SpeakeasySweetheart

by Clare Murray

  If Cornell was as nefarious as Blaze made out, surely she could find the speakeasy she’d been taken from. Sasha glared at her reflection in the window. Why did that notion feel like such a betrayal to Blaze?

  “I’m not tied to him,” she said out loud. “I can leave.”

  But she couldn’t. She had no idea where Cornell’s speakeasy was located.

  Her thoughts turned to the twenty-first century. If all had gone normally, she would be driving north right now, all her possessions packed into her little hatchback. She’d get to Dad’s around late afternoon, probably finding him half-sloshed already. Then it’d be a matter of applying for jobs while keeping her mind off her ex.

  Sasha smiled fleetingly. After meeting Blaze, thinking about her ex wasn’t very high on the list. In fact, Blaze had probably ruined her for anyone else.

  Shedding the blanket, she went into the bathroom. Thank goodness she’d gone back to a time that had indoor plumbing. Even if it was a bit slower—and cooler—than she was used to, she was able to run herself a bath.

  After twenty minutes of soaking, Sasha toweled herself off and got dressed in clean clothes. The soap was decidedly masculine-smelling, lending her skin an unfamiliar, if pleasant, scent.

  She jumped as someone knocked on the door. Was it Blaze?

  No, idiot, he’d have let himself in with the key. She berated herself, striding across the room to admit a rotund woman bearing a large tray. Immediately, the woman pressed the tray into her hands.

  “Pasta for you,” she said, speaking in a heavy Italian accent. “Enjoy, Mrs. O’Rourke.”

  Sasha nearly dropped the tray. “Uh, thanks.”

  Mrs. O’Rourke! Before she could pluck up the courage to correct the woman, the door closed, leaving her alone again. She bore the tray to the table and tucked in. Despite the large brunch earlier, she was starving and the pasta and accompanying garlic bread tasted superb.

  Afterward she pottered around the kitchen, setting things to rights because she couldn’t bring herself to sit still. The place was clean—almost too clean. It was clear that Blaze didn’t spend a whole lot of time here. Only the bedroom and sitting room had any signs of wear and tear, with personal effects—including a set of heavy dumbbells—lying around.

  The kitchen was simple and straightforward without all the accoutrements of her own time. No microwave or dishwasher, but she could probably get used to that. The oven had an old brass kettle resting on its surface and the cupboards had a plentiful supply of coffee—it was clear where Blaze’s priorities lay. She smiled despite herself.

  “Sasha O’Rourke,” she whispered. Then rolled her eyes at her mooning stupidity. Just because the woman who brought the pasta labored under a misconception didn’t mean Sasha’s imagination had to run all wild.

  Once she’d rinsed the dishes she wandered into the sitting room and turned on the radio. Blues music filled the room and Sasha sang along. It felt good to indulge in music again, this time without an audience to worry about. She allowed her mind to drift, singing loudly at first, then softly as it grew later. Night stretched darker here, streetlights not burning quite so brightly. She liked that.

  When the clock chimed midnight, however, she began to worry about Blaze in earnest. He had promised to be back by now. Where had he said he was going? Queens? She closed her eyes, trying to picture a map of New York City in her head and failing miserably. Sasha wasn’t all that good at finding her way around at the best of times and there was no Google in this day and age to help her out.

  Just when she was thinking about disobeying Blaze and leaving the apartment, he finally strolled in.

  “What are you doing up?” he demanded.

  “I was playing solitaire with my invisible card deck,” she snapped back.

  His lips tugged upward into an almost-smile, his stance relaxing slightly. “Did you cheat?”

  “A little.”

  “Is that so?” His eyes latched onto her, unblinking.

  “Well, not intentionally. It’s hard to remember which card is which when they’re not really there.”

  Blaze took off his fedora and hung up his coat, standing there in nothing but a shirt and trousers. His clothes did nothing to conceal his muscles. She forced herself to look away, playing it cool.

  “Have you eaten?” he asked.

  Sasha gestured to the clean dishes sitting by the sink, and he frowned.

  “Giuseppa cooks and washes things for me. There’s no need to put yourself out.”

  “I was bored. And I’m used to cleaning up after myself.” She paused, hating the new stiltedness between them. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Information?” His eyes took on that predatory quality, pulling him away from her. “I would prefer it if you cooperated. Where’s Cornell’s residence? He wasn’t at the club when it was raided. Nor did I see him tonight. I was too late.”

  “No, he wasn’t there last night. Some other guy was running things.” Sasha remembered Mr. Asshole and shuddered. Had the cops gotten him? She hoped so.

  Blaze raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? How did you meet his second in command?”

  “He threatened to kill me unless I got onstage.” A slight exaggeration, perhaps, but true enough.

  “So, let me get this straight. You walked into a speakeasy looking for singing work and got a gig right away?”

  “I guess the guy mistook me for the club’s current singer.” She’d been a bit tipsy but not buzzed enough to lose track of what was going on. And it wasn’t as if she could explain to Blaze that she’d walked in from the twenty-first century.

  Blaze sighed. “I find that interesting, since I’ve reliably been informed that while you were singing, Cornell was engaged in murdering his third singer, the one due to be onstage at his club. Word is that he’s heard all about you and is now looking for the woman he claims was spying on his club.”

  Oh shit. What was she going to do now? There was definitely not going to be a chance for her to just walk back into the club now. The door back to the twenty-first century might be off-limits for years.

  Would she continue to age? If she got an opportunity to go back through the door at, say, age forty, would she have gotten older in the future as well? Would she walk through years later, or be transported back to the same day as the leaving party?

  Her head hurt just from thinking about it.

  “I’m going to bed,” she said woodenly. She’d figure things out tomorrow.

  When she reached the bedroom, Blaze spoke again. “Sasha? Were you spying on Cornell’s club?”

  “No,” she said, letting weariness infuse her voice. He’d just have to trust her, despite all he had gone through, despite the strange situation. “I never even heard of the man or his stupid club until last night.”

  Alone, she crawled into bed.

  Chapter Four

  She smelled like his soap. Blaze put his nose near her neck and inhaled, careful not to disturb her sleep. He had waited until she was completely out of it and breathing steadily before crawling in next to her.

  He regretted not being more gentle with her, but it was hard to bring himself to trust…well, anyone really. He was becoming very fond of Sasha Kelly, but she was still a relative stranger.

  Blaze rolled away from her before his unbidden erection could grow any larger. He bathed quickly, running a straight razor over the stubble on his cheeks. Once he was shaven and clean, he went back to bed, draping an extra blanket over himself so as not to disturb Sasha.

  Hunger woke him at first light. He hadn’t eaten a proper dinner last night. As he rose, he looked down at the still-sleeping Sasha, fighting the urge to stroke her hair.

  They were on the same side. Especially now that he knew for certain Cornell was after her. His hands balled into fists. Cornell would ruin her. Blaze was going to have to ensure the man didn’t lay a finger on his woman.

  Not a damn finger. His lips parted to snarl the words out loud. He stopped
himself just in time. Best to let her sleep. He would slip out and arrange breakfast before she woke.

  There was a little delicatessen a few blocks away that would do nicely. Blaze whistled as he walked. After a moment, his lips froze. A figure leaning against the wall across the street gave him a wave.

  “Paddy.” Blaze greeted him with a curt nod. “What brings you here?”

  Paddy wasn’t the man’s real name, but he was Irish enough. Blaze paid him a few dollars here and there for interesting bits of information like the tidbit he’d received last night about the singer’s murder. Far as he could tell, the man was in with one of the smaller gangs that rivaled Cornell’s posse.

  “I thought I’d come tell ya the bootlegger Cornell’s man shot last night didn’t pull through.”

  Blaze closed his eyes, seeing Sean’s face in his mind’s eye. “That’s another murder Cornell’s responsible for, then,” he said thickly.

  Paddy flicked a smoldering cigar butt onto the pavement, grinding it out with his boot heel. “Uh-huh. Ya thought more about the talk we had last night?”

  “I don’t care about anything except Vincent Cornell’s death.”

  “What about afterward? Ya don’t seem the type to find a girl and settle down. How’s about some fun? Some real power. Man like you would fit into our scene just fine.”

  Funny, all he could think about was Sasha. He’d upset her pretty badly last night by leaving her all alone. She didn’t deserve that. Nor would he abandon her now that she was in trouble with Cornell.

  “There’s a woman I need to see about,” Blaze said.

  Paddy adjusted his flat cap with a shrug. “Suit yourself. Oh, one more thing ya oughta know—Cornell’s hurtin’ for money. Someone told me he’s sent a few of his dames out on the streets to rustle up some quick cash.”

  Cornell as pimp turned his stomach. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  Tucking a dollar into Paddy’s hand, Blaze continued toward the deli. Then, armed with bagels, cream cheese and fresh coffee, he headed back to the apartment.

  Giuseppa was just returning to her downstairs apartment as he arrived. Blaze smiled at the rotund Italian woman. “Giuseppa. I appreciate you keeping watch last night.”

  “Ah, not a problem. Your wife, she very pretty.”

  “Not my wife,” Blaze demurred.

  “Maybe not yet.” Giuseppa smiled as Blaze slipped her a few coins. “Grazie. I cook for you tonight, sì?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “The lady, she cook? She sure can sing.” Black eyes flashed admiringly.

  “She sang?” Blaze felt a bit sorry he’d missed it.

  “Sì, to the radio. Bellissima! Lucky man. Go to her.”

  But when Blaze opened the door, everything was silent. Blaze tiptoed to the kitchen table, laying out the food and taking a quick swig of coffee. After a few minutes, he became impatient and went to check on her. How long was the woman going to sleep?

  He froze as he opened the bedroom door, staring at the empty bed.

  “What the fuck?” Immediately he began looking for signs of forced entry—but all windows were intact. There were no signs of struggle.

  She had walked out of her own accord?

  Blaze sprinted for the door. He had to get her back. The thought of Cornell finding Sasha before he did spurred him on.

  Sasha nibbled the last of the garlic bread as she walked along the streets of New York. Jazz Age New York, she reminded herself. She was so screwed, and not in a good way.

  In fact, she should have known her fling with Blaze wasn’t going to last. The sex had been amazing—she would always treasure the memory of sitting on his knee as he drove his Cadillac—but he was a man on a mission.

  And the mission clearly trumped her.

  If she was going to be stuck here for the next few months—or longer—she would need to find a job. What did women do in the twenties? Sasha had studied biology in college and worked as a bookkeeper. Could she go into nursing? Work at a library? How did one find a job without the Internet? Singing hadn’t worked out all that well for her, so she wasn’t about to step back into a random speakeasy in the near future.

  Her stomach growled, but she was far too proud to acknowledge hunger. Besides, if she tried to go back to Blaze’s apartment, she would find herself locked out. And she wasn’t about to tamely sit on the doorstep until he came back and laughed at her.

  Where was he now, anyway? He hadn’t taken the car, but he hadn’t left her a note either.

  Still, he’d slept in the bed with her last night. She’d seen the dent he’d left, smelled the scent of his aftershave on the other pillow. If Sasha had lain there and inhaled it for a few shameless minutes, at least nobody would know.

  But she missed him. Missed their verbal sparring and the caresses that lit her up like a bonfire. She was stupid in love with him, falling head over heels for someone she hardly knew, in a time that wasn’t her own.

  She supposed she would have to make it her own, even if she gave Blaze up as a lost cause. Like it or not, she was stuck here.

  A sign in a window caught her attention. SEAMSTRESS WANTED. With a snort, Sasha kept walking. The next sign was more promising.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Sasha walked through the door of a large, well-kept shop. “I’m here to inquire about that temporary bookkeeping job.”

  Three hours later, she walked out, supremely self-satisfied. The owners of the little grocery store spoke Yiddish as their primary language and wanted help writing things down in English.

  She’d earned fifty cents just by helping the owners understand several letters written to them in English. They appreciated her patience and wanted her to come back next week to help them organize the store’s purchase records and invoices.

  How far could fifty cents take her? Sasha needed to get a sense of how much things cost around here. With a spring in her step, she kept walking down the street.

  Things seemed a little less gloomy now. She could do this. She was a self-made woman, a go-getter.

  And she was being followed by a sleek black Cadillac.

  It purred to a stop at the curb and Blaze jumped out, looking as if he’d been dragged through the seven Hells.

  “Get in,” he snapped.

  “Going to kidnap me again?” Sasha put one hand on her hip, not minded to trust him again so easily.

  “I’m asking you to come home with me.” He paused a beat. “Please.”

  “I found a job.”

  “You what?” If she wasn’t mistaken, that was pride she saw reflected in his expression.

  “A bookkeeping job,” she replied brightly.

  “Does it pay in lodging? If not, get in the car. And congratulations, baby.”

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t resist softening toward him. Worry was etched all over his face, in his body language. The dominance was a front, probably a way for him to grab the upper hand on his feelings.

  Still, there was no excuse for leaving her all alone this morning. Her hand returned to her hip. “Where were you when I woke up?”

  His eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. “I was out buying us bagels and cream cheese.”

  Oh. “And lox?”

  “You like lox?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll hand-feed you lox ’til the cows come home if you’ll just get into the car.”

  “I’d rather eat it off your—” She cut herself off, blushing. What was this man turning her into? She waited for his rejection. She’d tried whipped cream on her ex once and he had gone ballistic at her.

  “I’d like to lick custard off your nipples until you come,” he countered. Spying a staid-looking couple approaching along the sidewalk, he gestured again toward the car.

  Sasha entered the vehicle through the open driver’s side door. As she stooped, his hand cupped her buttocks for the dual purposes of guiding her inside and stealing a much-longed-for caress. She landed, breathless and flustered, on the se
at next to him, her face automatically turning toward him.

  God, he could read her like a book. He was kissing her before she even knew she wanted it. She made an inarticulate noise against his lips as his hands went to her breasts, unbuttoning her blouse just enough to gain access.

  “Right there,” he said, bending his dark head to her chest. “That’s where I’d lick the custard from.” Sasha sucked in a shocked breath as his lips closed around her nipple, his heated mouth causing immediate meltdown in every part of her body.

  “There are people out there who could be watching us,” Sasha protested. She didn’t expect Blaze’s head to whip up, leaving her exposed breast cold.

  “Anyone in particular?” His gaze searched the sidewalks on both sides of the street.

  “No, I was just embarrassed that someone might see.” She began buttoning her blouse.

  “Don’t be. But put this on.” He tugged a hat over her hair, a bell-shaped cloche hat she recognized from old movies. “Cornell will be looking for a redhead.”

  His hand snaked around her waist again, coming to rest between her thighs. She resisted the urge to grind against him, especially when he looked down at her with that little smile of his.

  “Ready, baby?” His fingers wiggled, lending his words a double meaning. She could only nod. Conjuring up a rational sentence was completely beyond her at this point.

  They were kissing again the moment he turned off the engine. Fumbling their way together up the steps, nearly falling in their haste to get indoors. Did this mean they were on again? Sasha tried to define the undefinable as his tongue teased her lower lip, opening her wide so he could taste her.

  By the time they reached the bedroom door he’d stripped her naked and was undoing his own belt. She backed toward the bed, not wanting to lose contact with him for an instant. Still clad in trousers, he straddled her.

  “Raise your hands above your head, baby.”

  She complied, hazy with need. That haze lifted slightly when he bound her wrists and looped the excess leather through the slats of the headboard. Sasha flexed, quickly realizing she wasn’t easily going to get free.