moment he felt sorry for her, but then remembered she had money, fine looks, and the bravery of a tiger. Daisy had said Timmy went by the treacly title of Our Traveling Sweetheart. No need to waste pity on the likes of her.
She must have some practice with attracting men, for she knew how to make a man want her—beyond the bewitching body and enticing smile.
The gift of charm came naturally to her. And she behaved rather like himself with one of the youngsters, he reflected wryly: She coaxed him with sweet food, listened intently to his words, and asked questions about himself—made him feel he mattered.
But then there was the sweetest of all enticements for a grown man, her body.
Why not? He thought, two seconds, less than three steps across to his bed, and he’d have her in his arms. Just the thought of her made him hard as a damn billy club. Which meant he’d had hours of her painful and annoying presence.
She as much said she would yield to him. Who would know?
He would know, that’s who. It was plain wrong. And if this worldly woman managed to get some kind of hold on him—he supposed he couldn’t bear that. Though at the moment he couldn’t quite recall why the idea was so unbearable.
He switched to his back, and tried going over the manual of police procedures in his mind. That had always been a good way to put himself straight to sleep. A soft sigh came from the bed and interrupted his mental review of Section One, “The Uniform.”
Was she awake and waiting for him? A kiss good night, she had said. Ha. If he so much as touched her full lips, or possibly even just her cheek with his mouth, that would spell the end for McCann.
He’d seen her chemise and other undergarments. And he knew what he suspected was true: She had no proper corset, the jade.
And what’s more painful, he knew what was under that nightgown. Nothing other than her body. He’d be damned if he’d think about it. Especially not her breasts or that flat silken belly or her bottom that fit his hands so perfectly . . .
He heard her breathing was regular and heavy, and he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. Both, he decided.
For the first time in his life, he got all the way to Section Ten before finally drifting off to sleep. The church clock had struck midnight. He’d have less than five hours sleep. Again.
Chapter 8
When Timona woke, Mick had gone to work and Botty had disappeared. Mick had left behind a note, written on the back of a picture card that looked as if it had spent several days stuffed in someone’s pocket. She looked at the picture of the Iron Pier at Coney Island, then flipped it over to examine his painstaking scrawl.
“Back at 6. Wait for me. We go together.” Not the most romantic note she had ever received but she tried to convince herself she was glad he wanted to go with her.
After she ran some errands, she decided that if she only had one week for her campaign, she’d best seek out Mick even during his work hours.
She found Henry again, pitching pennies in the alley behind the apartment.
“Do you know where Mr. McCann walks when he is on duty?”
Henry stood up and dusted off his hands on the backs of his new britches. “Oh yeah. He tells Rob about his beat in case we need him back for Pa. This month he’s not around here. He told his friend Mr. Bairre—he’s the officer on our route now—to keep an eye on us. I think they got Mr. Mick on a bad route lately, though. Not the worst but pretty tough, he says.”
After some persuasion, and a bribe of a sumptuous lunch, Henry and his friend Matt agreed to show Timona the route Mick was walking.
“Not a good place for ladies, iffen you know what I mean.”
Timona understood. She picked out her least attractive new gown. Too bad, since she did want to impress her future husband. But a quiet blue dress without a single bow and with a high collar was probably best.
“We’ll come too,” said Henry.
“No, I thank you,
She must have some practice with attracting men, for she knew how to make a man want her—beyond the bewitching body and enticing smile.
The gift of charm came naturally to her. And she behaved rather like himself with one of the youngsters, he reflected wryly: She coaxed him with sweet food, listened intently to his words, and asked questions about himself—made him feel he mattered.
But then there was the sweetest of all enticements for a grown man, her body.
Why not? He thought, two seconds, less than three steps across to his bed, and he’d have her in his arms. Just the thought of her made him hard as a damn billy club. Which meant he’d had hours of her painful and annoying presence.
She as much said she would yield to him. Who would know?
He would know, that’s who. It was plain wrong. And if this worldly woman managed to get some kind of hold on him—he supposed he couldn’t bear that. Though at the moment he couldn’t quite recall why the idea was so unbearable.
He switched to his back, and tried going over the manual of police procedures in his mind. That had always been a good way to put himself straight to sleep. A soft sigh came from the bed and interrupted his mental review of Section One, “The Uniform.”
Was she awake and waiting for him? A kiss good night, she had said. Ha. If he so much as touched her full lips, or possibly even just her cheek with his mouth, that would spell the end for McCann.
He’d seen her chemise and other undergarments. And he knew what he suspected was true: She had no proper corset, the jade.
And what’s more painful, he knew what was under that nightgown. Nothing other than her body. He’d be damned if he’d think about it. Especially not her breasts or that flat silken belly or her bottom that fit his hands so perfectly . . .
He heard her breathing was regular and heavy, and he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. Both, he decided.
For the first time in his life, he got all the way to Section Ten before finally drifting off to sleep. The church clock had struck midnight. He’d have less than five hours sleep. Again.
Chapter 8
When Timona woke, Mick had gone to work and Botty had disappeared. Mick had left behind a note, written on the back of a picture card that looked as if it had spent several days stuffed in someone’s pocket. She looked at the picture of the Iron Pier at Coney Island, then flipped it over to examine his painstaking scrawl.
“Back at 6. Wait for me. We go together.” Not the most romantic note she had ever received but she tried to convince herself she was glad he wanted to go with her.
After she ran some errands, she decided that if she only had one week for her campaign, she’d best seek out Mick even during his work hours.
She found Henry again, pitching pennies in the alley behind the apartment.
“Do you know where Mr. McCann walks when he is on duty?”
Henry stood up and dusted off his hands on the backs of his new britches. “Oh yeah. He tells Rob about his beat in case we need him back for Pa. This month he’s not around here. He told his friend Mr. Bairre—he’s the officer on our route now—to keep an eye on us. I think they got Mr. Mick on a bad route lately, though. Not the worst but pretty tough, he says.”
After some persuasion, and a bribe of a sumptuous lunch, Henry and his friend Matt agreed to show Timona the route Mick was walking.
“Not a good place for ladies, iffen you know what I mean.”
Timona understood. She picked out her least attractive new gown. Too bad, since she did want to impress her future husband. But a quiet blue dress without a single bow and with a high collar was probably best.
“We’ll come too,” said Henry.
“No, I thank you,
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