SpeakeasySweetheart by Clare Murray Page A

careful.
    Faint cigarette smoke filled her nostrils as she stepped
through, pushing the door shut behind her. She was standing in…a dressing room?
Sasha jumped as the scariest-looking man she’d ever seen burst in.
    “You’re on stage in five minutes. Hurry it up.”
    Stage? “I’m not—”
    “In this club, you follow Cornell’s rules,” he said in the
strongest New York accent she'd ever heard in Maine. “Or you can forget about
the deal you made with the boss and—” He pursed his lips and made a slicing
motion across his throat.
    Sasha knew her mouth was agape but she was too stunned to do
anything but stare as Mr. Asshole carried on up the corridor, banging on each
door. Then she realized there was a small knot of women staring at her and
whispering.
    “Cornell’s latest girl?”
    “What's eatin’ her, I wonder?”
    Sasha looked at them wide-eyed. She was in some sort of
club, apparently. But these girls didn’t look like illegal ravers. They looked
like…well, a better-dressed set of college students. Maybe this was a theater
club of some sort. Either way, they had the wrong girl.
    “You the new singer?” one asked.
    Sasha shook her head. “Actually, I was just leaving.”
    She turned, searching for the door she’d come through. But
two of the women took her arms, leading her firmly into the hallway. “Look,
you’d better get out there and sing,” one of them said, not unkindly. “Cornell
gets vicious when things don’t go his way.”
    “And lucky you, you've got Blaze O'Rourke in the audience
tonight.” A short-haired blonde smiled at her.
    “Blaze?” Sasha repeated.
    “His parents ran out of Irish names after eight boys so his
given name is Octavian. Everyone calls him Blaze—”
    “’Cause he’s bound to go out in a blaze of glory. Word is
he's gunning for Cornell. Vigilante justice.” The speaker, a brunette, lowered
her voice.
    “Here, give me your coat,” said the blonde. “You should get
on stage. I'm Louella, by the way.”
    “Sasha.” Numbly she handed her coat to Louella. She couldn’t
afford to stop and think, otherwise she was going to go crazy. Maybe her ex had
spiked her drink.
    But the audience in front of her was real enough. Their
attention to detail was breathtaking—each man wore a suit jacket and a hat, and
several women smoked using long, slim cigarette holders.
    Her eye was immediately drawn to a man in the middle of the
room. Was that the man they’d been talking about? God, he was gorgeous, a real
beefcake. Wavy dark hair framed an uncompromisingly handsome face. His dark-blue
eyes locked onto her the instant she stepped into view.
    The first jolt of nerves hit Sasha right about then.
Whatever secret party she’d just stumbled into, this scenario was grittily
realistic, right down to the costumes of the people present. There was no
karaoke machine on stage. Instead there were actual people with instruments—a
saxophone, trumpet and clarinet, to be exact.
    Holy crap.
    “Your name?” hissed the gentleman hovering to her side. He’d
been hissing at her for some time now. Belatedly, she complied with his
request.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, Sasha Kelly is the club’s newest
singer. Please give her a warm welcome.” The man stepped back, giving her the
stage.
    Handsome’s eyes flickered as he registered her name. Before
she could read too much into it, the band began to play the first strains of a
blues song she knew like the back of her hand.
    But the edge of her tipsiness was fading and—oh God, how
long had it been since she’d taken vocal lessons? Five years? Six?
    There was no going back now. Sasha opened her mouth and
sang.
     
    Blaze O’Rourke sat back in pleasure as the pretty young
woman on stage sang the blues. Finally Vincent Cornell had found a singer who
could actually perform. So where had he been hiding this girl?
    Probably in his bed, with the rest of them , his inner
cynic answered. Blaze leaned forward, studying her. She didn’t