by Joanna Shupe
“That’s ridiculous,” Mulligan said as he handed her up. “We’ll take her uptown, Rye.”
“I couldn’t ask that.” She settled into the seat and watched as he smoothly folded his lanky frame into the tiny interior. “You must have other more pressing things to do than to take me all the way home.”
“Of course, but that is the best part of being me. I may do whatever I wish, whenever I wish.”
She chuckled. There was a bit of his old spark. He removed his derby and rapped on the side. The wheels began to turn, leading them away from the World Poolroom.
He was quiet, which only confirmed her suspicions that something was off. But she was distracted, as well. His large thigh pressed against her leg, their shoulders locked tight. Everywhere they touched now prickled, like ants were crawling over her skin. Why was there no air in this dashed carriage?
She dug for her fan and tried to cool herself. “Tell me why you were so uncomfortable up there.”
“What do you mean?”
“At first I thought you were worried about my safety or reputation. But the longer we stayed I realized it was something else.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Hardly. I know you well enough by now to see a difference in your moods.”
He shifted, his body crowding hers in the most delicious way. “I hadn’t realized we were so intimate, mon ange.”
“And you’re attempting to deflect my question with flirtation.” Her heart thumped in her chest, the strings on her corset growing tighter by the second. She tried to breathe deeply, keep the blood flowing to her brain.
“Is it working?”
“No,” she lied and pushed at his chest with her palms. “Stay to your side, Mulligan.”
He sighed dramatically but allowed her to put distance between them. “It’s decidedly less fun on my side, though. Are you certain I cannot crawl onto yours?”
Goodness, he was alluring, always knowing just what to say to draw a smile out of her. But she would not be distracted. “Tell me. Please.”
“Haven’t I done enough for you today? Now I must bare my soul, as well? We haven’t even discussed my repayment.”
Oh, that. She’d nearly forgotten about their wager. They had been a formidable team this afternoon, investigating side by side to find Mr. von Briesen. It had been nice. For a brief moment, she’d almost believed he acted out of a sense of responsibility toward her. Perhaps even a touch of affection.
I am a man who deals in favors.
Idiot. How could she have believed his actions were anything other than a way to gain control over her? That was Mulligan’s modus operandi. He did nothing out of the kindness of his heart.
And that made her realize something else. “I didn’t really win that fifty dollars, did I?”
Surprise flashed across his features before he masked it. “Your horse came in first, didn’t it?”
His reaction confirmed it. Somehow Mulligan had rigged that race. “Was the scene outside the poolroom also your doing?” He’d arrived quite quickly, after all.
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“To gain another favor from me. You were so eager to suggest the wager.”
“Because it was impossible I’d lose. And I like having you in my debt.”
“Why?”
His expression turned positively predatory, like he was ready to devour her. She shivered under his hot blue stare, unable to look away. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said. “You’re a beautiful and charismatic woman. What man wouldn’t angle to have you at his mercy?”
The memory of his tongue on her skin caused goose bumps to travel all over her body. She felt off balance, like she’d been thrown into the deep part of the lake without learning how to swim first. There was no pamphlet or guidebook for what was happening. No map or report. Merely these huge, impossible feelings inside her, ones much too big for her flesh to contain.
She wasn’t ready. Whatever this was, it was happening too fast.
In an attempt to regain control of the situation, she said, “Tell me about what happened on the second floor. Then we’ll discuss your favor.”
“You are very tenacious when you want something, cara. I almost pity those wife deserters. They do not stand a chance.”
“Fine.” She turned to the window, done with this maddening conversation. If he didn’t trust her enough to be honest with her, then there was no reason to pester him. He could keep his glower and his secrets. See if she cared.
The brougham crossed Houston Street. Would she really have to ride in silence all the way to upper Fifth Avenue?
Mulligan heaved a sigh. “Christ, you are maddening.” He pounded on the glass behind Rye’s back. “Bond Street instead.”
Rye darted a glance over his shoulder and Justine could see the surprise in his expression. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Because I’m thinkin’—”
“Do as I say,” Jack said calmly. “And watch the street.”
She frowned, unsure about this new direction. “What is on Bond Street? Are we shopping?”
“Do you know how to bowl?”
She opened her mouth to answer—then promptly closed it. Bowling? Was he serious? “Uh, yes. I do. I mean, I’ve been once. With my sisters. When we were young.”
His lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Good. I’ve decided on my favor.”
“Oh. We’re to bowl one of these days?”
“No. We’re to bowl now.”
“Now?”
“I earned this favor fair and square, Justine. And I’ve decided that bowling it shall be. Right now.”
“On Bond Street?”
“Yes.”
Was there a bowling alley on Bond Street? She wasn’t certain. The area was in the heart of Mulligan’s kingdom. Returning there at night wasn’t exactly wise, even if she had him by her side. Though he was just as dangerous, but for different reasons.
Stay and I’ll make all your darkest dreams come true.
Sakes alive, she’d nearly collapsed at his feet, overcome with lust.
With a mental shake of her head, she relaxed in the plush seat. She was overreacting. It was merely bowling. With other people doing the same on the adjoining lanes. Mulligan couldn’t possibly seduce her in such a scenario.
A pang went through her and she ducked her head, mortified. Goodness, had that been disappointment?
They turned along Bond Street and she peered out the window. “Is the bowling alley on this block?”
“No.”
The brougham began to slow. That made no sense. “Are we stopping?”
He watched out the window, his hand on the latch. “Do you always ask so many questions?”
“Only when others are purposely evasive.”
The vehicle jerked to a stop. Mulligan threw open the door and hopped down to the walk. He held out a hand for her.
This block was residential. There were no businesses here, and certainly no bowling alley. “I don’t understand.”
“Come along, do-gooder.”
With a huff, she accepted his help in getting down. He led her up the steps to one of the largest houses on the block. A beautiful limestone structure with large windows and elegant cornices. Definitely not a bowling alley. When he produced a key from his pocket, she frowned. “Wait, who lives here?”
The lock clicked and he turned the brass knob. “I do.”
Jack hadn’t ever brought a woman here. Hell, he never brought anyone here.
No one knew of his home, except Rye and Cooper. Everyone else believed he lived on the top floor of the athletic club because it was off-limits to just about everyone but Jack. And there was a bed on that floor, one he used often but not for sleeping.
Instead, he resided a block over, here on Bond Street, in the former mansion of a wealthy merchant who’d moved uptown more than a decade ago. Jack bought the place because he’d discovered a tunnel that ran under his club leading to this property a block away. The tunn
el had been reinforced and this passage allowed him to travel back and forth at will. Such tunnels existed all over Five Points and Lower Manhattan, but he never told a soul about his.
So, hard to say why he’d brought Justine here tonight. Except he wished to spend more time with her, away from prying eyes. Somewhere they could be absolutely alone.
And his world, his rules. Whatever he wanted, he got.
“Wait a moment.” Justine stepped inside his home, her head swiveling. “You live here. You, Mulligan, the bogeyman of downtown, live here?”
“Yes, though I’m not certain bogeyman is the right word to describe me.”
“What word would you prefer, then?”
“King.”
She laughed, her face full of joy, so heart-stoppingly beautiful, that his mouth dried out. “America doesn’t have kings.”
“Just wait.” The entire country would know him when he took the brewery nationwide. The only two things Americans cared about were alcohol and money. He would soon have a lot of both.
Then Justine sobered, as she looked around at the cavernous entry and the darkened rooms. “Do you have servants?”
“No. Maids come in once a week but that’s it. Are you scared to be alone with me?”
“Should I be?”
“Ma belle, I would never hurt you or ask you to do anything that frightens you. Rye will come in after seeing to the horses. However, if you want to leave, he will drive you home.”
“But I won’t get to see your house.”
“That’s true. You also won’t get to bowl with me.”
“You have a bowling alley here?” He nodded, and she continued, “You actually bowl?”
“Indeed—and if you tell anyone I’ll deny it until my dying breath.”
That caused her to giggle and he’d never seen her look happier. Heart pounding, he was utterly charmed. Dazzled. Unable to take his eyes off her. The young boy he’d never been wished to pick posies for her or dip her hair in ink.
The man he was now longed to drop to his knees and suck on her clitoris until her eyes rolled back in her head.
Fuck, he had to stop. He needed to remain distant, keep his urges under control. Not scare her or intimidate her. This was no widow or barmaid. Justine was an uptown princess with an altruistic streak. He couldn’t forget that.
“So, what’s it going to be?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She bit her bottom lip in that adorable way she had of doing. “I should return home. It’s getting late.”
“Not so late. Besides, I thought your parents were away.”
“Yes, they are in Europe. But my sister . . .” He shot her a disbelieving look and she smiled. “You’re right. No doubt Florence is out, too, and Granny had other plans.”
“Then there’s no reason to leave.” She still didn’t appear convinced, so he turned the screws. “When was the last time you did something hedonistic? Something just for yourself?”
Stay here.
Join me.
Let me show you how much fun we can have together.
“Fine. One game, then I’ll go.”
A dark thrill shot through his veins, the sweet taste of victory like a drug in his system. “One game and then you’ll go. Follow me.”
The house was dark but he knew the corridors well. He threw switches to illuminate their way as they twisted and turned toward the stairs that led to the basement. Once downstairs, he flipped on the lights surrounding the two bowling lanes.
They were beauties, with glossy oak floors and white wooden pins at the opposite end. A groove flanked each lane. A high bench allowed a place for a pin boy to cool his heels between throws. Jack used the lanes every few weeks, bowling by himself to relax.
“This is stunning,” she said. “What fun.”
“I thought you might like it. Do you remember how to play?”
“Roll the ball and knock pins over, correct?”
“Basically, yes. Let’s get started.” He shrugged out of his topcoat and tossed it onto the back of a chair. She examined him through her lashes, as if she didn’t wish to stare but couldn’t look away. Interesting. He took full advantage—how could he resist?—by removing his cufflinks, slipping them in his pocket and slowly rolling his shirtsleeves up his arms. Look your fill, little do-gooder.
She suddenly presented him with her back, then unpinned and removed her small hat. Now it was his turn to gawk. Light glinted off the strands, and he noted a fascinating mix of colors, from honey to wheat, chestnut to auburn. Was it a trick of the lighting, or was her hair as complicated as the woman herself?
More importantly, what would all that glory look like swirling about her creamy shoulders?
She smoothed her skirts and avoided his gaze. “What’s first?”
“Choose your ball.” There were eight to decide between, all in varying degrees of heaviness. “One you can lift easily.”
She took her time. He dropped into the chair behind the scoring table and enjoyed watching her, here in his home. Another person in his space should have made him nervous. Hundreds of people in this city would pay good money to learn where Jack slept. Yet, he wasn’t worried about his secret in Justine’s capable hands. The woman always did the right thing. Nobler than a nun. If he asked her not to inform anyone of his address, he was absolutely certain she wouldn’t spill.
Her bustle twitched as she moved, her waist begging for a man to span it with his hands. She bent over . . . and he nearly groaned. Sweet Jesus. That brought forth recent fantasies starring her arse and his palms.
He needed to move this along before an erection prevented any bowling whatsoever. “Try the dark brown one,” he said, his voice low and rough.
“Stop rushing me.”
The sass did little to ease the lust simmering beneath his skin. She might have the nobility of a nun, but she had the fire of a three-star general. Damn, if that contradiction didn’t arouse him.
“Ready.”
She held the dark brown ball, but he made no comment as to selecting his suggestion. With the flick of a switch he powered up the lanes. Light ran above the alleys and pins, making everything easier to see.
Rye entered at that point, and Jack suspected his second-in-command had been lurking in the basement until this precise moment. Jack tipped his chin. “We’re ready for you back there.”
“Right-io,” Rye said with a small salute. He walked down the lane, around the pins, and jumped up on the bench to wait.
Jack swept his hand out. “After you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Good heavens. He’d merely removed his coat and Justine was suddenly sweating. Had the temperature in the room climbed by forty degrees?
Mulligan had a bowling alley. In his fancy house. Never would she have imagined it. He was so much more than he appeared. Dangerous, yes, but he was also intelligent and cultured. Kind, as evidenced by his speech at the fundraiser. And something about him set her stomach afire every time he walked into a room.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to focus on this one game. Then she could return home and . . . What? Face an empty house? Perhaps Mulligan was right. Perhaps she would benefit from a little hedonism.
Honestly, though, bowling wasn’t what came to mind when she considered a walk down Hedonism Lane. She’d pictured sweaty limbs and passionate kisses. A big bed and hooded blue eyes. Bowling felt more like a turn along Spinster Alley.
Stop complaining. Do you wish for him to ravish you right on the lanes?
She sort of did, actually.
Oh, she was perfectly aware that she wasn’t the kind of woman to inspire passion in a man, but it would be nice just once to drown in desire. Billy had kissed her a few times, but they had been tepid, almost polite kisses. Perfunctory. Boring. She hadn’t craved his touch or kiss like women were supposed to. Florence and Mamie discussed these things all the time when they thought Justine wasn’t listening, so she knew women lusted every bit as fiercely as men.
; But, the most desire she’d ever felt was the other night when Mulligan had licked that spot behind her ear. One quick press of his tongue—and she’d nearly combusted. Then she’d run away.
He must have thought her a complete fool.
Exhaling, she pushed all those worries aside. She couldn’t change the past, anyway.
So, bowling. Her one attempt had been ages ago. But, really, how hard could it be? Roll ball, hit pins. She started to step onto the lane.
“Oh no, you don’t.”
Mulligan’s deep voice startled her. “Have I done something wrong?”
He crooked a finger at her, his expression slightly devious. “You cannot step on my lanes in those boots.”
Her black low-heeled boots? They were practical, everyday shoes. Not fancy in the least. “Why not?”
“They’ll ruin the wood, cara. Come here.”
Confused, she closed the distance between them. Was she going to sit this game out? What was happening?
He patted the seat next to him. “Sit down.”
Oh. Disappointment pressed on her chest, just like all the times her sisters had excluded her from fun in the past. They thought Justine hadn’t noticed or cared, but she had.
She dropped into the seat and presented the ball to him. “Here you go. I’ll watch you.”
“No, that isn’t what I mean.” He took the ball from her and set it on the ground. Then strong fingers wrapped around her ankle. She squeaked and tried to jerk away. “Stop,” he said. “All I am doing is removing your boot.”
“You cannot remove my boot. It’s . . . improper.”
Straightening, he lifted her foot and placed it on his knee. She stared at her boot . . . resting on Mulligan’s leg. Her heart galloped in her chest, a wild rhythm keeping time in this unchartered territory. When she met his gaze, she was surprised to find him watching her intently, the lines of his face stark. His expression gave nothing away, yet she shivered all the same.
His big hands held her foot steady. “I won’t do anything against your wishes, but you cannot bowl in these shoes. If you don’t turn an ankle, you’ll damage the wood.”
She swallowed, unsure. Casting a glance at Rye over her shoulder, she was relieved to see the driver was reading a book, not paying attention to her and Mulligan in the least. What was the harm in removing her footwear? Did she really wish to refuse and cut the evening short?