Flappers, Jazz and Valentino , livre ebook

Title Page
FLAPPERS, JAZZ AND VALENTINO
Edited by
Jillian Boyd



Publisher Information
Flappers, Jazz and Valentino
published in 2014 by House of Erotica
an imprint of Andrews UK Limited
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © House of Erotica 2014
The rights of the authors have been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.




Introduction
When you think of the 1920s, what comes to mind? Is it Gatsby’s dark-edged glamour? Flappers in their gorgeous dresses, dancing the Charleston as loud as they damn well please? Al Capone ruling over the Chicago underworld?
Whatever image you conjure up, you can’t deny that the 20s was a very special era – one that’s still alive today if you look in the right nooks and crannies. It was a time of dizzy ups and spectacular downs, culminating in what was probably the most spectacular down of all time: The Wall Street Crash of 1929 that put a dramatic halt on the ebullience of the previous years.
But this anthology is all about the sizzling, sexy ups.
The idea for this anthology was spawned by my absolute love of just that ebullience. Of those early talkies and the sister suffragettes, the dirty dealings of the Chicago mobsters and the longing sounds of the jazz saxophone. I am immensely pleased that the eleven authors featured in this anthology (and not to forget everyone else who submitted), each went out of their way to conjure up the spirit of the Roaring Twenties with their words – and add their own distinctive erotic twists to the era.
Sit back, relax, put on some Louis Armstrong, pour yourself a cheeky Manhattan on the rocks and enjoy these twelve tales of Twenties temptation.
I hope you think they’re all the bee’s knees.
With love
Jillian Boyd, the editor.



The Dance Partner
By Lola White
One
Kitty came to a stop next to the man leaning against the rail dividing the entrance platform from the dance floor. Three long, shallow steps funnelled most of the crowd down into the whirling mass of dancers, but there were still several feet to either side, a perfect place for the newcomers to look over their partner prospects for the night - if they hadn’t come with one.
He was alone.
She smiled and looked him over through the tangle of her lashes, taking in the strong body clad in quality, but inexpensive clothes. He couldn’t afford the sharp suits just yet, but he would soon, when he moved up from being a driver to having a little more say in the workings of the liquor supply route. For now, since he wasn’t wearing a coat, she took a moment to appreciate the way his suspenders highlighted the breadth of his chest and the way his trousers clung to the muscles of his thighs.
“I haven’t seen you here for a while, handsome.” She peeked up at him coquettishly, letting her red-stained lips tilt even more as he turned his hazel eyes on her. The contrast between his pale irises and his dark hair had things in her lower belly clenching, but she fought the urge to fidget just as she fought the urge to tug down her short, silk dress when his eyes roved south.
With his heavy-lidded gaze on her, she was grateful to be working the dance hall rather than the blind pig upstairs that night. Upstairs, she would have been wearing an even shorter dress, one that stopped at the top of her thighs, with nothing but a length of fringe to give her the illusion of modesty. As it was, the uniform she had on left several inches of skin showing above her knees.
Which he took advantage of by slipping his fingers up her leg, warming it more than the heat of the crowded room could ever do. Kitty caught her breath and held still, letting the tingles of his touch spread over her nerves.
His eyes darkened. “Hello, beautiful. What’s a pretty Sheba like you doing working in a clip joint like this? Don’t you have a man to take care of you?”
She struggled to keep a straight face, but she loved this game. Every time he came to Siren’s Song and Dance Hall, which wasn’t nearly often enough, he said the same exact thing. She tucked her round drink tray against her cocked hip and reached up to pat the blonde curls framing her face.
“Yeah, I got a fella.” She leaned closer, until her breasts were poised a single hard breath away from his suspenders. “But he works long hours and leaves me lonely.”
“Lonely, are you?” His fingers drifted higher on the inside of her thigh, just edging past the silk of her dress. “That’s a shame, beautiful. A woman like you should never feel lonely.”
“They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“Does it?”
She tilted her head and let her eyes travel over him, down his muscled chest, flat stomach and lean hips, until they came to rest on the slight bulge at the front of his loose trousers. The fabric hid too much, the draping too baggy to show her how he really felt. “I’m certainly fond of my man,” she finally whispered.
His fingers slid an inch higher. “Then why are you here, doll?”
Kitty caught her breath at his boldness and stepped back quickly, tossing her curls. “I’m an independent kind of woman, Floyd. I work for my money. I even have the right to vote now!”
“Ah,” he smiled slowly, “you’re one of those bearcats who don’t want to depend on a man. You don’t want to stay home, taking care of the house and children.”
“It’s the modern age.” She planted a hand on her silk-covered hip and raised a brow. “The war is long over and I want to live a life. Have fun. Dance.”
“You can’t dance and work at the same time, beautiful.”
“I get a few minutes rest, soon.” She struck a sultry pose against the rail and looked up at him. “Maybe you’d like to dance with me, if you’re still here?”
“We’re making some runs tonight, but we’ll be here for a little while longer,” he conceded. “Boss has some business with Lizzie.”
Kitty licked her lips and fought not to let her eyes lift toward the ceiling. Floyd was safe enough to forget with, but she couldn’t afford to give the game away to someone else. The speakeasy upstairs was a secret, and they’d all end up in jail if it was discovered.
It was a shame they didn’t live in Chicago, where the police could be bought off with a few rounds of top-shelf whiskey and a couple hundred dollars. Then Lizzie wouldn’t need to front her business with a dance hall that was too loud, too crowded and too hard to manoeuvre through. And Kitty wouldn’t be forced to take her turn on the first floor, slaving all night for the same amount of tips she’d make in an hour upstairs.
She took a deep breath and found a smile for the man watching her so closely. So hungrily. “What can I get you, Floyd?”
“Just water, beautiful.” His lips quirked. “Nothing that’ll leave me ossified.”
With a nod, Kitty turned and stepped down onto the dance floor. She weaved her way through the crowd, dodging a wild elbow as the excellent band onstage transitioned from a foxtrot to the Charleston. She let the beat shore up her aching legs and thump through her spine. Tired as she was several hours into her shift, she still tapped her feet as she waited for Floyd’s drink at the bar. She loved to dance.
The Lindy Hop was in full swing as she circled the dance floor on her way back, slowing her progress and threatening to send a careless couple into a table. Kitty grabbed the glass of water before it could slosh, spinning to avoid collision. The last thing she needed was to splash her dress - the silk was already thin enough to hint at what was beneath. Or in her case, what wasn’t. Wetness would only make it more transparent.
Floyd commented on that very thing as she returned to his side and placed the glass on the railing. His eyes landed on her chest, sticking tight as if he couldn’t draw them away. “I can nearly see through that dress, beautiful.”
She shrugged a shoulder, knowing the movement would highlight the shadow between her breasts. The owner of the Siren didn’t allow any of her girls to flatten their chests in the current style, no matter that a boyish frame was the epitome of grace at the first floor dance hall. The waitresses were ordered to flaunt their feminine charms. The place was named Siren for a reason, after all.
“It’s the new electric lights Lizzie put in,” she said. “I told, you, Floyd, this is the modern age. No more gas lights and no more candles.”
Hot eyes finally wrenched away from her chest and up toward her face. “When do you get that break?”
Two
With her fashionable heels, their heights matched well. Floyd’s arms slipped around her as the seductive call of the music enticed them into the heart of the crowd. It didn’t matter that her feet ached, Kitty wanted this dance badly enough to let Floyd pull her onto the floor rather than head into the bowels of the club and take a seat. She could sit later; for now she wanted to feel alive, free and bold.
The war had taken too much from her. It had taken her oldest brother, and her mother would never be the same. Lost in her depression, sad-eyed and thin-lipped, Kitty’s mother had retreated from life. But Kitty never would - no, she wanted to experience every opportunity, now that she knew how fleeting it all could be.
She peeked up at Floyd, meeting his bold gaze. “What’s this run you’ve got tonight,” s