Free Saints and Sinners by Shawna Moore Page B

Bertolucci’s window. The darkness almost made him invisible. Was he touching his body as he watched her wash? Did his organ thicken and turn plum-purple? Would his custard cover the window, hot and dripping over the grimy glass?
    Unnerved at the fact a man other than Reilly had been the first to see her without clothes, Moira collapsed onto her bed. For some time, she couldn’t control the laughter that flowed from her lips. Only a soft tap at her door, and her mother’s voice, made Moira stifle her silliness.
    “What in Heaven’s name are you doin’, girl?”
    “Nothing. Something struck me as funny.” Moira sucked in a deep breath to keep herself from giggling. “Sweet dreams.”
    “The same to you, my love.”
    The door to the room across the hall closed. Her mother and father slept there. A man and a woman in love, they were married and happy despite all of life’s hardships.
    She buried herself underneath several layers of bedclothes, not bothering to put on her nightdress. Moira tossed and turned, confused yet more aware of her sexual desires than ever before. With her left foot, she kicked at an empty hot-water bottle. Cold as a whore’s crotch at death because of her dawdling. If Reilly were here, he’d press his muscular body against mine and keep the chill away. She giggled. He probably slept in the altogether. Skin against skin, they’d press, filling every gap.
    Moira stroked her belly and allowed her fingers to tangle in the coarse red thatch of hair beneath. Would Reilly bury his face and lips there? Kissing and teasing her tenderness much like the man did the woman in the photograph? Against her thumb, the bean of flesh throbbed. She squirmed against the sheets. Her honey trickled hot into the palm of her hand.
    For a long time, she rubbed and caressed herself, making believe her hands were Reilly’s. Twice she plunged several fingers into her wetness, thrilling at the sensation of something inside her.
    Finally, unable to keep her eyelids from closing, Moira relaxed and fell into another man’s arms for the time being. Tonight Morpheus claimed her body, but not her heart. That belonged to Reilly—or at least she prayed it did.

Chapter 7
    Mrs. VanMuir scowled as she approached. Moira plucked the pins from her mouth and stuck them into the pincushion. How she hated Mondays.
    “I never in my life,” muttered the society woman. “Of all the things.”
    She shouldn’t speak unless addressed, but what bothered that woman? “Is there a bit of bad news?”
    “Bad news? I should say so,” Eloise VanMuir said. “Your friend left this note for you with Willie.”
    Now Moira really was confused. Why would Janet leave a note with the boy who swept the sidewalk every morning? Surely, she’d send someone around to my house to deliver any news?
    Silent, Moira reached for the note and read it.
    I’m in a bad way, dearest Moira. Carry on for me. Appreciate your kind heart.
    Your friend forever, Janet .
    Usually one who wrote with a bold stroke of the pen, the writing on Janet’s letter was cramped and almost illegible. What exactly did Janet mean by being in a bad way? True, Janet’s brother Jack had mentioned she wasn’t able to keep even broth down, but nothing horrible.
    “Well? What do you make of it?” Eloise VanMuir tapped her foot against the tiled flooring.
    “I don’t know. She has the grippe. That can make people sick for some time. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your concern.”
    Eloise sniffed. “Concern? Why would I be concerned about a tramp like her? She’s obviously come down with some disease she’s too scared to mention. Not that she was too scared to get herself into a position that caused it in the first place.”
    Moira drew in a deep breath before squaring off with the store owner’s wife. “Maybe she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her? They don’t have much money to get a doctor. I suppose we, I, won’t be wanting the flat any longer.”
    Several of Eloise’s