SpeakeasySweetheart Read Online Free Page A

Right?
    God, she was confusing herself, and Blaze’s quiet, attentive
presence at her side only increased the pressure. After a minute’s
deliberation, she chose an arbitrary direction, trying not to read too much
into Blaze’s reaction—or lack thereof. He was still silent.
    Her fury was starting to ebb somewhat. Still, he’d thought
she was Cornell’s…what, prostitute? Her lips compressed, Sasha plowed forward,
fascinated despite herself by the scenes of Jazz Age…what was this city? New
York. It had to be New York. Blaze had even said as much but the words hadn’t
sunk in.
    A paperboy barged past, hustling down the street. There
wasn’t much traffic at this early hour, a few cars and a horse-drawn wagon. She
resisted the urge to stroke the animal as they passed. They probably didn’t do
that kind of thing in this society.
    By the time they’d walked a few blocks, she was ready to
level with Blaze. She turned a grumpy gaze upon him, catching his eye immediately.
    “Tell me why you assumed I was Cornell’s whore.”
    “He slept with and became quite close to his last two
singers. They weren’t very good.”
    “ In bed? ” That earned him another glare.
    “No.” He had the temerity to laugh. “Honey, I have no idea
what they were like. I only know they were bad singers.”
    “Were?”
    “They’re dead.”
    That sent a chill through her. Dead. Would she be dead if
she’d stayed at the club? Forced into Cornell’s bed? Or would she have clawed
her way back through that strange little door, returning to her own time?
    Maybe they would all have followed her. Mr. Asshole and
Cornell and Blaze and Louella, all tumbling into the future and surprising the
living fuck out of that crazy old professor and the rest of the students. And
her ex.
    A hysterical giggle burst forth. Sasha brought both hands up
to her mouth. She was going nuts. Absolutely nucking futs, as her parents used
to say in the good old days before the divorce.
    “Sasha.” Blaze’s strong arms enveloped her, pulling her
aside into the relative privacy of an alleyway. “Come on, baby.”
    She pulled herself together enough to take a deep breath and
level an accusatory glare at his chest. “Am I to infer from this conversation
that you think I’m a bad singer too?”
    “ No .” The denial was so strong she believed it right
away. “That’s what made me sit up and take notice in the first place. You’re
different from the rest.”
    “Is that what made you kidnap me?”
    Blaze shook his head. “I need information on Cornell.
Thought a singer of his would be the best way to get it. Besides, I couldn’t
live with myself if another one died.”
    A car rumbled past. Sasha waited until the noise had
subsided before speaking again. “What have you got against Cornell?”
    “He killed my brother.”
    She wasn’t expecting that . “I’m sorry.”
    “Not as sorry as he’ll be.” His eyes darkened a shade.
“Maybe you should tell me what you were doing singing at his club if you’re not
close to Cornell.”
    “Singing’s a hobby for me, all right?”
    “Why so defensive?”
    “My dad—” She stopped short. How much of her troubled
adolescence did she want to confide to this relative stranger?
    “Yes?” His firm encouragement shoved aside the last
resistance in her soul.
    “My dad said I’d never amount to anything that way. He said
I should give up singing but I kept going without telling him. I paid for
lessons with money I earned from odd jobs.”
    Her music teacher had been completely gaga for early twentieth-century
music, so Sasha had learned some odd songs. Still, her voice fit the music well
and it had given her a temporary escape from dreary everyday life. She’d thrown
herself into learning the music of the era, impressing her teacher and giving
herself a much-needed confidence boost.
    “Seems your dad was wrong. You have a gorgeous voice.”
    She searched Blaze’s eyes for any trace of sarcasm or false
flattery.