A shiver of panic ran through Lane. If Mook hadn’t delivered the shipment, that meant they were pretty low on alcohol. “You sold the delivery to somebody else.”
“It’s business, Carillo.”
Which Lane understood, though he was still angry. He felt some measure of panic, both because of the lack of alcohol and the situation with the police. “So Hardy is sniffing around right now?”
“Of course he is. Isn’t he always? And he’s looking for blood. Or a lot of simoleons. Rumor is he’s already arrested three men this week and shut down a club up on Fifty-fourth.”
That was not good news. “Thanks for the warning, I guess.”
“I’m sorry, I really am. I gotta make dough, though.”
Lane was mad, but probably would have acted the same way Mook had under the same circumstances. “I know.”
“I can get something off the rum runners tomorrow, if that will hold you over. Then I have to get something new. There’s a place in Kentucky that’s still making whiskey for export, maybe I can make something work out with them . . .”
Lane didn’t want to deal with it, especially now that it looked like the club was going to go dry later in the night. “If you can’t get something tonight, I don’t want to talk about it right now. You get me a shipment tomorrow or I find another supplier. You’re hardly the only bootlegger in the city.”
Mook held up his hands. “Of course. I’ll make arrangements. I can’t do much tonight, but I’ll get you something tomorrow.”
Then Mook was gone.
Lane walked out to the floor then. Jerome and the band got started, playing a raucous jazz number, but Lane was suddenly not in the mood. He had to come up with money enough to pay off Hardy, which was going to be hard if he didn’t have alcohol to sell, and he was going to lose customers if he ran out of alcohol. Plus Eddie still played on his mind. He bunched his fists at his side.
A year ago, Lane could have made a call and had a case of whiskey at his door within the hour. He’d had connections from his early days in the family, when he’d gotten his start trafficking booze through a warehouse in Brooklyn. But all of those contacts had dried up or moved somewhere else. Three hours earlier, it might not have been an issue. He could have called in a favor or run over to Lenny’s to set a plan in motion. He could have gotten Callahan to fix this, or Legs. But now he had no idea where he’d get liquor on such short notice.
He called over Julian.
“You know people, right?” he said.
Julian raised an eyebrow. “I know plenty of people, darling.”
“Do you know any people that can get me a case of horse liniment tonight?”
“Can I use your telephone?”
“Yes.”
Julian winked and walked back to the office. Lane waited on the floor, fretting about how the night might turn out. When Julian returned, he grinned broadly.
“I’ve solved your problems, darling. The fella I know will be here in about an hour. He’s got a case of rotgut from some guy in Brooklyn. Maybe not great, but better than that bushwa from the other night. He wants a hundred dollars for it, though.”
“Done,” Lane said. A hundred dollars was nothing compared to the money they’d lose if all the customers walked out. “Thanks, Julian.”
Julian leaned over and gave Lane a kiss on the cheek. “No problem, darling.”
Chapter 17
“Here in My Arms”
L
ane walked right through the lobby of the Knickerbocker and could have sworn one of the bellhops nodded at him, which, given how often he put in appearances here, didn’t seem too odd. Lane wondered who all had figured out what his real purpose in the hotel was. It was hard to tell. In his experience, some people couldn’t even fathom two men together in a romantic way, and so it never occurred to them to wonder. Some people assumed any two men who seemed affectionate with each other were lovers. Lane couldn’t imagine that his coming and going at the Knickerbocker at all hours wouldn’t arouse suspicion, but it didn’t much matter now.
What did matter was getting to Eddie.
Lane knew something was wrong. He wasn’t sure how he knew it, but that look on Eddie’s face when they’d parted on the street days before still haunted him and, more to the point, Eddie hadn’t come by the club at all. Eddie had been coming to the Marigold every night since he’d recovered from losing his job, and then there had been that weird moment between them, that facial expression, and then nothing for three days.
He got to Eddie’s floor and took a deep breath as he marched down the hallway. He knocked on Eddie’s door.
A bleary-eyed and possibly drunk Eddie answered. His eyes were wide when he saw Lane, but he didn’t say anything, merely moved away from the door. Lane took that as an invitation.
“What the hell happened to you?” Lane asked after he’d walked in and closed the door.
Eddie grunted and sat on the bed.
When he didn’t speak, Lane stood in front of him and asked, “Are you panicking about your audition? I know it’s in two days.”
“Yes,” Eddie said slowly.
Lane knew he was lying. “That’s only part of it. You’re upset about something else, too.”
Eddie shrugged.
“Eddie.”
Eddie looked up at Lane with damp eyes. Then he blinked and shook his head. “This is the most ridiculous thing.”
Lane considered sitting next to Eddie. He resisted his greater impulse, which was to pull Eddie into his arms. Instead he stood there and waited. He had to keep some pride. And he wanted a straight answer.
Eventually Eddie said, “Yes, I am worried about the audition. For all the reasons you think I am. Because Blanchard knows about me and has been beating his gums at anyone who will listen. Because I’m worried about flubbing the steps. Because I’m worried I’m not good enough. But . . .”
“Eddie. Talk to me.” This time Lane did sit on the bed, but he didn’t touch Eddie.
Eddie was silent for a long time, but his shoulders shook a little. He wasn’t crying, exactly, but it was clear there was a lot of emotion moving through him. Lane didn’t want to push him, so he didn’t. He just sat and waited.
Eventually, Eddie said, “I love you. But that’s impossible. Isn’t it? How can I be in love? Especially with a man.”
Of all the things Eddie could have said right then, that was pretty much the last thing Lane expected. He wanted to laugh, but fought to keep his face neutral. “Is that what you’re worried about?”
Eddie squirmed.
“Eddie. Baby. There’s nothing wrong with that. I love you, too.” Lane ran a hand over Eddie’s shoulder and was surprised that he found such comfort in the touch, in just being connected to Eddie. Eddie leaned into his hand a little. “What do you mean, it’s impossible to fall in love with a man? It certainly is not. That is, can you imagine yourself in love with a woman?”
“No,” Eddie said. A strange strangled laugh came out of his throat. “No, definitely not.”
“Falling in love is a perfectly human thing to do. And it’s a good thing. Why are you so gloomy about it?”
“I’ve never . . .” Eddie shook his head again. He looked at Lane. “I’ve never felt this before. And I always thought that . . . I mean, sex is one thing, but love? Between two men?”
“Your heart doesn’t lie.”
“Well, obviously.” Eddie let out a soft groan, as if he were relaxing for the first time in a while. “But now? What do we do?”
Lane smiled. “Nothing different than what we have been doing. Don’t worry about it. Certainly don’t act like this is the end of the world, because it isn’t. If anything, it’s just the beginning.” Lane leaned close to Eddie, so their faces were a mere inch apart. He put a hand on the side of Eddie’s face. Their eyes met. “I think it feels pretty good to be in love with you.”
Eddie’s eyebrows relaxed. “Yes,” he said, a little dreamily.
So Lane kissed him.
Heat seemed to flow through Lane as soon as their lips met. Eddie opened his mouth for Lane without much prompting, so Lane took advantage, slipping in his tongue and coaxing a moan from Eddie. Their lips slid together, saliva mixing, tongues tangling, and Lane felt his love for Eddie seeming to rise up through his chest, to pour out of him.
Eddie put his arms around Lane and kept on kissing him. Then the kiss slowed, deepened, and then it vibrated. Eddie started laughing. “Lane,” he whispered. He laughed again while Lane waited for him to sort out whatever was so funny. “I love you,” he said. “I love you! You’re right. It feels good.”
Lane pressed his forehead into Eddie’s shoulder and was content to be held. “It does feel good. See? How can that be wrong?”
“It’s not that it’s wrong. I just never thought it was possible.”
Lane kissed Eddie again—probably it was too much to hope that Eddie would spontaneously kiss him, but this still felt like progress. Lane felt giddy suddenly, and his anxiety about Eddie’s mental state dissipated.
Under all that anxiety, Lane realized, was a great deal of desire. He wanted Eddie like he wanted to take his next breath.
He slid his hands along Eddie’s chest, slipped his fingers under the button placket of Eddie’s shirt, and started to slip the buttons from their holes. Eddie shoved his hands under Lane’s jacket and pushed it off. He undid Lane’s tie, tossed it aside, and went to work on Lane’s shirt buttons.
They kissed and laughed and undressed each other. Eddie was something else, smiling in a way Lane couldn’t recall seeing before, flailing a little in his excitement, eagerly ridding Lane of his clothes. Lane tried to hold on to him, without much luck, but he did manage to keep a hand on Eddie at all times, to keep him close.
Finally, they were naked together, and Lane said, “Make love to me. Now.”
And then Eddie shocked the hell out of Lane by initiating a kiss. Lane stopped what he was doing to savor it, to memorize how their lips felt together, to just feel everything that Eddie made him feel.
What he felt now was aroused, charged. He was hard, his body bending toward Eddie, his hips thrusting against Eddie. Eddie gave it all back, running his hands all over Lane, grunting and moving, nipping at Lane’s skin. Lane slid his fingers down the ridge of Eddie’s spine, kissed Eddie’s shoulder. He wanted to get closer. He wanted Eddie inside him.
As if he could read Lane’s mind, Eddie grabbed the tub of Vaseline from the side table. “Can I?”
“Yes,” Lane said breathlessly.
He lay on his back and opened his legs to let Eddie in. Eddie knelt before him, his body a wonder. The strength of his arms, his chest, his body toned from years of dancing. Lane loved it, thought Eddie incredibly sexy, and everything was more powerful now that they were deep in it, now that they’d confessed their love for each other. Had anything ever been as good as being in Eddie’s arms? Was there any pleasure greater than gazing at Eddie?
Perhaps there was, because Eddie wrapped a hand around Lane’s cock. Arousal and pleasure shot through Lane’s body and he arched off the bed. Eddie leaned forward and kissed Lane’s chest. He slid his teeth over Lane’s right nipple, causing goosebumps to blossom over Lane’s whole body. Lane sighed and shifted his weight on the bed a little to give Eddie better access to his body.
Eddie pulled the lid off the Vaseline and tossed it aside. He took a healthy amount from the jar and then bowed forward. He surprised Lane by taking Lane’s cock into his mouth, which was hot and slick and felt like a miracle. Lane groaned and schooled himself to keep still while Eddie prepared him for their coming together. He wanted that badly, wanted Eddie near him, inside him, above him, around him.
He wanted Eddie to continue to surprise him. He wanted Eddie to love him.
When Lane was ready, Eddie hovered above him, balanced precariously on one arm while he took his own cock in his hand. “I want this, Lane.”
“Yes.”
“I love you.”
Lane smiled. “I love you, too.”
A small smile crossed Eddie’s face and then he pressed forward. Lane felt the familiar pressure at his entrance. He knew he must have winced or reacted somehow as Eddie pushed forward, because Eddie kept murmuring, asking if he was okay, telling him to relax.
“More,” Lane moaned, wanting all of Eddie inside him.
Lane put his arms around Eddie as Eddie pressed forward slowly, started to push into Lane, waited for Lane to adjust. Lane threaded his hands into Eddie’s hair and murmured nonsense love words and kissed Eddie with all that he had. Eddie gave as good as he got, opening his mouth to accept Lane’s kisses and snaking his tongue into Lane’s mouth. Then he was fully seated in Lane and they were together, connected, as close as two people could be.
Eddie started to thrust slowly. “I love you so much.”
Lane didn’t think he’d ever get tired of hearing those words. “I know, baby.”
“I’ve never known . . . anyone like . . . you.”
It became harder to speak as Eddie picked up the pace, as he thrust faster, as they moved together, everything skin and salt and sweat. Lane’s heart was pounding now, his breathing to the point where he wasn’t sure he could make more sounds than simple grunts, but he loved this, he loved Eddie, and he wanted it to go on forever. The pain where their bodies met was easing into a particular pleasure, one Lane had always liked but one made even better when the man above him was one he cared about, one he loved. He kissed Eddie, who sighed against his lips before returning the kiss. Eddie’s cock slid in and out of Lane, accelerating Lane’s pleasure, moving them both forward.
They kissed and thrust and declared their love for each other as well as they could, over and over. Eddie reached between them and wrapped his hand around Lane’s cock. His hand was still slick from the Vaseline and felt like heaven moving on Lane. Lane threw his head back and cried out as everything began to feel too intense, as Lane tried to will away the orgasm to make this last longer.
Soon it became too much, though. Eddie leaned up, propped on his arms, and thrust hard and fast. Lane pulled his knees up to give Eddie room. He grabbed his own cock and started to stroke, wanting to find his release at the same time Eddie did. Eddie was close, it was clear from his facial expression.
“Lane,” Eddie whispered. “Lane, Lane. I love you.”
“I love you, Eddie.”
Eddie went off then. He arched his back away from Lane and moaned loudly. Lane could feel him coming inside him. It was so glorious watching Eddie, watching him find his pleasure in Lane’s body. That was enough to heighten everything Lane was feeling. He stroked himself, getting faster, a little more desperate, and then suddenly it was like the sun bursting through the clouds on an overcast day. Light and electricity flowed through Lane’s body as he found his pleasure, and he came in ribbons over his chest.
They lay beside each other, stunned, for a while.
“Perhaps that is what people write songs about,” Eddie said after a while.
“Not just songs. Operas. Novels. Great works of art. If I had any artistic talent at all, I’d be making art about us right now and it would be glorious.”
Eddie chuckled. Then he turned his head and looked at Lane. “You’ve changed my life, you know that?”
“For the good, I hope.”
Eddie nodded. “You realize that without you, I might be dead?”
“You might also still have your job.” That was a deep fear of Lane’s. That he’d been the reason for Eddie to come to the Marigold at all, that he was the reason Eddie had been caught.
“No. You heard Marian: Blanchard was determined to get rid of me. If I hadn’t been caught, he would have come up with another reason.” Eddie ran a hand over Lane’s chest. “You’re the reason I’m here. I’m convinced of that.”
That was a heavy burden, but Lane accepted it just the same, happy to have Eddie there, happy to be the reason Eddie stayed alive.
When they felt recovered, they both got up and cleaned off. Then they fell back into bed together, wrapped up in each other’s arms. It seemed so uncharacteristically romantic, but Lane decided to wallow in it. He was in love, he was in bed with the man he loved, and they were wound tightly together. He knew the joy he felt in that moment was fleeting, so he decided to revel in it while it lasted.