Olive becket plays the r.., p.18
Olive Becket Plays the Rake, page 18
part #1 of Advanced Reader Copy Series
She grinned as broadly as she could, showing every tooth. His hand stilled on her back.
“That better not be an imitation of my signature charming smile.”
“I’m afraid it is. I don’t like it.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it isn’t real. You use it to cajole people into giving you what you want. Or to pretend everything is fine, even if it isn’t. I…I don’t want you to use it with me.”
He blinked, clearly never having considered that. “What should I do instead?”
“Smile normally, of course.”
“And what does that look like?” She gave her best approximation of his crooked smile, and he barked out a laugh. “Oh, for the love of God. I never look like that.”
“You do right now,” she insisted, touching the corner of his mouth before he could argue. The soft curve she found there filled her chest with joy. “I like it.”
He groaned dramatically. “All right. I’ll try to look ugly for you.”
“It’s not ugly. It’s real.”
“Maybe I won’t smile at all.”
She tilted her head, pretending to think it over. “That could work, too.”
“Come here, you wretched tease.”
He swooped down, and then his lips were on hers. She sighed into his mouth, her lips parting eagerly as he sipped and teased and caressed. She rose on her tiptoes to meet him, her good hand climbing its way up his chest to rest against his thudding heart. She’d never felt such hunger for a man. Never had a man feast on her lips like she was all the sustenance he needed to survive. It was strange. Wonderful. And only made her want more. He walked them backward slowly, his lips not leaving hers, until the backs of his knees hit the porch swing.
He broke the kiss with a ragged inhale, then sank onto the swing and pulled her onto his lap. His hands steadied her as she draped her legs over his and leaned carefully against his solid chest. She chanced a glance upward and was met with a radiant, crooked smile.
“Oh my,” she breathed, then immediately flushed. But Emil didn’t seem to mind her brainless reaction. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his splayed hand on her back gripping her tighter.
“That was supposed to be a simple kiss hello. But like everything else with you, things got quickly out of control.”
“Should I apologize?”
“For making me lose myself in a kiss? Never.” He gave her a wry look. “But that is exactly why I wouldn’t kiss you in the carriage. Imagine Winnie’s horror if you’d emerged with bruised lips and mussed hair.”
“She might not have been as scandalized as you think.” She gave him a mock glare. “One of us should have realized she was eavesdropping.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “I’m afraid you fully occupied my attention.”
“Although,” she continued, playing with the top button of his shirt, “there was one thing that confused us both.”
“What’s that?”
“The pronunciation of the word. You know. The one that means kitten.”
Olive was amazed to see his ears redden. So there was something that could embarrass him.
“Min käraste,” he said finally.
She repeated it, committing it to memory. “Unfortunately, neither of us could remember the term of endearment I came up with for you,” she lied.
Kitten and beloved were not on the same level, and she would sooner die than make the same mistake twice.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” His attention lowered to her injured wrist, bulky in its wrapping and cradled in her lap. “How is your wrist?”
“Healing, thank goodness.”
“Can you play?”
“Not yet, but I already found a replacement for my weekly hour in the Turner Hotel lounge, so the manager shouldn’t be too upset with me. And Mrs. Loughlin was understanding when I had to cancel playing at her birthday luncheon. I should be able to play after that.”
His brows furrowed. “What will the cancellations do to your expenses?”
“It won’t be easy, but we’ll manage.”
“What does that mean?”
The blunt question made her bristle. Why couldn’t he accept her lie as easily as Winnie had? “It means I’ll figure something out.”
“Why should you have to manage when you could thrive?”
She sighed in exasperation. “It’s not as if this is the first time this has ever happened. Two years ago, I had pneumonia and lost several weeks’ pay. We managed.”
“You keep saying that word. Manage. It’s a stupid word.”
“Now, wait just a minute—”
“We’ll go to Ballard,” he said abruptly. “You’ll give lessons to my family to make up the pay.”
“You can’t force your family to learn piano just so I—”
“My sister has begged my father for years,” he interrupted. “I’ll collect you on Sunday and we’ll visit.”
She wrestled with her resolve. On the one hand, she would have to admit she couldn’t manage on her own. But on the other hand, it would be a relief to admit she couldn’t do it all by herself. Why shouldn’t she accept some help from him? It wasn’t quite the same thing as accepting money from a friend, and they weren’t exactly friends, anyway.
“Thank you,” she said a moment later.
He squeezed her waist in response. “Now. I’m dying to know more about how you wrote the most popular song of the year and managed to keep it a secret until laudanum loosened your lips.”
“Even from you,” she couldn’t resist teasing.
“Even me,” he allowed. “I had begun to suspect, but I never found any proof. That was very well done, Olive.”
“Oh. Yes.”
Her words tangled up as a curious warmth spread through her body. It wasn’t the first time it had happened. The first was at the musicale, and then at the library. And now, a third time. She had thought it a fluke at first, that swooping feeling when he commended her. How could such simple words feel as intimate as a touch? Why should being admired kindle heat in her belly, a restless ache between her thighs? No one had ever spoken to her like this before. Most scarcely noticed her at all, and when they did, it was to overlook, to dismiss. To be praised by him, the man who could have any woman’s notice if he wished…well. It was beyond delicious.
“You’re flushed, min käraste,” he murmured. “Everything all right?”
“I…” She cleared her throat, but how did one admit to something so strange as becoming inflamed by mere words? It was impossible. “I am merely delighted to emerge victorious. Over you and any other man who wants to unveil me for their own purposes.”
The humor faded from his expression. “I won’t let Wingate near you.”
“But why does he want me at all? I don’t understand.”
“His claim is that he wants to show his support for the cause, but I think it’s a ruse.”
“He was talking to the anti-suffrage preacher. Why would he do that if he didn’t support his views, at least on some level?”
“Mack would have done the same if he’d been close enough. Anything to get a quote for the paper.” He hummed under his breath. “Have you ever heard their names in conjunction before?”
“Never.”
“Then it looks like I’ve got more digging to do.”
“I don’t want to cause a rift with your employer—”
“He’s the one who caused a rift, Olive, by being disingenuous about why he hired me. I’ve already started pulling at loose threads. The pieces are there, I just haven’t fit them together yet.”
“Will you tell me what you find?”
“I will,” he assured her, and a thrill of happiness spread through her at being included. “In the meantime, we should start thinking about how you’ll reveal yourself.”
She jolted upright and looked at him aghast. “I’m not going to reveal myself. Not ever.”
“We need to get ahead of this,” he insisted. “If Wingate is connected to the anti-suffragist movement, then he could be searching for ways to impugn the character of local suffragists. All it would take is a few choice details, and your reputation will be in tatters. But if we attack first—”
She laid a finger over his lips. “Emil, I know you mean well, but that’s your style. Not mine.” Fire rose to his eyes, but she pressed forward. He had to understand. “I published anonymously for a reason. I’m simply not comfortable putting myself forward that way. I have too many responsibilities, too much to lose, and not nearly enough courage.”
It was his turn to look at her like she’d lost her mind. It stung, but at least he knew where she stood. Knew her limitations.
“What do Winnie and Miss Lewis have to say about it?”
“I haven’t spoken to them about it yet.”
“Why the hell not?”
“They’re busy—”
“Too busy to help their friend?”
“They are helping their friend,” she snapped. “Or at least, they’re trying.”
He went still. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Rhoda has gone missing.” She heaved a sigh. “It’s been four days since we’ve seen or heard from her. Winnie stopped by to tell me the next morning. Now, she and Clem are busy searching for her. I…I was going to help, but it took me longer to recover than expected, and then I had to make up the lost time—”
“That is concerning,” he interrupted her guilt-laden rambling. “But it doesn’t change the fact that they have two friends who need help right now, and only one is getting it.”
“Rhoda’s situation is now, and mine is…” she waved a hand in the air, grasping for the right words. “Well, it’s always. I can wait a bit longer. I really don’t mind.”
“And doesn’t that say it all?” he asked gruffly. “Anthem issues aside, you’ve needed help for a long time. And it riles me up that no one seems to realize it.”
“It’s not their fault.”
“Why?” His gaze sharpened, and his voice dropped low and demanding. “Why not, Olive?”
“Because they don’t know how bad everything is!” She pushed off his lap and paced the deck, her chest tight, her breath shallow.
“Winnie knows a little—she’s seen our awful apartment, and I told her once about the landlord. But they don’t know about Robbie’s learning problems. They don’t know my mother’s illness has gotten worse every single day since we were evicted from our last place. That’s why she won’t leave the apartment, you know. She’s afraid they’ll lock the doors again. They don’t know my father’s money is gone, or that I wake up every morning terrified that today is the day we lose another home, or that I’ll have to pawn another of my father’s treasured belongings just so my baby brother has something to eat—”
Tears flooded her eyes, and a ragged sob tore from her throat. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, as if she could force it all back down. But she couldn’t. The words were poison inside her, killing her slowly, and now they were spilling free, burning on their way out.
“What if I tell them all that, and they don’t care? Or what if they’re like my old friends?” she choked out. “What if they decide I’m too needy, too poor, too beneath them? What if they don’t want me anymore? I can’t go through that again. I can’t.”
Emil’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against his chest. She gripped his shirt, her body wracked with shudders. His hand swept soothingly over her back, anchoring her as she unraveled.
“It’s all right,” he murmured against her hair. “Cry. Cry all you want. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her breath hitched, her body sagging against his as the weight of the last few years pressed down on her. And still, he held her. When the sobs finally slowed to hiccups, when the poison of unspoken fears had finally drained from her, leaving her hollow and raw, he eased her back and cupped her face in his warm, calloused palms.
“Listen to me very carefully, min käraste. You have been put into situations you weren’t ready for. Your father died and left the three of you alone in the world. Your family has faced so many challenges, and every time, you rise to meet them. Even though you’re unprepared and terrified. Even when it feels—and often is—impossible. Most people would crumble beneath the weight of all that responsibility. But you never have. You might falter, you might fall, but you always get back up. That’s a hell of a thing. That’s courage. And it breaks my goddamn heart that you don’t see it.”
Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked.
“I see now that I owe you an apology. I was only thinking about how I would handle Wingate. Because for me, standing up for myself and speaking out against injustice have always been options. A risk, at times, but never one so dire that my entire life could be upended. I didn’t think about what it could cost you.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “From now on, I’ll follow your lead. I’ll still tell you what I think, of course, but ultimately, this is your life. You make the calls. And I’ll support you however I can. How does that sound?”
“It sounds really nice.”
“Nice,” Emil repeated, chuckling. “You’re overwhelmed, aren’t you?” She nodded jerkily. “Of course you are. You’ve just had a cathartic release.” She nodded again, grateful he understood her without having to explain.
Nice didn’t cover the half of it, but words were lost to her. She’d been carrying a heavy load for so long, plodding up a never-ending hill. At long last, someone—Emil—wanted to take some of the weight. Not take control, not pull her forward, but stand beside her, making her path forward feel possible for the first time in a very, very long time.
“Let’s go inside. I’m going to make you a cup of tea. I’ll wash up, and then—” He lifted her chin with a finger and brushed a slow, deliberate kiss against her trembling lips. When he pulled back, his gaze was full of promise. “And then I’ll give you another kind of release. One that pushes aside every worry, every thought, until the only thing you know is how good you feel.”
He held out his hand, and without the tiniest ounce of hesitation, fear, or worry, she interlaced her fingers with his and followed him inside.
Chapter 18
Emil’s bathing routine had never been so rushed. He briskly toweled his damp hair, slapped on some aftershave, and confined his penchant for flexing shirtless before the mirror to once. He tugged on pants and a flannel shirt, but didn’t bother with anything else. The promise of a wood stove and a warm woman was all he needed to stave off the winter chill. He padded barefoot to the living room, then paused, struck by what he found.
Olive was curled on his sofa as though evenings like this were already a habit of hers. Despite the steady heat radiating from the stove, she’d built herself a cozy nest: blankets gathered around her, pillows propping her back, a magazine spread across her lap. She idly turned the pages with her injured hand, the mug of tea gripped in the other. A lock of hair slipped forward to graze her cheek, and Emil’s fingers itched with the irresistible urge to brush it back.
The image should have been ordinary. It wasn’t. It pulled him toward her with a force he didn’t fully understand. How had this shy little wallflower upended him so completely? He’d spent years in raucous bars and glittering ballrooms, and none of it had ever felt like this. None of it had ever made him ache the way a simple evening in her company did.
With Olive, he wanted things he hadn’t wanted before. Not just laughter, or flirtation, or the shallow thrill of pursuit. He wanted to know her moods, her silences. He wanted to make her laugh, to coax her temper, to feel the weight of her leaning into him. He wanted things that both unsettled and compelled him, yet he couldn’t resist them. Couldn’t resist her. For better or worse, he needed to know what would happen if he let this continue—if he let her in. He shook his head slowly, almost in disbelief, before stepping into the room.
“Comfortable?”
She looked up. “Very.”
He cleared his throat and hunted for something—anything—to say. His gaze fell to the magazine on her lap. “The American Bee-Keeper, eh?”
“I didn’t want to become too engrossed in anything,” she admitted. “Though one particular issue of Vogue was very tempting.
“Take it home with you,” he suggested, grasping the topic with relief. “Hell, take a stack. Robbie can look at the photographs. Perhaps he’ll even be inspired to try reading them.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”
“Not really. They’re just collecting dust here.”
He lowered himself onto the sofa beside her. The cushions shifted under his weight, bringing them close enough that her knee brushed his thigh through the blankets. She stilled, then lifted her cup to her lips, her fingers trembling lightly. Emil reached for the magazine, and his index finger grazed her palm. She didn’t pull away. Good. Progress. He took his time closing the magazine and setting it aside before turning back to her.
Her hand hadn’t moved, but her expression had shifted into one he recognized at once. The sight of it brushed aside his own unease and replaced it with something much stronger: the need to comfort her, to ease whatever troubled her, to let her know she was safe with him.
“Go on,” he said lightly. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“What you’re worrying about.”
She wrinkled her nose, adorably sheepish. “How did you know?”
“You have a few tells.” He leaned in, touching lightly between her brows. “A little furrow appears here.” His finger drifted down the curve of her cheek. “Sometimes you flush. Sometimes you pale.” Then he tugged gently at her ear, and her gaze snapped to his. “And you won’t look me in the eye.”
“I have trouble with that, sometimes.”
His lips quirked at her confessional tone. “I know. I don’t mind.” She smiled then, open and unguarded, and heat flared through him in response. Goddamn. Her smile unraveled him every time. “So go on.”
“No one wants to know what goes on inside my head.”
“I do.” When she shot him a doubtful look, he met it steadily. “If your tears didn’t scare me away, your fears certainly won’t.”
