Free Saints and Sinners by Shawna Moore Page A

notions—started a fire in her body that wouldn’t stop flaring.
    Too bad it was Saturday and she wasn’t due back at The Continental Club until Tuesday night. To make matters worse, she wouldn’t see Reilly again until Monday.
    Moira studied the gift. A woman lay naked on the cover, her body draped with a silken scarf like the ones used by Isadora Duncan. Her hands shook with excitement. Dare she open it up and discover the dirty secrets contained within?
    Diary of a French Domestic.
    Who cared about French culture? On the other hand, if the contents of this book might give her a clue as to how women attracted men, she longed to read further.
    She flipped through the pages. Most of the book contained provocative pictures. Women displayed in the most scandalous poses imaginable. In one scene, a dark-looking man tickled a woman’s private folds with the corner of his handlebar moustache. In another, a harlot pressed a feather against her bare nipple.
    Moira finished and returned to the picture she found most interesting. Posed on a settee, a pinch-faced woman sipped from a champagne glass while a man buried his face between her open legs.
    No one must see her teasing treasure. She tucked it underneath her mattress. Despite the lack of heat in her room, her thighs clung together much as during a summer’s day. Time to take off these confining clothes.
    Soon, her hand-knitted woolen sweater sailed through the air, followed by her skirt. She heaved a sigh of relief. Much better, but these skivvies have to join the rest.
    Hot and bothered from the risqué romps she’d witnessed on the book’s pages, Moira shrugged the chemise’s straps down over her shoulders. Feeling wild as a gypsy, she clicked her fingers and whirled around in wild abandon.
    Bare and tender to her touch, Moira’s breasts spilled over her hands. She squeezed them as Reilly might. Oh, to have his hands on her, touching her in all of those forbidden places. Nothing would feel better. Against the palms of her hands, her nipples poked. Closing her eyes, she imagined Reilly’s hot lips sucking the hard nubs.
    “Yes. Suckle me, Reilly. I’ll hold you close to my heart that way.”
    Only her chemise remained. Its bodice now rested against her belly and tickled every time she moved. She shucked the chemise off and twirled it over her head. As she peered through the partially opened curtains, an intense heat erupted between her legs. Her reflection caught on the window glass, and she thrilled at the sight. She wore the wild-eyed look of a petty thief caught in the act. Who cared? This was her room, and she’d run wild if she felt like it.
    Sweat seeped from every pore in her body, and she walked over to the basin. Water, barely warm enough to wash with, splashed against the basin’s sides as she stirred her fingers in it. With each pass of the rough washcloth over her body, Moira imagined Reilly’s hands following the same wicked path. Frenzied by her fantasies, she spread her legs open and cupped the cloth against her tender privates. Her hand trembled, but she increased her efforts. The slick skin folds parted easily, allowing her access to the private place men supposedly loved most.
    With a corner of the washcloth, she rubbed the swollen bean of flesh at the very top. Oh, Reilly, come kiss my body and make love to me in the most wonderful way. Lick me down there and make me wet all night.
    Spasms shot through her lower body at her boldness. Wind whipped against the window, causing the pane of glass to clatter and shatter her moment of mischief.
    Her fantasy proved fleeting as she spied the open curtains. Had those bad Bertolucci’s seen her naked and pleasuring herself? Moira shrugged. If they did, who cared? Her mother wouldn’t believe a word they said.
    Still, she wouldn’t sleep tonight without confirming her suspicion. Completely naked, she strode over to the window and stared out. Sure enough, a male figure stood in the center of the