Saints and Sinners Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  SAINTS AND SINNERS

  by

  Shawna Moore

  Like fine wine and hot sex, it just gets better with age…TORRID BOOKS CLASSICS, reissues of great erotic romance books from the vaults of Torrid Books, for your intimate reading pleasure.

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  Published by

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC

  Whiskey Creek Press

  PO Box 51052

  Casper, WY 82605-1052

  Copyright Ó 2004, 2013 by Kimberly Shoemaker

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN 978-1-59374-231-7

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Sahara Kelly

  Editor: Bev Haynes

  Printed in the United States of America

  WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT

  SAINTS AND SINNERS

  Saints and Sinners is a great book. The sexual tension is very tense and so thick you could cut it with a knife. Moira is a great heroine with a go-get'em attitude that you will love. Reilly comes off as a real gentleman, but deep down he's really rugged and sensual.He makes no excuses for wanting Moira and goes after what he wants with no holds barred. You do get real insight into the life of the1920's and the different people and style of New York. I think historical fans, especially the ones with a soft spot for the 1920's era, will love this book and Shawna Moore's style of writing.

  Angel Brewer, TRS-Blue

  Shawna Moore has concocted an Irish stew that is really spicy. Her historical setting livens up things although the book is so hot it could singe your eyeballs. If you enjoy erotic, you will enjoy this book. I fell in heat with our hero with one blink of my imagination.

  Brenda McCoy, Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance

  “In Saints and Sinners, Shawna Moore takes us back to the sinful roaring 20's for a exciting ride with a sexy as sin hero, a sassy heroine, and sex so hot it left my laptop burning! Ms. Moore's debut novel from Whiskey Creek Press proves she's an author with a fantastic future in erotic romance.”

  Melissa Schroeder, author of THE HIRED HAND, Whiskey Creek Press.

  “Ms. has written an interesting, erotic story about the roaring 1920's; which were anything but conservative. Moira's character represents many of the girls during the beginning of the 1920's before the depression hit. They were carefree, looking to Hollywood and the magazines as a way of escaping the life their mothers had. Moira is dying to lose her virginity, yet is hesitant. Reilly Dunne's character idolizes Moira's purity, loving the lustful looks she gives him. He wants inside her body but he realizes also that she is the type of woman that could help him escape from his sinning past. You feel both their frustration as they go through a mating dance that doesn't have the modern allowances. The sex between the two of them is electric and sensual. The story is wrapped up in the expected package but along the way there are some suspenseful moments. Overall this is a sweet romance with steamy anticipation and burning sex.”

  Julie Esparza, JERR

  “Shawna Moore has penned a gritty, jazz-age tale with characters true to their times and themselves. Speak-easys, bathtub gin and borgata blend into a seamless backdrop as a strong-minded young woman comes of age in the arms of a man determined to rise above his roots. Saints and Sinners is a delightful trip back in time.”

  Rayne Forrest, author ACROSS TIME, MOUNTAIN HIGH

  Shawna Moore expertly recreates the seedy side of New York in the 1920s, complete with speakeasies, flappers and gangsters, in her novel SAINTS AND SINNERS. The tawdry setting immediately comes to life with realistic dialog and convincing interaction between the characters.

  SAINTS AND SINNERS by Shawna Moore portrays the corruption and decadence of 1920 New York so realistically that I was totally absorbed. At first, I was unsure about whether Reilly deserved Moira but came to the conclusion that she was his salvation. You must read SANITS AND SINNERS to decide for yourself and tumble back in time to the hedonistic roaring twenties.

  Donna, E-cataromance

  Dedication

  SAINTS AND SINNERS is dedicated to my beloved late mother, to my real-life hero and husband, Dave, and to my father. Without the love and devotion of these three, my writing dreams couldn’t become reality.

  Chapter 1

  Greenwich Village, 1923

  “Just realize, you’re about to make a deal with the Devil and there will be no turning back. I pray for mercy on you and your soul, Moira Monaghan.”

  Concentrating on Helen Flynn’s words as opposed to where she walked, Moira collided with something much sturdier than the wooden counter at Bainbridge’s Department Store. The boxes in her hands shifted and threatened to spill. Oh, to be sure, the man’s blazing blue eyes could hold her captive for the rest of the afternoon. Or the rest of her life. No. Now wasn’t the time to waste on matters of the heart. If she didn’t stop dawdling and concentrate, she’d never get the window display completed.

  “Here, let me help you with those.” A tall, flame-haired man flashed her a smile. His hands, rough from work, played against hers as he steadied her. His Irish whiskey voice caressed her. She shivered at the contact with his body. Her loins flooded with warmth.

  Despite her tightening grip, various and sundry empty boxes scattered over the floor. Moira swallowed several improper words. If one of those prettily wrapped packages were damaged, the owner, Horace VanMuir, would deduct it from her wages.

  “Thank you,” she managed, still mesmerized by the man who’d set her heart hammering. If she managed to get the window display finished before lunch, it would be no small miracle.

  Gallant to a fault, he picked up the packages and carried them to the front window. “Over here, right?” he asked, balancing the boxes one atop the other.

  Dry-mouthed and unable to do more than nod, Moira followed him. Only two steps into her journey, her worn garter gave way. Of all times. She should spend her money on a new garter belt instead of rouge and face powder. Soon her stocking would slip down her to her ankles, revealing more than was proper.

  She sought refuge beside a display counter. From here, no one would see her dilemma. Moira inched her hand underneath her hemline. Her fingers trembled as she quickly rolled the stocking around itself and the overstretched garter for support. The fact her hemline rested a few inches above her ankle would buy her time. She looked up and met his hot gaze. Too late for high hopes.

  “Reilly Dunne. Pleased to meet you. Moira, is it? Let me get that for you.”

  His husky tone set her on edge. What d
id he want to get? The boxes? Surely, not her garter that had come unfastened? Had he noticed it? Her fingers froze over a spot above her knee.There. That should conceal the stubborn thing until she could escape and adjust it in private. She looked into his face. His eyes the color of a cloudless summer sky shone with mischief. How did he know her name? “Yes, Moira Monaghan. I can fix it myself.”

  As he bent and swept his arm toward the floor, she noticed her earring and heaved a sigh of relief. Time to fix the clasp on that one. Reilly wasn’t interested in her garter belt but wanted to retrieve that silly bauble. Or did he? He winked and passed her the piece of jewelry.

  “Some women prefer to do things for themselves,” he said. “Doesn’t hurt to have a man around in case you change your mind.”

  The honeyed tone of his brogue washed over her, and her thoughts became even more muddled. His nostrils flared with each breath he took. Like a wild beast, he was. What type of heart beat beneath his striped linen shirt and gray woolen vest? Lusty? A sort who devoured women like a pot of Sunday stew? Or did he savor them slowly like a glass of fine wine?

  He assayed her much as one might a coat in a window. Moira glanced down at her dress. Despite her chemise, the nibs of her nipples were visible. One fleeting moment of contact, and she’d reacted in such a shameless way. She replayed his words. What exactly did he mean by doing “it” by herself?

  “You’ve been most kind.” She gave him her Sunday-best smile. Shame, Moira Monaghan. You’ll feel the fire of Hades for being so naughty. Who cared? If this was sinning, so be it. Today she’d flirted for a brief second. At twenty-three, she was determined to become a woman in every sense of the word. Maybe a man like Reilly might make her dream come true?

  “Seems I’ve upset you.”

  Waves of desire washed over her. He held her gaze, and she noticed a cobalt blue deep within his gorgeous peepers. Yes, he was makin’ eyes at her. Stripping every bit of clothing from her body in the process. Ogling him sure beat dressing mannequins for window displays any time of day.

  “No. I’m just not used to such kindness so early in the day.” Or at any other time.

  “Speaking of the time of day, I have an appointment to keep. At least I saw something I liked while shopping for my mother’s present today. Something very nice, indeed.” He reached for her hand and drew it to his lips. For a brief moment, his lips brushed against the back of her hand and almost brought her to her knees. “Been wonderful meeting you.”

  “Yes. You too.”

  Moira cringed at the sharp staccato of heels against the wooden floorboards. Now she’d get a touch of her boss’s tongue. Kate Flannigan stormed over to where they stood, intent on bawling Moira out from the fierce look on her face.

  “Moira!” Kate crossed her arms. “What are you doing standing around looking foolish? Go take care of the display and stop wasting time.”

  Moira’s temptation raced to her rescue. “She was helping me. I needed an idea for a Christmas present for someone, and this helpful clerk assisted me. Let me see them again,” he asked and reached for Moira’s hands.

  Strong, hot fingers stroked her wrists. His thumbs teased up and down the length of her pinkies, milking each one in turn. “Just what I thought. You wear the same size gloves.”

  How smooth, his manner. Like an ice cream soda, only much more sophisticated. Upperclass from the cut of his clothes.

  Kate sniffed and spun in the direction of a new customer, leaving a thin black line of rubber in her wake. The swish of her woolen skirt mingled with Reilly’s low laughter.

  “What a dry dame. She’d rub more than a man’s mood the wrong way.”

  At his carnal comments, Moira melted under the pressure of her own raging emotions. This Reilly Dunne might be the Devil in disguise. “She’s a hard one to get along with, that’s for sure.”

  “You’re not hard to get along with. I can tell that by the way you’re trembling. You let her walk all over you like a new rug. I’m used to living life among all sorts. Don’t care for her type. Learned to take care of myself at an early age. Seen some sights, for sure. Not the type of sights to discuss with a lady like you, though.” Reilly leaned against the display case.

  One glance at the front of his trousers confirmed Moira’s suspicion. What an eyeful. How would it feel to have his hardness filling her wet softness? Would he behave like a mad bull or a gentle lamb? Moira jerked her hand away from the glass countertop. A damp palm print remained. No doubt about it. Definitely, a bull, and from all appearances, thick as an Irish potato and twice as hot.

  “You’re going to get me sacked,” Moira said, but he pressed two fingers against her quivering lips.

  “No. They won’t want to lose the most gorgeous girl between here and Harlem. If they cause you a problem, let me know. Bainbridge’s owner, Horace VanMuir, and I are well-acquainted.” Reilly’s voice lowered with each word. “Actually, he owes quite a big debt at one of the club’s card tables. I’ll get it forgiven if need be.”

  What powers of persuasion did Reilly possess? Other than making her giddy at his intense gaze? She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Gloves. He’d mentioned something about a Christmas present and gloves. She’d get an additional selection from the stockroom. That would bide time and allow her pulse to return to normal.

  Kate Flannigan headed in their direction again, and Moira made up her mind. “Excuse me. I’ll be back in a minute with more samples and sizes.”

  “You’re the right size for me, Moira Monaghan,” he called after her.

  * * * *

  As she passed through the storeroom’s curtain, it flapped dust in her face and caused her to sneeze. Moira pulled on the light cord but to no avail. “Damnu,” she muttered. Why didn’t someone change the bulb?

  Feeling her way along the shelves, Moira’s found the glove boxes. Her eyes gradually adjusted to the dimly lit confines of the stockroom. A floorboard creaked. With several samples in her hand, she turned and stopped in her tracks. Had Kate followed her?

  Better hold on to these. Make it look good, just in case.

  Not one to normally carry on a private conversation with herself, Moira began a verbal inventory. “Let’s see, size seven in the white gloves with lace trim. A pair of the same, only in jet black. Yes, I think he’ll find these quite pleasing.”

  “Oh, he does indeed,” came the reply. “More pleasing than a hot bath on a winter’s day.”

  At hearing his voice, she dropped the gloves and rushed to escape the darkness surrounding her. Then she saw him. His long, lean body positioned near the opposite shelving.

  “Who’s there?” Moira’s voice quavered.

  “Your best customer.”

  “Reilly?”

  “In the flesh. How’d you guess?”

  “You’re the only one other than Kate who knows I’m back here. If she catches...”

  “Ah, nonsense. I sent her off on a goose chase. By the time she gets back, she’ll think I’m long gone.” He closed the gap between them and held out his hands for the gloves.

  Hot fingers teased hers, and Moira drew closer to him. A shaft of sunlight sliced through a tiny window at the rear of the storeroom and illuminated his handsome face.

  “Let me see how these fit you,” Reilly said.

  “We can go out there and try them on. We can’t…”

  “Can’t what? You protest too much, Moira.”

  Before she could continue, his strong arms laced around her waist and lifted her atop a nearby table. One table leg was worn, and the whole thing wobbled underneath her weight.

  “Here. That’s better.” He patted her leg. “Now you can be comfortable while you model these for me.” She reached for the white gloves, but he moved them out of her reach. “No, no. I’ll put them on.”

  With her fingers splayed wide and palms facing him, Moira awaited the fitting. Her drawers dampened at his suggestion. What was wrong with her? How silly that a simple thing like putting on a pair of gloves
would arouse her. It did and she wouldn’t protest any further.

  “We need to unfasten the button at the wrist. That way we make sure they’re wide open,” he said in a husky voice.

  Wide open? Moira glanced down and noticed her parted legs. She made every attempt to close them, but to no avail. Between them, Reilly positioned his body. A strange current sizzled in her womb. Her skirt had inched up above her knees, revealing them and the baggy black stockings.

  Deftly, he rolled up the left glove and placed each opening over her fingertips. The soft silk caressed each finger as he eased the sections downward toward her palm. Wrinkles remained and she attempted to smooth them.

  He stilled her shaking hand. “I’ll take care of that.”

  With the patience of a saint, but the touch of a sinner, he pinched each of her fingers in turn between his thumb and forefinger and milked them in the most delicious manner.

  When finished, he slipped his thumbs underneath the cuffs and caressed her palms. “Perfect. Never have I seen something fit so well. I’ll take them.”

  Moira removed the tape measure from around her neck. “Let me measure my hand to make sure it’s the size you really want.”

  Reilly teased the tape from her hands and whipped it around her upper body. Her nose bumped against his in the process. “Do you really know what I want?”

  The wool fabric of his suit chafed her palms as she gripped his shoulders. His breath fanned against her face. Their lips were less than an inch apart. “Yes. The gloves. Wrapped up with a bright red bow on the top.”

  His lips brushed lightly against hers. Soft as a butterfly’s wings. “You’re right about the red, Clara Bow. Red to match that kisser of yours. Red like my heart.”

  Say something or he’ll think you’re a total innocent. “I’ll take care of wrapping them.” With his assistance, Moira clambered from her fitting post. “Is there anything else you’d like?” Today, Satan spurred her on in the wickedest way.

  Once spoken, her words couldn’t be retracted. Who cared? It’s my turn to catch him off guard.

  Reilly pursued, hot on her heels. “What I like can’t be bought at Bainbridge’s,” he said. “It’s far too precious for this place. There is something you can help me with.”