Matthew Emerson, dressed in a fine suit, clean shaven, hair trimmed, and more handsome then she could say, stood amongst the snobby Chicago masses as if he had a right to be there.

He didn’t, which led Charlie to snarl, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Caught growling at a man ogling her behind, Matthew’s pale eyes snapped to the irate woman, his answer simple, “I’m here to keep an eye on you.”

Charlie’s lashes flared at the insult. “Why? You think I’m squealing to Radcliffe about your stills? That I’m gonna muck up your deal?”

“Of course not, Charlotte.” Clearing his throat, wishing he could loosen the damn tie, Matthew spoke over the din, “I’m here in case you need me.”

Charlie fidgeted with her hair, brows drawing together. “So you followed me here from Monroe? Are Nathaniel and Eli spying too?”

“No.” Matthew reached out and gripped her arm, tugging her a little nearer so they wouldn’t have to shout. “I came here alone.”

Feeling her cheeks heat, Charlie stared at Matthew’s askew tie. “In a suit…”

“In a suit, Charlotte.”

Vaguely aware she sounded ridiculous, she stopped her mouth, glancing up shyly. Those pale eyes were waiting for her - eyes she’d stared at enough times to know they were the faintest shade of green and downright pretty against his tan skin.

The hand on her arm began to stroke, soothing her irritation and leaving a trail of soft tingles in its wake. “I’ll wait right here. When your dinner’s over, I’ll escort you to your door.”

Charlie nodded mutely, watching his mouth, hoping for a taste of the whiskey and sweet cigar she smelled on his breath.

A deep rumble came from the male towering over her, “Best get back to your supper now.”

Snapped out of her fancy, Charlie almost stumbled as she backed away, turning around as ordered and gliding right back to her table.

Dinner arrived, and while they ate, Martha dominated conversation. “Have you found yourself a man, Charlotte?”

“No, ma’am, I’m a spinster,” Charlie answered plainly. “I can’t cook, or sew - don’t know a thing about babies.”

Martha gave her a secret smile. “A good man won’t really care about the trivial skills, so long as you work hard in other areas.”

Fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder to where Matthew stood at the bar, Charlie blushed, knowing full well what Martha was alluding to.

Brown eyes sparkled. “You look mighty fine sitting next to Tommy. The two of you make quite the handsome pair.”

Charlie set down her fork. “Don’t go putting any fool ideas into his head, Martha. I am fully aware of the reputation the man sitting at my side carries.” Her attention darted to Tommy, noting his cocky smirk. “Seen him many times over the years with his menagerie of women.”

“But not one of them were near as pretty as you,” Tommy cooed, daring to press a teasing kiss to her cheek.

“Tommy.” Charlie ground her teeth, glaring right at the mobster. “I do have a gun in my purse.”

Beaumont burst out laughing, his hand smacking the table. “Boy, you’re gonna have to try a lot harder if you want to catch my Blackbird’s eye.”

From the expression on Tommy’s face, he seemed more than willing to rise to the challenge. But, wisely, he mellowed the flirting; Charlie stopped glaring and conversation grew natural once more.

When the meal was over and the bottle of champagne empty, it was hard not to find easy comfort in what felt familiar. The talk, the city, old comrades… a small part of Charlie almost wished she’d told Beau she’d stay. As if Martha could read her mind, she took Charlie’s hand as they walked from the table, asking the blonde girl to swear she’d come back to town for Christmas. In the lobby, engulfed in the tight embrace of Martha’s mink draped arms, Charlie made a promise to do just that.

Watching the women have their overlong moment, Radcliffe blew out a fresh puff of smoke. “You better wrap it up before your guard dog starts to growl, Lottie.”

Pulling away from Martha, Charlie was confused. “Guard dog?”

Beaumont cocked his chin, signaling she might want to take a look behind her.

Matthew was there, leaning on a distant pillar, making his presence known.

Another puff of smoke. “Looks like you’ve got some competition after all, Tommy.” After a kiss on her cheek, Beaumont murmured, “Don’t answer the door should anyone come knocking tonight.”

Charlie understood perfectly and nodded.

The Radcliffe contingent left, Charlie waving a final goodbye. Feeling a growing sense that the world might not be so bad, Charlie turned around and saw Matthew still waiting… for her. There he was, straightening from where he leaned, looking grand in that new suit. It all seemed so unreal, so dreamlike, that when a raven-haired beauty slunk up, linking her arm through Matthew’s, Charlie almost tripped as if jolted awake.

Alice… that pretty face was unforgettable.

“There you are.” A smile of familiarity, of fondness, came from the woman petting Matthew softly. “Ready to get that cup of coffee?”

Of course Matthew had come to see his sweetheart. Charlie felt utterly duped. She’d been deluding herself entertaining for even a moment that a man like him would want her.

Working hard to keep the congenial smile pasted on her face, Charlie nodded her understanding and turned a bit too fast towards the elevators.

She made it ten quick steps before a hand came from behind, gripping her elbow.

Eyes forward, Charlie sighed. “Really, Matthew, it’s okay. Take your sweetheart out for coffee. I can see myself upstairs.”

“Alice ain’t my sweetheart,” he growled, tugging her arm so she’d hold still for a damn second. “I didn’t even know she worked here.”

Unwilling to humiliate herself further, Charlie began to seek out an escape, her eyes everywhere but on the slack jawed woman who’d chased after them.

“Miss Elliot.”

“Christ, what now?” Charlie muttered under her breath.

An approaching stranger outstretched his hand. “You should have informed us you were family to our illustrious Mr. Radcliffe.”

Not having a clue who was speaking to her, Charlie faced him squarely, leaving Matthew the odd man out. “And you would be?”

“George Parks, night manager, at your service, Miss Elliot.” Reaching out, he earnestly shook Charlie’s unoffered hand. “Had we known you’d be joining us, champagne and light refreshment would have been waiting in your room. I corrected the oversight. Here at the Drake, we always take special care of our favored guests.”

Yeah. Special, bribing care so that no bad word might get back to a man who, when offended, would probably kill you.

Pulling her fingers from the overeager man’s grip, Charlie resisted the urge to wipe off her hand. “That’s very kind of you.”

Enough was enough. Matthew put a hand on the greasy manager’s chest, pushing the fop back. Things needed to be sorted between him and the golden girl. The second it looked like she might get difficult, Matthew marshaled Charlotte away, leaving a stunned Alice and an insulted Mr. Parks behind.

For the entire elevator ride, the flat of his palm remained on her back, warm and persistent. When the doors opened, he led her down the hall, Charlotte awkwardly fumbling for the key in her clutch.

She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. “Thank you for the escort. I hope you have fun with Alice.”

When she jammed the key into her door’s lock, a large hand covered hers. “Alice ain’t my woman, Charlotte. Like I said, I didn’t even know she was here.”

She felt all jumbled, strangely panicked - sad, eager – like she might cry. “Then wh-”

Matthew pressed right up against her, trapping her between the door and his body. He took her jaw; he made her look, made her listen. “I didn’t come all this way for Alice.”

He kissed her, hard.

The searing press of his mouth seemed far more inflaming than, what by comparison, seemed a chaste kiss in the woods. Matthew devoured her, firm lips perfect, tongue dipping into her mouth in a way that drew a shameless mewl from her throat. He was pressed so close, his hands anything but timid - the curve of her hips palmed, the dip in her waist stroked, his arm burrowing between her and the door so he might grip the fleshy swell of her rear.

The man groaned against her mouth so beautifully she just about lost her footing.

Matthew turned the knob, pressing her back into the room where he could have the golden girl all to himself. Door kicked shut, fumbling behind him the lock engaged, and Matthew’s attention went right back to those pretty swollen lips.

Far too mixed up in the soft abrasion of his tongue teasing hers, Charlie didn’t demure when the straps of her dress were pulled down, the silken fabric slipping low. The tips of her breasts scraped over fine wool before a rough palm gripped the suddenly aching flesh.

A swell of noise caught in her throat. The things he was doing... kneading her, his thumb and forefinger seeking out and tweaking a nipple ripe for attention, it was all she could do not to outright beg him for more.

Matthew left her mouth, Charlie panting into the air as his teeth and lips moved down her jaw, marking the column of her throat. He bowed, pushing up her breasts for his lips.

The pleasure of feeling that pert flesh sucked into a warm mouth - Charlie arched into it, greedy for more, certain the entire floor could hear the cry she’d made. It was… it was absolutely thrilling: the rapid flicks of his tongue, the teeth, the sounds of slurping when he left one breast to suckle the other.

Somehow gravity disappeared and her back bounced on the mattress, the huge male already crawling over her body. His coat was off, his hands tugging at her gown, yanking, pulling, doing anything to reveal more creamy skin. Satin pooled and a hand began to search under the skirt, slipping right up the soft inside of her thighs.

Charlie looked almost pained, her lips parted, little gasps of breath sucked in each time he unsnapped an exposed garter. Enthralled by the effect his touch was having on the woman, his cock throbbed, blood pounding so hard it hurt. He needed to be inside her, to thrust as hard and fast as it was clear she needed. When her legs parted, his hand immediately cupped right over her heated sex.

“God,” Charlie’s hips rolled, the action absolutely instinctive.

Her intoxicating moans were ruined by the bang of several staccato knocks.

Tensing, Charlie found Matthew rigid, the man glaring at the door with an expression of outright temper.

“Room service,” a chipper voice announced. “Champagne, compliments of the house.”

Charlie looked across the room and found the aforementioned bottle of champagne already in place. Half naked, with a snarling man on top of her, Charlie tried to manage a friendly voice. “No thank you. Tell the night manager, Mr. Wolfe, I am all set.”

“Mr. Wolfe sent this up personal, ma’am,” the muffled voice persisted. “If I take it back, he won’t think I did my job,”

Only an idiot would plan a hit in a hotel and not at least try to learn the names of the key staff members. Rolling her eyes, Charlie let out a grumble, bitter when Matthew shifted away.

The bristling male began rolling up his shirtsleeves. The tick in his jaw, the blaze in those pale eyes, made it clear whoever was on the other side of that door was in for a world of hurt.

“Run along now,” Charlie warned, the friendliness of her voice diminishing with the ruined mood. “It ain’t seemly to pester a woman so late in the evening.”

The very nature of the intruder’s speech shifted to menace. “Open the door.”

Matthew did just that.

By the time Charlie pulled up her dress, grabbed her rifle, and scrambled after him, her would-be assailant was already bleeding on the ground.

“Well I’ll be damned, Matthew,” Charlie looked over the goon’s shattered nose. “That was one hell of a swing.”

“You come here to harm this woman?” Matthew seemed to grow, standing between her and the thug, waves of provocation pouring off the man so violently the goon tried to crawl away.

“That he did,” Charlie supplied the answer. “Mr. Whittaker here works for Bugs Moran.” The barrel of her rifle pointed right at his skull. “Don’t you?”

“I wasn’t told to kill her, just…”

“Show me a good time?” Charlie spoke low, the grainy rasp furious. Barrel to his brain, the weight of her foot settled between the man’s legs, slowly crushing his balls. “Send a little message to Radcliffe?”

Caught between a squeal and gag, Whittaker tried to deny it, to say anything to get her to stop pulverizing his jock.

A long, angry growl echoed straight from Matthew’s chest. “Charlotte, step back into the room.”

“I can’t do that, Matthew. As much as I would personally like to assure this piece of shit has to sit to piss for the rest of his short life, we have to hand him over to Radcliffe. This isn’t Monroe. The rules are different here, and I won’t see you get caught up in Chicago’s filth.”

Without waiting for a reply, the butt of her rifle cracked against the pleading goon’s forehead hard enough he wouldn’t be waking any time soon.

The elevator dinged.

“You alright, Lottie?”

Glaring as Tommy and one of Beaumont’s burly underlings strolled into the hall, Charlie snapped, “Of course I’m alright.

Scowling something fierce, Matthew took her arm, putting himself between her and the pretty boy gangster. “You knew this man was coming tonight, that Charlotte would be in danger.”

It was not a question.

Coolly, Tommy motioned for his underling to lift the body. “Beaumont told her not to open her door.”

Matthew took a step nearer, one big finger poking Tommy right in the chest. “Now I don’t know how you men do things in Chicago. But endangering a woman where I come from is only done by raw cowards.” His beefy finger pushed harder, forcing Tommy to take a small step back. “And here you are sauntering up like a goddamn hero bout five minutes too late. She could have been hurt. That man there,” Matthew gestured to the crumpled body hanging from the burly goon’s shoulder, “had plans for her.”

“If he’d made it inside, she would have shot him.” The flashy gangster smirked, even gave Charlie a wink. “Blackbird never misses.”

“Oh?” Matthew mocked, his voice smooth as he tore down the man. “And you’d just let her do your dirty work for you, huh?” Taking Charlotte by the elbow, he ushered her through the door of her room, glaring at the gangster while he ordered, “Get that son of a bitch out of here and tell Beaumont Radcliffe, Matthew Emerson sends his regards.” Matthew slammed the door behind him, locking it.

Charlotte stood at the center of the room, her rifle hanging from one hand, staring dumbly.

No man had ever stood up for her, made her sound like something to be protected. Part of her was pleased, feeling cared for. Part of her was furious he thought she needed his help. Tommy was right. She could have handled Whittaker alone, no problem. But Matthew was also correct.

She should never have had to.

Stepping towards her, looking ten kinds of pissed off, Matthew took the rifle from her slack fingers and set it aside.

“You ever been hit so hard the world spins and for a few moments you have no idea what the hell is going on?” Charlie asked. “That’s how I feel right now.”

His voice was angry. “Beaumont’s men shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

“I used to be one of Beaumont’s men, Matthew. They don’t look at me the way you do.” Once she said it, her color rose, implying he might look at her… in a special way. Stammering she added, “I mean…”

“Hush now.” He moved to stand before her, looking down at her flush. “I’m gonna stay with you tonight. I’ll sleep in the chair and keep an eye out.”

Her mind clicked back. “Matthew Emerson, I don’t even know where to begin… Where did you find lodgings?”

“Fleet street, Wayside Inn.”

“You lookin to get your throat cut?” Charlie smiled and shook her head. “Matthew, that place is in the middle of one of the worst neighborhoods in the city. You better stay here for both our sakes. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt on some foolhardy mission to look after me.”

“You need lookin after,” he argued, sitting down in the chair.

“Not as much as you do.” Her voice and eyes grew soft to see him pick up her rifle and set it on his knee. “Looks like someone needs to take care of you for once.”

He leveled her with such a look Charlie wondered if the only thing keeping him from throwing her back on the bed was the off chance there might be another dangerous knock on the door. Almost tempted to just grab him herself, she ran her fingers once through his short cropped hair, leaning down to press a grateful kiss to his beautiful mouth.

He swallowed when she pulled back. “You best not be doing that, Charlotte.”

“Why?” it was whispered, her sweet breath running across his lips.

Shifting his weight, feeling his pecker once again straining to be free of his britches, Matthew steeled himself. “Dressed like that, smellin like you do… You’re making it difficult.”

“Was that a compliment, Matthew?” It was shyly asked, more pink already creeping into her cheeks.

He swallowed thickly and just said it. “You look more beautiful tonight than any woman has a right to.”

Charlie could not bring herself to meet his eyes, found her fingers fiddling with his crooked tie. “Now that was a compliment if I ever did hear one.”

There was nothing more to say, Charlie tongue-tied by a strange fluttering elation. Unsure what to do with herself, she skirted towards the tray of refreshments the ass-kissing night manager had left waiting.

Innocently, she offered, “You want something sweet?”

More than he could possibly say.