by J. R. Ward
Of course he’d felt guilty as hell. Strange that palming booze from convenience stores had never bothered his conscience, but he’d felt that the taking of the books had been wrong. So as soon as he’d earned enough from his campus job at Harvard, he’d sent the high school three hundred seventy-five dollars in cash with an anonymous note explaining what it was for.
But he’d needed to have the books. He’d needed to know they were still with him as he went off to Harvard. On some irrational level, he’d feared if he didn’t keep them, everything he’d learned from them would disappear, and he’d been terrified about going to Crimson and looking stupid.
Yeah, terrified was the right word. He could clearly recall the day he’d left to go to college…could remember every detail about getting on the T that late August afternoon and heading over the Charles River to Harvard. Unlike a lot of the other guys in his class, who’d come with trunks of clothes and fancy stereos and TVs and refrigerators—and BMWs for God’s sake—he’d had nothing but a beat-up suitcase and a duffel bag with a broken strap.
He’d gone alone because he hadn’t wanted his father to take him, not that Eddie had offered. And as he’d been forced to go on foot, he’d had to leave his books behind. There had been no question that he was coming back for them, though. He’d returned home that weekend to get the backpack…except his father had said he’d thrown it out.
That had been the last time Sean had been home. Until three nights ago.
A knock brought his head up. Getting to his feet, he walked down the hall to the living room, opened the door and—oh, man—looked into the very pair of green eyes that had been in the back of his mind over the past few days.
Lizzie Bond was dressed in a little white T-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. Her hair was down on her shoulders, all naturally streaked with blond and brown, and there wasn’t a lick of makeup on her pretty face.
She looked fantastic.
“Hi,” he said with a slow smile.
In characteristic fashion she flushed. “Hi. I’m…ah, I’m sorry to bother you.” She held out a clear plastic bag full of clothes. “I meant to give this to you before. They’re your father’s things.”
He didn’t want whatever was in there, but he took the thing anyway. “Thanks.”
She glanced around his shoulder at the stack of collapsed U-Haul boxes. “So you’re starting the packing.”
“No reason to wait.” He stepped back and motioned her in. “Listen, if you want any of the stuff around here, you know, the furniture or anything, it’s yours.”
“Won’t you want to keep some?”
“My place is furnished.” Sean shut the door to keep the air-conditioning from leaking down the stairwell. And also because he wanted her to stay for a little longer. “So is my brother’s.”
Her brows shot up. “You have a brother?”
“He didn’t mention that?”
“No, he only told me to call you.”
Well, hadn’t he won the lottery. “There are three of us, actually. Billy, Mac and me. I’m in the middle. Billy’s the youngest.”
“Oh.” She tucked some hair behind her ear, something he had a feeling she did when she felt awkward. “I had no idea. Where are the other two?”
“Here and there.” Or in the case of Mac, God only knew where. Matter of fact, he still hadn’t returned Sean’s call. “Seriously, Lizzie, check out the furniture, tell me what you want and I’ll help you move it downstairs. Except for the couch, at least for the time being. I’m going to be sleeping on it until I’m through here.”
She gave him an odd look, as if she was thinking there were plenty of beds in the place and was wondering why he didn’t use them. But she didn’t make any comment, just walked around the living room then headed for the kitchen.
As she wandered around assessing furniture, he found himself wishing he could take the offer back. For some reason, he didn’t want this stuff in her home…as if what had taken place here could contaminate where she lived. Which was ridiculous. Domestic abuse wasn’t a virus. And sure as hell if it was, you couldn’t pick it up from a ratty Barcalounger.
When she went into his and Billy’s bedroom, Sean followed, his eyes locking on the sway of her hips as she walked. He let his gaze wander up her spine to her shoulders and her neck. With a flash of inspiration, he wanted to pull her up against him, draw his fingers in deep through her hair, tilt her head back—
“Look at the books!” She crouched down. “These are from high school, right? Were they yours?”
Sean quickly knelt and started stuffing the things into the pack. “They’re nothing. Nothing special.”
She sat back and he knew she was watching his frantic hands, but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d always had to protect his books and evidently the compulsion hadn’t lessened with age. When they were all safely zipped in the bag, he hefted them back onto the shelf in the closet and shut the door.
“So the furniture?” he prompted with an edge. “You want any?”
She got up slowly. “I think not. Thank you.”
As she turned away, he knew she was hightailing it for the exit and he didn’t blame her. Goddamn it, he’d all but bitten her head off.
“Lizzie?”
She paused in the bedroom doorway, but didn’t look at him. “Yes?”
“If I promise to be more polite, would you like to go out for some dinner?”
When her head swiveled around, her eyes were grave. “You don’t like it here, do you?”
For some stupid reason, he found himself shaking his head. “I’d rather be just about anywhere else in the world.”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
The lie was no doubt painfully apparent, yet he was sticking with it. Some things you never shared. Not because you were weak, but because you were strong.
* * *
Lizzie stared at Sean and idly thought he looked better than any man should. The black T-shirt and low-hanging jeans were just too attractive. And the fact that he was barefoot was really sexy. Even his feet were nice.
In the silence between them, she was reminded keenly of his father. No matter what Sean said, he and Mr. O’Banyon were a lot alike. Very private. Very closed.
Though she had known Mr. O’Banyon for quite a while, there had been so many things the man had hidden, just as Sean was doing now. And the two of them did it the same way. Their faces just walled up tight, their eyes going blank, their mouths drawing into a line.
“So what do you think?” Sean prompted. “Dinner?”
The thing was, the shutdown happened fast. Literally in a moment, they were gone and you were talking to a two-dimensional likeness of who they really were.
It made her want to dig to find out what had happened in this apartment, what had caused a father and son to split so irrevocably.
Son? Sons, she corrected herself. She couldn’t believe Mr. O’Banyon hadn’t mentioned he had multiple children.
“I’ll get my purse,” she said, heading for the living room.
“How about Little Italy?” Sean said as he followed.
“Sounds like heaven.”
She waited as he shoved his feet into a pair of Nikes, grabbed keys from the table next to the couch and slipped a black wallet into his back pocket.
After a quick stop by her place, they got into his rental. As they pulled away from the curb, she noticed that the tension in his face had eased up considerably and she had a feeling it was because they were leaving.
“Sean?”
“Yeah?”
“About the furniture upstairs? Come to think of it, I could really use that kitchen table and those chairs.”
“No problem. When we get back, I’ll hump them down to your place.”
“That would be great.”
She and Mr. O’Banyon had never sat in the kitchen during their Sunday dinners so she didn’t have any deep associations with the little dining set. And she needed one. She was tired of e
ating either standing up in the kitchen with her butt against the counter or off her lap on her couch.
And maybe there was a little part of her that wanted to keep something of Mr. O’Banyon’s. As she’d looked at all those boxes Sean was going to use, she’d felt an odd fear…as if her friend were truly disappearing even though he was already gone.
A half hour later she and Sean were standing in line outside Bastianelli’s. The restaurant was a Little Italy favorite, barely bigger than a closet with the best Italian food in town. Part of the tradition of eating there was the long line and she always enjoyed the forced slowdown. With nothing to do but inch forward toward the glossy black and brass door, Lizzie found herself calming out and forgetting about the fact that a dear friend had died and she’d lost one of her jobs and her mother was the Imelda Marcos of art supplies.
As the sun set, the heat rolling over the city eased up and a gentle breeze suffused with the scents of oregano and garlic wafted by. The patter of talk from other people in line was like soft, indistinct music, more rhythm than words.
Lizzie lifted her face to the gloaming sky and took a deep breath. When she felt something touch her neck, she jumped.
Sean’s hand hesitated then brushed behind her ear. “Loose strand of hair.”
In slow motion, his fingers drifted over to the other side of her face and did the same thing. “And another one.”
Abruptly, she couldn’t breathe at all. Which was fine. Looking up into his hazel eyes, she didn’t need air to live.
His thumb passed over her cheek and his voice dropped an octave, becoming nothing more than a deep rumble in that muscled chest of his. “You’ve got bruises under your eyes from lack of sleep. What’s got you so tired there, Lizzie?”
She blinked. Then wanted to wince because obviously he thought she looked like hell. “Just have a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?” he said in a lazy drawl.
Oh, God…where to go with that one? Because the truth was that she’d stayed awake thinking of him. “I’m out of work,” she blurted.
All at once, his voice shifted back to its normal bass and he dropped his hand. “What happened?”
Way to ruin a moment, Lizzie.
She cleared her throat. “Well, the health clinic in Roxbury where I work is losing state funding so they have to reduce staff. We’re just a small community center and we don’t—they… don’t have enough resources to afford my position anymore.”
His brows came together. “This because of the new budget?”
“Yes. Tax dollars are tight and I can understand that. But the state has to support facilities like ours. I mean…theirs.” She exhaled in a rush. “It’s a social imperative.”
As they moved forward again, she realized there was one more couple and then they’d be in the door and at a table.
She looked through the restaurant’s window at the people who were eating inside and murmured, “I’m going to miss working at the clinic so much. The patients are wonderful and I’ve really gotten to know the community. But I’m going to volunteer there or at least try to.”
“How long do you have until you’re out?”
“Next Friday. But I’m sure I’ll find more work. Nurses are always needed in Boston. Besides, I still have my moonlighting. I’ll be fine.” When there was a silence, she glanced over at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“As if you’re measuring me.”
Sean’s lids dropped and a slow, very masculine smile appeared on his face. “Well, you’re kind of measurable, Lizzie Bond.”
Whoa.
Flustered, she said, “It’s hot out here.”
“Yeah, it is.”
And didn’t that drawl of his just make it hotter?
Abruptly, he laughed. “You are a blusher.”
“Not usually.”
“Well, then I appreciate your making the effort on my behalf. It suits you.”
Oh…hell. She had to smile at him. Just couldn’t resist looking up into those deep-set hazel eyes and grinning like a fool.
The door to Bastianelli’s opened and a little man with a mustache and a big belly motioned them in with a broad smile. As they stepped into the restaurant, Sean put his hand on the small of her back and she found herself inching closer to his body.
And not because the place was crowded.
As they made their way to the table, Sean leaned down to her ear, the spicy scent of his cologne enveloping her like a caress. “You’ve surprised me.”
“I have?” God, even though they were in a public place, she suddenly felt as though they were all alone. And she liked it.
His chest brushed up against her shoulder blades. “I didn’t know I liked women who blushed. Also didn’t know I liked Ivory soap so much.”
“How did you know I used…”
Her words dried up as his fingertip ran down the nape of her neck. “I can smell it on you.”
Okay, so now hot didn’t cover it. She was inside of a volcano.
The maître d’ stopped by a little table in the corner that had a red candle burning and two place settings on it. “For you! Mange bene!”
As she and Sean sat down, she fumbled with her napkin, aware that she was blushing a little. And that he was looking.
“So how do you feel about red?” he asked, flipping open the wine list.
“Perfect.” She was getting to know the color ever so much better with him around.
“Do you want to pick?”
“No, thanks.” She took a look at her menu and didn’t see a thing. Surely she wasn’t reading into things with him. He’d caressed her neck, for heaven’s sake. “I’ll trust your choice.”
“Lizzie?” When she glanced up, he smiled and said softly, “Just wanted to see the blush. That’s all.”
As her cheeks flamed even further, the waiter came over with some fantastic fresh bread and a plate of olive oil. After the specials were recited, Sean ordered a bottle of wine and they made their selections.
When they were alone, he offered the basket of bread to her. “You know…really, this candlelight suits you.”
It was right then that Lizzie knew for sure…she was on a date.
CHAPTER FIVE
An hour and a half later, Sean smiled to himself as he put his espresso back down on its little saucer. He couldn’t remember when he’d had a more enjoyable dinner with a woman. He and Lizzie had talked about books and movies and food and music.
And they didn’t agree on anything. Which was the fun part.
“I can’t believe you don’t like any of the Impressionists,” Lizzie said, shaking her head over her cannoli.
“Oh, please.” He smiled more widely. “Rorschach tests and finger painting do more for me.”
“So what kind of art do you like?”
He forked up a little more of his crème caramel. “Medieval. Definitely medieval.”
“Really?”
He laughed. “Why so surprised?”
“It’s not what I expected.”
“And what exactly would you expect? Edward Hopper? No, wait, LeRoy Neiman?”
She sipped some of her cappuccino. “Well, I, ah…I’m just surprised you care about art at all. Or know so much about it.” She rushed to qualify. “Not that I think you’re uncultured or anything. It’s just…”
He leaned back in his chair, feeling a little awkward for the first time. “Just that considering where I come from, men aren’t usually into that stuff?”
She winced. “That sounds bad doesn’t it? I don’t mean to offend you or generalize.”
“Nah, it’s okay. Beautiful things should be valued, so I like art. No big deal.”
The awkward feeling persisted. Thing was, he liked that she thought he was just another Joe from Southie, that she seemed to have no clue who he was. He’d been Sean O’Banyon, Big Shot Wall Street Money Man, for so long, it felt liberating to leave that identity behind.
And just be himself.
Except he was leaving a hell of a lot out and that didn’t sit well.
She took another bite of the cannoli and wiped her mouth. “You know a lot more about literature than I would have thought, too.”
“Always been a big reader.”
She smiled and he loved the curve of her cheeks in the candlelight. “So tell me, what do you do? I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
The waiter showed up at Sean’s elbow. “Another espresso? More cappuccino?”
“Not for me, thanks. Lizzie? No? Okay, the check would be great.”
The waiter left and Sean folded his napkin and put it on the table. God, how to answer her. This had been the best date he’d been on in…forever. All it had been was two people getting to know each other and he didn’t want to ruin it.
Especially because he didn’t know for a fact that she hadn’t been using his father for money.
Except, damn it, Lizzie just did not seem like that kind of woman.
Sean cursed in his head. Yeah, well, neither had the one who had taken him for such a ride way back when.
“My work?” He shrugged…and recalled the conversation he’d had with his team before he and Lizzie had gone out. Nothing but interest-rate analysis and speculation on whether the Fed was going to raise the rates in the next quarter. Dry. Very dry. “You know what, it’s not that interesting, I’m afraid.”
“Are you in construction?”
His brows shot up. “What makes you think that?”
As Lizzie turned bright pink again, he wanted to lean across their empty cups and kiss her. So much so, he planted his palms on the table and started to rise.
But come on. Trying to do that for the first time in public? Not smooth.
As he forced himself back into the chair, he knew he was going to end up putting a move on her at the end of the night. He knew it. It was probably a bad idea but she was so different…so natural…so real. A woman, not a social shark in a skirt.
