In 1936, everything is a scandal.
Excerpt:
Jimmy Doyle requested
the empty booth in the back so they could have a modicum of privacy. For a
moment, he was afraid she would balk, but she surprised him by squaring her
shoulders and following the waitress as if his request didn’t have scandal written all over it. She took
the seat with her back to the restaurant, which suited him just fine. She’d be
less guarded with her facial expressions if she knew only he could see them. He
had every intention of learning all he could about her in the time he’d been
given. Starting with her name.
As soon as the waitress
left to fill their beverage orders, he said, “I don’t even know your name.”
He saw the lie in her
eyes. There would be honesty between them, if nothing more. “Don’t even think
of lying to me.” He tempered the authority in his voice, knowing somehow that
unleashing his full dominant nature on her at this point would send her
running, and he wasn’t going to lose her.
She opened her mouth,
then closed it. Finally, she said, “Evelyn.”
He raised an eyebrow,
silently demanding more.
“Evelyn Gardner.”
“And where are you
from, Evelyn Gardner?” He’d drag every scrap of information out of her if he
had to, but he hoped by the time he said good-bye to her this evening, she’d
feel comfortable enough to answer anything without hesitation. Gaining her
trust would be the first step to owning her.
The waitress set two
sweating glasses of iced tea on the table, then pulled an order pad and pencil
from the pocket of her apron. “What’ll it be?”
He nodded at Evelyn.
“Anything you want, sugar. My treat.”
“I—”
“You can. Let me buy
you dinner.” He hoped his tone conveyed that there were no other expectations
connected to the offer. He simply wanted to feed her. Letting him take care of
her basic needs was something she would have to get used to.
She raised the menu,
looked it over quickly, then placed her order. It wasn’t much, but he’d see
that she ate it all. He ordered, handed the waitress both menus, and turned his
attention back to the fascinating woman across from him. He couldn’t remember
wanting to know every little thing about a person the way he did her. She was
going to be a challenge. Once he could restrain her, he’d devise ways to make
her talk. Ways they’d both enjoy. His dick stood at attention, ready to heed its
master’s call.
He lifted his glass to
his lips. “You were saying?”
Evelyn’s lips caressed
her glass. He watched the muscles in her throat work as she swallowed. Christ,
he couldn’t wait to wrap his hand around her throat and feel those same muscles
contract as she swallowed his cum.
“I grew up in central
Virginia.”
Patience. Her answer
was vague, but he sensed that she was telling the truth. He prodded for more.
“Family?”
Her gaze flitted away;
then her eyelids closed, and she shook her head. He recognized shame when he
saw it. He’d seen it often enough. “I won’t think less of you, no matter what
you tell me.”
She pressed her lips
into a thin line. So, she wasn’t ready to tell him her story. He couldn’t blame
her. He wasn’t ready to tell her everything yet either. He backed toward safer
ground. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a switchboard
operator.”
There were few jobs a
respectable woman could hold, and that was one of them. He laid his hand on the
table, palm up. “Let me see your hand.” He was a perverted fuck, and he knew
it. Wanting to see the hands that shoved things in and out of tiny holes all
day amused him.
She rested her gloved
hand on his palm. There was a tiny stain on the tip of her index finger—a small
imperfection on an otherwise perfect canvas.
His eyes met hers, held
her gaze. “I want to see your hands.” He tugged on the fingers, one at a time
until the worn glove slid free, leaving her bare fingertips resting on his
skin. Fuck. He was going to lose it
right there, and that was not acceptable.
Sliding his hand
beneath hers, he clasped his fingers around her wrist. Her pulse raced as fast
as his, another reason he shouldn’t be doing what he was. Neither one of them
was ready for what he wanted to do with her, but it was only her hand, he
reasoned. Touching her this way was inappropriate as hell, but he couldn’t
stop. He needed to feel her skin, and it was imperative that she get used to
him touching her. It was never too soon to begin teaching her to accept him.
“Keep your eyes on
mine, sugar. Don’t look away, no matter what.” He explored her fingers with his
thumb, rubbing it along the length of each one before repeating the process,
this time gently nudging into the soft flesh between each digit as he went from
one to the next. When her eyes dilated and her breath grew shallow, he almost
came in his pants. Shit, she was a natural submissive, and he couldn’t wait to
have her completely under his spell. The things he’d do to her body. The
pleasure he’d wring from both of them.
“Your hand is
incredible, sugar. I can imagine these fingers shoving in, pulling out. All.
Day. Long.” He turned her hand over and began massaging her palm with his
thumb. “Does your hand cramp at the end of the day?”
“Sometimes.” Her lips
barely moved as she formed the word.
He pressed his thumb
hard into the center of her hand. Her fingers instinctively curled inward,
encasing his thumb in the sweetness of her embrace. He returned to stroking her
skin. “And do you massage the ache away? Alone? In your bed?”
Heat crept from the
prim lace collar of her dress to her neckline, yet she held tight to his thumb.
God, he could do this all night, tease her, stoke her need. One day soon he’d
take care of her himself, but tonight, it would be enough to know that the hand
he held in his now would be between her legs tonight, massaging away the ache
he’d put there.
The clatter of plates
and squeak of rubber soles on linoleum alerted him that they were soon to be
interrupted. He glanced up and noted the waitress headed their way. With a
gentle smile, he tugged his thumb from her grasp and pulled his hand to his
side of the table. Turning her face to the wall, Evelyn tucked her hands into
her lap.
Once the waitress left,
he reached for her again. “Give me your other hand.” She hesitated for only a
second before presenting her gloved hand to him. He stripped the garment from
her fingers, set it atop the other one. “Eat.”
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