had moved from the band platform while Evie had been outside, and a ridiculous anxiety at not seeing him made her jumpy as she returned to the bar. Toby had put a drink in front of her spot and gave her a wink as she wrapped her fingers around the cool glass. She swiveled her head, searching the small dance floor, the tables set around it. Where had Jack gone?
“Hello, gorgeous,” came a low voice behind her, hot breath on the back of her neck. Jack had a way of slinking around and appearing from nowhere. Evelyn supposed that was a useful skill for one running an illegal business. She’d been seeing him just over a month and still hadn’t gotten used to his sudden appearances at her side.
She tried to turn to face him, hungry for the bright blue eyes, wanting to feel them upon her, but his strong hands were on her upper arms, keeping her facing away from him. His lips landed on her neck, just along the knob of her spine, and she gasped at the sensation as his tongue grazed her skin. After another moment of exquisite torture, he released her and she turned.
“Jack,” she breathed.
“Darling.” He embraced her then, kissing both cheeks and smiling down at her. “I’m so glad you came tonight. It was beginning to be lonely here.”
Evelyn looked around. The eyes of several well-dressed women were on Jack, and she had a feeling that this man was rarely lonely unless it was by choice. “Well, I can’t stay too long,” she said. “But I did want to see you.”
“Wonderful,” Jack said. “Let’s find a more intimate space to talk.” A drink appeared in front of him, and he picked it up as he guided Evelyn to a low table in the corner. The lighting was dim and the sound of the band playing required the table’s occupants to sit close, heads together, in order to talk. It was perfect.
“Is your father still foisting suitors on you, darling?” Jack asked as they settled.
“I don’t want to talk about them,” she said. Since she’d debuted last year, her father had been single-mindedly dragging every marriageable man in Manhattan to the townhouse for Evelyn to meet. She’d never tell Jack that he’d finally settled on one and was pushing Roger White upon her with all the subtlety of an avalanche. “I’m so tired of taking tea and ear loads of baloney from my father’s favorite bachelors.”
“That’s no fun, is it?” Jack was smiling, but his voice was dark, laden with something deeper.
Evie looked up at him and felt herself warm. It was jealousy she saw burning in the blue eyes, she was sure of it, and surprised. She was never sure what she meant to Jack, and she never let herself get too close. He was just for fun, she reminded herself. A taste of something exotic before she was forced to live with vanilla every day.
Jack took her hand across the table. “You should marry one of ‘em. Settle down. Be respectable.” His words were saying one thing, but his thumb was rubbing small circles on Evelyn’s wrist, the blue eyes still blazing, and the message Evelyn got was far different from the one he spoke.
“I’m too young for that,” she said. “Times are different. My parents are just too pent-up in those stone walls to notice.” Her words were tougher than she felt. Though she had no intention of being married off anytime soon, she knew it would be an uphill battle with her parents on the other side.
Jack scooted closer to Evelyn, his hand still holding hers gently on the tabletop, while his other hand slid up her leg, feather-light fingers grazing her knee and skimming under the hemline of her skirt.
Heat began to climb Evelyn’s neck and she felt as if she wanted to squirm or jump—or climb into Jack’s lap—to relieve the tension that was building in her. As his hand came to rest high up on her thigh, the warmth of his palm spreading to regions just slightly higher and causing her whole body to vibrate, Jack’s mouth was hovering just inches from hers. Evelyn could feel his hot breath on her neck, her chin—a mixture of alcohol and peppermint. Her eyes landed on those thin, sculpted lips and, without thinking, she darted her tongue out to wet her own mouth.
Jack groaned and leaned in, his mouth meeting hers.
Evelyn gasped, her mind spinning. Jack had never kissed her before quite like this—not in public, not with such ardor. He’d grazed her lips, held her hand. She’d seen other couples kiss like this, but had never imagined that she’d sit in a public place—where anyone could see—and let a man kiss her so openly. While her mind fought, chastising her for the indecency of it all, her body responded, pressing itself into Jack’s arms. His hand climbed higher under her skirt, pulling her toward him as his mouth claimed her. The kiss wasn’t tentative. It was brutal and overwhelming, Jack’s tongue pushing into Evelyn’s mouth, sweeping through her defenses and owning her. She disintegrated under his hands, his will. And when he released her, moving away to adjust his tie, she leaned forward, spent.
If she’d wondered how Jack Taylor felt about her before tonight, she wondered no more. His eyes sparkled with the clear knowledge that she wanted him—badly. And Evelyn could see that he wanted her, too. She didn’t know what his long-term intentions might be, but she knew what was possible in the short term, and it both frightened and excited her.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said, taking a long draw from his drink. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Jack,” she breathed, trying to sound coy. Before she could find an appropriately clever thing to say, they were interrupted by one of the men who worked at the club with Jack.
“Cops down the street, Jack. Better move.”
“Get out of here, baby. Better keep your nose clean. Will you come see me again soon?” He was already standing.
“Sure I will.”
Jack pulled Evelyn roughly from the booth and kissed her once more, quickly, but with no less passion. Though her knees threatened to give out, Evelyn collected her coat and dashed up the steps to the street.
Buck was just pulling from the curb as she saw a group of policemen gather out in front of Maison. She hoped Jack would be okay.
“Darling, it’s almost time to go, remember we’re going to tea at the …” Evelyn’s mother stopped in the door, her mouth hanging slightly open as Evelyn willed her eyelids to open.
“You’re still in bed? What on Earth?” Mrs. McKenzie rushed to her bedside, a pale hand extended and ready to pat her daughter down for signs of fever.
Evelyn batted the hand away and pulled her quilt higher over her shoulder. “I’m not sick. I’m just tired.”
“Oh, poor dear. Still not sleeping well? Shall I telephone the Whites and tell them we can’t come to tea? You shouldn’t be out in this cold, risking exhaustion and …”
“Mother, stop.” Evelyn’s mother had a tendency to work herself into a frenzy over the smallest shred of evidence that something terrible might happen. Once, when she found a mosquito bite on Evelyn’s arm as a child, she had quarantined the house and alerted everyone in the neighborhood that Evie had smallpox, essentially kidnapping the doctor and practically holding him hostage when he didn’t give her the diagnosis she expected. It took him an hour to convince her that her daughter would be fine, and by then Mrs. McKenzie had worked herself into such a state that she had to take to her own bed for several days afterward. “I’m fine, Mother. I just overslept.”
“Oh…oh dear, well …” Mrs. McKenzie stood up and wrung her hands, her small feet clicking against the hardwood as she paced in circles. She was not a woman who did well when things did not go according to plan.
“Mother,” Evelyn said, rising from her bed and shivering in the morning cold as gooseflesh climbed her limbs. “Give me ten minutes to clean up and dress. We’ll be right on time for tea, and I promise to be pleasant and charming and full of pep. But please, let me be for ten minutes.” She ushered her mother back to the door of her room as she spoke, and shut it behind