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.”