Speak Low (12 page)

“After the movie, we were going to go out for ice cream but the shop had closed early or something. The entire block was dark.”

“Electricity went out.”

“Right. So we just drove around a bit and then…parked.”

“Parked?” Immediately the image of Enzo and I in the front seat of his Packard lodged, unwanted, in my mind.

She sighed. “Yes, OK? Parked. Please don’t lecture me. I had such a wonderful night and I didn’t do anything to be ashamed of, and for once, I didn’t have Mary Grace around to bug me or tease me or tattle. Daddy’s car isn’t here, so he’s not home and he doesn’t have to know.”

“Unless I tell him.”

She gripped the banister with two hands. “Please don’t, Tiny! I’m being honest with you, aren’t I? I could lie and say we were at someone’s house or at a party…but I’m not. I was alone with Chet, in his car, and I was safe.”

I held back a sarcastic response, because it wouldn’t do any good. I didn’t want to argue with her about what was and wasn’t safe when you went parking with a boy. And based on our conversation yesterday, she knew more than I thought she did about what boys want from a girl in the dark.
And what girls want too.
I took a deep breath.

“Listen, Molly. I’m glad you had a nice time, and I appreciate knowing the truth about where you were. I’m going to trust that you know right from wrong and that you’re aware of what can happen if a girl gets a reputation. I know it’s not fair, the boy should have the reputation too,” I said when I saw her about to protest, “but that’s just the way it is. The more important thing is, you had a curfew and you disobeyed it.”

“Not on purpose! We just lost track of time,” she whined. “Please don’t punish me for it, Tiny. Just let me have this
one night, please
. I’ll never do it again, I promise. I’ll—“

At the sound of a light knock on the front door, we both gasped. She rushed off the steps and we clutched one another’s arms. “Who could that be this late at night?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. Maybe Daddy forgot his key?”

Whoever it was knocked lightly again, and then pushed the door open.

“Hello?” The voice was deep and familiar. A face appeared.

“Joey, you scared us half to death!” Molly scolded.

“Sorry. I was out this way, and I saw the light on.” He came in and shut the door behind him. His suit and hat were wet, but even so, the sight of him quickened my pulse. He took off his fedora and met my eyes. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Frantically, I tried to position my arms so they covered as much of my bare skin as possible. My usual nightgown wasn’t dry, so I’d put on an old eyelet-trimmed chemise, which had thin straps, a low neckline, and didn’t even reach my knees. I crossed my arms and legs and covered one bare foot with the other, but not before I noticed Joey stealing a glance at my chest.

“What were you doing over here at this hour?” I asked.

“Dropping Rosie off.”

“Oh.” Jealousy flared in my gut. “Molly, you go on up,” I said to my sister. “We can continue our discussion tomorrow.”

“Or not.” She scurried up the stairs. “We could just forget about it. That’s fine, too.”

“Sounds like I came at a bad time.” Joey tried to make a joke, but I could tell something serious was on his mind. I was pretty sure I knew what it was.

“She was late for curfew.”

“Ah. You trying out a new hairdo?” He gestured toward my head with his hat. “Looks like flapper meets Medusa.”

Wincing, I brought a hand to my hair and felt the rags there. “Mary Grace did it. I’ll take them out so you don’t turn to stone when you look at me.”

Unbuttoning his coat, he wiped his feet before entering the front room and taking a seat on the sofa while I began tugging the rags from my hair. At first I tried to keep one arm across my chest but gave up on modesty when I realized I’d need two hands to untie the knots Mary Grace had fashioned.
Jesus, what had she done? A sailor couldn’t have tied these things tighter.
And she’d gotten half my hair inside the knots too—it was hopelessly tangled. Joey watched me silently for a minute, during which the rain picked up again. “Weather keep you in tonight?”

I angled away from him a little. “I had enough fun last night to last me a while.”

“I’ll say. You drank too much.”

I glared at him over one shoulder. “What do you care how much I drink?”

He put up his hands. “I didn’t come here to argue.”

“One of us always says that, and we still end up arguing.”

That brought a little smile. “Yeah. I guess we do.”

“So what
did
you come here to do in the middle the night?” I yanked at a particularly stubborn rag, but only succeeded in pulling the knot tighter.
If I had a mirror, this would be easier.

“I told you, I came to talk to you.” Joey scratched his head. “Do you need some help with those or something?”

“No. Go ahead. Talk.”

“I can’t talk to you with those things hanging off your head. It’s bad enough that you’re in your pajamas.”

“What did you expect I’d be wearing when you show up at my house at this hour?” Exasperated, I dropped my arms, leaving a few rags dangling in my hair. “Fine, help me.”

Joey shrugged out of his coat. “Come sit on the floor here in front of me.”

Moving the coffee table out of the way, I dropped onto the floor and backed up against the sofa between Joey’s legs. His pants were damp from the rain and felt cool against my bare arms. Gooseflesh prickled across my skin, and a dozen admonishments flickered through my head.
Go up and put a robe on. Joey shouldn’t be here. Don’t sit so close to him.

And even though I knew he was going to touch me, I jumped when he put his hands in my hair, unprepared for the buzz that swept from my scalp down my arms and over my legs. It lingered as his fingers carefully worked the knots from the rags.

Neither of us spoke.

It probably only took him a few minutes to remove them, but with each passing second I was more aware of him, of everything around us. Colors and scents and sounds were sharper. The low golden glow of the lamp. The thrumming of the rain on the roof. The tick of the clock on the mantle. The scent of Joey’s wet gabardine trousers and leather shoes. My breaths came faster and deeper as I imagined what his hands looked like in my hair, how difficult it must be for masculine fingers to work the thin strips of cloth from my tangled tresses. But his touch was gentle.

Too gentle.

“There. Done.” He held the scraps of cotton over my right shoulder, his hand suspended near my collarbone. Beneath my chemise, my nipples peaked against the thin cotton.

Those hands. Those fucking hands.

Even though his knuckles bore the angry red evidence of the fight last night, his hands still had the power to arouse me. Would I never know the feel of them on my skin? Desire and jealousy twined their roots deep inside me. What had he done with Rosie tonight? What affection had he shown her? What physical pleasure had he experienced with her, with any girl, that he never would with me? My heart pumped hard.

I reached up with my right hand, telling myself to simply take the rags, but instead, I wrapped my fingers around his solid wrist. With my other hand, I took the scraps and let them fall. Twisting at the waist, I looked over my shoulder at him, my mouth falling open. Joey’s olive skin appeared golden, his eyes almost black. His expression spoke of restraint and frustration, but also undeniable hunger. For so long something had simmered between us, threatening to erupt, and now I had to
know
, or I’d go crazy.

He pressed his lips together and his fingers tightened into a fist, the muscles tensing beneath my grasp. He tried to pull his hand away, but I held on.

Biting my lip, I used my other hand to unbutton the top of my chemise and slip one delicate eyelet strap off my shoulder.

He didn’t move.

Oh God, Joey. Please don’t say no.

With my heart thumping wildly, I looked down at his fist, unfurled his fingers, and slipped his hand beneath the cotton. Taking a deep breath, I pressed it to my skin and shivered with pleasure when his warm palm covered my breast.

I looked back at him again. For one agonizing eternity of a second, he struggled with his decision.

Well, maybe it was half a second.

He bent forward, grabbed my head with his other hand, and crushed his mouth to mine—oh my God that mouth, those full, luscious lips I’d stared at so many times—how was it possible for them to feel and taste even better than they looked? He kissed me hard, his tongue plunging between our open lips, stroking and sucking. Lust ricocheted throughout my body and centered between my legs. Reaching up to take his face in my hands, I kissed him so deeply and desperately I couldn’t breathe, but I cared less about consuming oxygen than I did about consuming Joey.

He lunged off the couch at the same time I struggled to get up on it, and our bodies came together before we tumbled to the floor, frantic to climb inside each other’s skin. We ended up on the rug between the sofa and the coffee table, a tangle of twining limbs and searching hands and hungry mouths. Joey’s leg slid between my thighs and I squeezed it, lifting my hips. It felt so incredible I nearly exploded right then and there.
My God, it’s Joey
, I kept thinking.
It’s Joey and me and it’s finally real and it feels so fucking good.

Passion for him surged through me like a lightning storm. My heart pounded against his chest, or was that his pounding against mine?
I have to get closer, there has to be a way to get more of him.
The image of him shirtless in the kitchen popped into my head. I remembered eyeing the muscles in his back, how hot and hard his chest felt under my hands when I checked for bruises. I recalled the way his abdominal muscles rippled down his taut stomach. Oh, God, I wanted to touch him there, touch him everywhere, with my hands, my lips, my tongue. I wanted him naked, next to me, on me, under me, inside me. My head fell back, my jaw dropping in disbelief at the way I wanted Joey.

He moved down my body and took one nipple in his mouth, sucking it through the cotton, and I had to bite down on my own hand to keep from crying out at the pleasure it wrought from deep inside me. Desperate to feel more of his weight on me, I shimmied underneath him, claiming his mouth again with my own and wrapping my legs around him. And then I couldn’t help smiling against his lips because I could feel the way he wanted me. Moving my hands around his sides to his round, muscular ass, I pulled him into me, gasping at the huge, hard feel of the bulge in his trousers.
Oh my God, I could come just like this, just feeling his cock rub against me through our clothing, because it’s him and this is crazy and my heart is going to burst out of my chest and he feels so good and I never want him to stop and—

“Christ, Tiny.” Joey braced his hands above my shoulders and looked down at me, breathing hard. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, digging my heels into the backs of his thighs. “But don’t stop.” He groaned, and I lifted my head off the floor and kissed his lips, his chin, his jaw. “Please don’t stop.” I pressed my lips to his throat and felt his pulse on them. “I want you.”

“Since when?”

“Since when?” I panted.

“Yeah, since when do you want me?”

I dropped my head to the floor. That was not the anticipated response. “What do you mean?”

Lifting himself off me, he knelt between my knees. “Last time we talked about this, you said you wanted him, not me.”

I propped myself up on my elbows. “I never said that.”

“You certainly did. You accused me of judging you for getting what you want. I asked you if you wanted him, and you said yes.”

Had I said that? Sighing, I closed my eyes. “I know, but…” God, this was so maddening—my feelings were so twisted up inside me. I
had
wanted Enzo, and everything he’d promised me. But now that he was offering, I wasn’t sure I wanted it anymore. Why was that? Was I simply that fickle? Or had I changed my mind because of Joey? I wasn’t sure, and I knew the worst thing I could do right now was say something I didn’t mean.

I opened my eyes. “I don’t know what I want anymore. I’m confused.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” He got to his feet and snatched his coat off the sofa, shoving his arms through the sleeves.

“And what about you?” I demanded, sitting up. “You’re the one who was out on a date tonight, not me!” It was so irritating having to whisper when I wanted to shout. I scrambled to my feet. “Where did you take her?”

“Nowhere, I just gave her a ride home.”

“Did you kiss her? Did you?”

“No.” Joey ran his hands through his hair. “Why the fuck do you even care?” He tried to push past me and go for the front door, but I didn’t let him. I caught him by the elbow, spun him around and threw myself at him, grabbing him by the back of his head and pressing my lips to his. He groaned in frustration but slanted his mouth over mine, and I sucked his tongue into my mouth. He tasted so good, like the rain, and
oh my God
I wanted to taste every inch of his body. His arms looped around my lower back, lifting me off my feet, and held me tightly to his chest. But when I tried to twine my legs around his hips again, he set me down and gently pushed me away.

“I can’t do this,” he said, picking up his hat from the sofa. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

I twisted my hands together. “Where are you going?”

“Chicago.”

“Tonight?”

“No. There’s something I have to do here first, but I’ll have to leave fast after that.”

“Something with a gun?”

Joey looked at me carefully. “He told you.”

I nodded.

“Then you understand.”

I saw the pain of his father’s death in his face, and it squeezed my heart. “I do, but…this won’t help, Joey. It won’t stop here. You kill somebody, his friends retaliate. More death isn’t going to solve anything.”

“I gotta do it, Tiny. I feel it in my bones.”

I tried a different tactic. “So you’re giving up the drugs to Enzo? Letting him win?”