Page 43 of Romancing the Rumrunner
Jessie laughed and the sound hit Tony right in the heart. Damn, but the woman was doing a number on him. Who was romancing who here?
“Come on, he’s going to be wondering what’s taking us so long.”
She reached up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. She tried to spin away but Tony kept his arm around her and pulled her back into his chest.
“Let him wonder,” he said, his other hand trailing up to cup her face.
She leaned into him and Tony brushed his lips across hers, lightly tasting. She rose on her toes again, deepening the kiss before he had a chance to. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground, leaning back slightly so the full weight of her body rested against his.
A banging from upstairs announced Charlie’s imminent return and they reluctantly came up for air. Jessie pushed away from him, her hand going quickly to her hair. Then she smiled up at him, grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him down for another quick kiss, letting him go just as Charlie stomped down the stairs.
Tony laughed, wishing he could kick the door closed and finish what she’d seemed very willing to start. Two problems with that idea, though. One, they were in a refrigerator surrounded by meat and there were warmer, and more romantic, locations he’d prefer to be. And two, the ever-helpful Charlie would spoil the mood for sure.
Jessie hefted a box and thrust it into Tony’s hands. He held on, pulling her forward for one last kiss, but she grinned and pushed him away. “Sorry, baby, but this bank’s closed. Now go load the truck.”
She spun away with a wink and Tony chuckled. Hot damn, but he’d love to get her good and alone for longer than five minutes.
He helped Charlie load up the rest of the truck and then sent the kid ahead of them. He could drive Jessie in his car. Charlie sullenly drove off and Tony went back inside to find Jessie.
She wasn’t in the refrigerator, nor anywhere else in the cellar.
“Jessie?”
“I’ll be up in a moment.”
He looked around, trying to see where her voice had come from. In a far corner, a trapdoor had been lifted and a flickering light shone from below. Tony peered down inside, then slowly descended the stone steps until he came to a short hallway. The light was coming from a doorway on the right. The sound of glass bottles clanking together came from inside and he followed the noise.
He stopped short. Several rows of shelves held what must have been a hundred bottles of homemade gin.
“Jessie?”
She turned, barely glancing at him before placing another bottle in the satchel she held. She slung it over her shoulder and waited, watching him.
He realized she was waiting for some reaction, waiting to see what he’d do, what he’d say. He looked around, honestly not sure what to make of it. Tony’s chest tightened, excitement spiking through him, and he tried to school his face, to let nothing that he was feeling show. Had she just led him right to the Phoenix’s cache of booze? And if she had, why? What did it mean? What did she want him to do?
Tony thought furiously. He needed to be smart about this. One false move and every moment he’d spent building their relationship would come crashing down around him, ruining his chances of catching the big fish. Even as the thought ran through his mind, Tony knew that wasn’t the real reason he wanted to handle this right.
He messed this up and he’d lose her. And he didn’t want that, plain and simple.
He stepped farther into the room, ran a finger along a row of bottles.
“This is quite a stash,” he said. Jessie nodded stiffly, but didn’t say anything.
It was an impressive collection. But not enough to run an operation like The Red Phoenix. Not for long, anyway. So either this was Jessie’s private stores or it was only the tip of the iceberg.
Finally, he sighed. He was tired of the games. “Why did you want me to see this?”
She blinked, apparently surprised at his bluntness. But a small smile peeked through and she shook her head.
“I’m not sure.”
He looked around again. “Did you make all this?”
“No. My father did.”
“And who are those for?” he said, gesturing to the bag she held.
“The orphanage director. It’s my private donation.”
