Angel (Bartered Hearts 1)

“Do you get a day off?”

“I can leave anytime in the mornings, I suppose. No one would care. But you’re working.”

“Not on Sundays.”

“Do you have a room?” she asked.

“Over in the First Ward, but you don’t have to—”

“I’ll come there. This Sunday.”

He gave her the address and told her how to find his room, and then he held her, his heart beating strong against her ear. Melisande closed her eyes and stayed curled into him as long as she dared. And when she went downstairs to work, she didn’t even see the men who took her back up. All she let herself picture was Bill.

Chapter 4

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Melisande had been looking forward to Sunday all week. She hadn’t seen Bill since that night in her room, but she’d thought of him every day, every hour. Wondered how he could look at her and see a sweetheart.

Saturday night had lasted far too long, as it always did. Few men had to work on Sunday, and that meant the girls worked until they collapsed into soiled beds at four a.m. But Melisande didn’t go to sleep. She heated water in the darkened kitchen and filled a metal tub so she could soak away every man who’d touched her.

She washed her hair and then sat next to the hearth to rub fragrant oil into her skin. Instead of pulling her hair back in its normal tight bun, she coiled it into several twists that ended between her shoulder blades. She’d cut it short once in protest of the long curls her mother had made her wear for customers, selling her as a beautiful octoroon girl. A lie, like most everything else. Her grandmother had been a dark-skinned cook in an ambassador’s home, though whoever her grandfather was, he’d been white. Melisande’s father had been light-skinned, but not light-skinned enough, apparently. Her mother had rubbed Melisande’s skin with potions once a week to try to brighten her up, and Melisande could still smell the burning as her mother had pressed her hair with hot tongs.

Still, Melisande had missed her hair once she’d cut it. She’d been growing it out since, but it wasn’t vanity, really. She still hid it in a bun. Today she didn’t want it hidden. Today it was something that belonged only to her, and she wanted Bill to see it.

She ironed the green cotton dress she’d washed the day before, then worked the twists of her hair loose until the curls brushed her shoulders when she moved.

Would Bill like it? She’d convinced herself he would, but now that she was almost ready, doubt seized her. Maybe he liked her smoothed down and as white as possible. Maybe he’d prefer to pretend she wasn’t who she was.

Best to find out now, though. Best to be disappointed early.

She dressed in her room and draped the shawl carefully over her head as if she were only going to church as usual. Last, she took the shell necklace from its hiding spot in her dresser and tied it around her neck.

Bill’s place was a twenty-minute walk away, and she tried her best to enjoy the beautiful pink light of the rising sun as she made her way through neighborhoods she wouldn’t dare enter in the dark. When she got close to his street, she stopped at a bakery and bought warm croissants to surprise him.

Perhaps he wasn’t expecting her so early, but she didn’t want just an hour with him. She wanted as long as she could get. She wanted to pretend she never had to go back.

When she found his building, she hurried along the rows of tall, shuttered windows until she reached the fifth set and knocked softly. Holding her breath, she waited for the shutters to part, her heart thumping hard with fear. After an eternity passed, she knocked harder, wincing at the sound. This time, the shutters opened, and there he was, mouth widening in a smile when he saw her.

“Am I too early?” she whispered.

He reached out to help her step over the low sill and into his room. “Never.” Once he closed the shutters, there was only a lamp to light them, but his room looked clean and spare. “I was still getting ready,” he said, as if he were embarrassed to be caught in his shirtsleeves. “I thought we’d walk along the river again. Get something—”

“I brought breakfast,” she interrupted, holding up the paper-wrapped pastries. “I hoped we could eat them here. Unless you’re worried we’ll be caught.”

He glanced toward the bed. “I’m not worried. No women allowed in rooms, but everyone ignores that rule. I just thought you’d like to do something special.”

“This is special,” she said quietly.

Bill held her gaze for a long moment. “Yes, it is.”

He took the package from her and set it on his dresser, and then he framed her face in his hands and kissed her. That was all it took. Just a simple brush of their lips and she was melting into him, opening her mouth, needing him inside.

She wanted to make him as happy as he’d made her. Bring him more pleasure than he’d ever known. That was what he’d done for her, so Melisande held nothing back. She kissed him and stroked his shoulders and arms and chest. She reached for his buttons and had his trousers open in seconds. She wasn’t only happy to let him have his way with her—she was hungry for him. Starving. It felt so odd to crave a man, like a beast was stretching awake inside her.

She kissed her way down his neck and over the furred strength of his chest. She bit lightly at his skin, loving the way his belly jumped at the sensation.

When she pulled his clothing down, his cock sprang free, already thick with arousal.