough to have a carried a torch for the boy at thirteen, but now she wasn’t quite so stupid.

  Tommy would have to find another way to assure his position in the gang.

  Charlie’s silence carried on to the point the room grew tense. It was too early in the morning for such ludicrous ideas. Unwilling to spend another moment thinking on Tommy Kennedy, Charlie got out of bed, wandered to the bathroom, and locked the door.

  By the time she emerged, clean and hungry, Matthew was curled up under the covers, snoring softly.

  He’d done so much for her, come all the way to Chicago to be with her... it was high time she did something sweet for him. Leaving him sleeping, Charlie snuck from the room.

  The flea infested Wayside Inn was easy to find, stealing Matthew’s stuff, easier. It took less than an hour for her to waltz back inside the Drake, to hang up his coat, and to plop down in the abandoned chair.

  While Matthew snored, Charlie chuckled over the gory front-page news. Whittaker’s corpse had been found on Buggies flagging turf, propped up in full public view—sans balls.

  The more she read, the funnier it got.

  Unfortunately, her laughter woke Matthew. “What’s funny?”

  Charlie folded the newspaper, slinking from the chair to lie atop the covers so she might admire the fresh stubble on Matthew’s cheek. “Retribution and body parts. Beau gets a little vulgar when he’s in a real mood.”

  A large hand fell from groggy eyes, Matthew fractionally raised his brow. Seeing her smile, he turned, wrapped an arm about her waist and tugged her closer.

  “You know, Matthew,” Charlie cooed, more than happy to press against him. “You could have slept beside me all night. It wouldn’t have bothered me a jot.”

  He grumbled against her hair. “If I’d climbed into bed with you last night, we wouldn’t have been sleepin’.”

  Unsure if he understood the effect such talk had on her, Charlie blushed scarlet. “And to think, all this time, I thought you didn’t like me.”

  “I like you just fine.” Voice turning molten, eyes hungry, Matthew said, “That’s the problem.”

  Charlie’s face fell. “Why’s it a problem?”

  Running a warm stroke down her back, he assured, “‘Cause I can’t keep my hands to myself.”

  Her bashful grin sputtered back to life. Fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt, Charlie found Matthew’s regard for her virtue endearing, though ridiculous. “I never thought I’d like a man’s hands on me, but I like yours just fine.” Charlie edged closer, purring, “Are you hungry?”

  Yes, he was. He was very, very hungry.

  Low and husky, she added, “Maybe we should eat.”

  Before he could pounce, she cooled him right down. “There’s a great café a few blocks down. Or, if you want something a bit swankier, we can take brunch downstairs. I brought your suitcase over from the Wayside and hung up a fresh shirt—”

  Matthew stiffened, the scowl back with full force. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Excuse me?” Her voice darkened. “You want to repeat that?”

  Rolling atop her, he trapped Charlie before she might scamper off. “Last night a man was sent to rape you, and you go wanderin’ around Chicago alone? So I ask you, have your lost your fool mind?”

  Shoving at the man, she growled. “No, jackass, I haven’t lost my mind. Whittaker is dead, his mangled corpse front-page news. Bugs looks a fool. Besides, you don’t know Chicago like I do. I understand this place and I am telling you, it is safer for me to move through the streets, dressed as a woman, than it is for a brawny out-of-towner like you.”

  He caught her hands, pinning them beside her head, and made darn sure she was paying attention. “Knock that off and listen good. No matter the things you know, this ain’t no place for you.”

  She’d heard the disgust in his voice and didn’t much like the way he was looking at her. “Things I know? What I know kept me and my mama alive. I’d rather know those things, have done those things, than be dead.”

  Matthew was immobile both in body and expression until bravado begun to fade with each passing second he held her gaze. When all her pretense crumbled, he said what had to be said. “Charlotte, that life has done enough to you. You deserve better.”

  “You say one thing, then you say another!” Charlie squirmed, wanting him off her, wanting to stand as
she shouted so they would be on equal ground. But she could not budge him, growing frustrated, embarrassed and dangerously angry. “I can hardly tell if I’m coming or going with you. Half the time, you make me feel like I’ll never get it right. Then you come here... you confuse me, and kiss me. Make up your damn mind!”

  There was no right thing he could say that would make her feel better, so the answer was simple. Matthew cupped her jaw, turning her red face to his, and kissed her pouty mouth.

  Scared she misunderstood, she entreated, “You have to say it.”

  That look, it was is if he hated and adored whatever he saw in her eyes. “You’re a fine woman, Charlotte.”

  “Even though I can’t cook, or sew, or garden? Even though I have killed men? Lots of men...” There was more, Charlie spitting out her every flaw just so they were clear. “I swear, like to hunt, swim naked around Monroe. I can’t paint my fingernails for my life… and have a temper?”

  Something about her tirade was just so damn cute, before he could stop himself Matthew cracked a smirk.

  “Holy shit…” Eyes big as plates, Charlie, never believing in a million years she’d see the bastard smile, shut the hell up, and couldn’t help but smile back.

  PULLING AT MATTHEW’S ARM, Charlie promised the world’s best tour of Chicago. Obediently, he followed where she led, and boy did she know how to tempt him. She popped his first taste of caramel corn between his lips, dragged him to a hotdog street vendor, all the while grinning like a fool. For an entire day, Charlie showed off her favorite places and some of the city’s most notorious—full of secrets only someone on the inside, someone who’d been there, might know. She whispered who’d really shot who, where, and why. Charlie knew it all.

  Matthew maintained his customary silence, but listened intently. The only time he truly frowned was when they stood side by side and Charlie showed him the bridge she’d lived under when still very young. There had been such pride in her voice when she pointed, as if the mud spattered, rotting shanty had been the finest mansion.