by J. R. Ward
As Sean heard the shower come on, he imagined what she looked like, taking off her scrubs, stepping under the warm water, soaping up her body. He leaned his head back against the jamb and stared at the ceiling.
Wanting a specific woman was a new experience, but it was very clear that he had a case of the desperates for Lizzie. His blood was running red-hot again and the only thing that was going to put out the fire was her.
His BlackBerry went off, which was a relief. With any luck, he’d get sufficiently distracted so that what was doing behind his fly wouldn’t show by the time Lizzie came back out.
After checking caller ID, he put his phone to his ear. “Mick, what’s the news?”
“Congratulations, buddy, you did it. The Condi-Foods board signed off on the deal. You’re going to get the formal call in about ten minutes. Holy hell, biggest transaction on the books this year and it’s all you.”
Sean heard the shower turn off. “That’s great news, my man.”
Mick laughed. “You’re always so tight about these things. Most guys I know would be hopping around the room and breaking out the Cohibas.”
“Lot of work to get to the finish line even with the board’s approval.” As doors were open and shut down the hall, he imagined Lizzie walking around in a towel. “It’s not over yet.”
“We need to celebrate anyway. How long are you going to be up there in Beantown?”
“I’ll come back on Sunday night.”
“Your father’s place almost boxed up?”
“Haven’t started yet.”
There was a pause. “So what’s been going on in Boston?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re spending a lot of time there for someone who still has packing to do.”
Lizzie’s voice carried down the hall. “Almost ready, Sean.”
“Who’s that?” Mick demanded.
“I’ve got to go, buddy.”
“The hell you do. You seeing someone up there?”
“Ah…kind of.” Assuming she’d have him.
The laugh that came across the line was a low, very masculine gotcha. And it took Sean back to a similar conversation he once had with a friend. Yeah, except back then with Gray Bennett, his buddy had been the one falling for a woman. And Sean had been the guy laughing.
Guess this was payback.
“So who is she, SOB?”
“You don’t know her.”
“Then you need to bring her to New York. I want to meet the woman who’s gotten you to travel to her.”
Lizzie walked in, dressed in a fresh pair of scrubs. “I’m ready—oh, sorry.”
As she made like she was going to duck out of the room, he shook his head to stop her. “Look, I’ve got to go, Mick. I’ll call you later.” As he hung up without waiting for a response, an odd sinking sensation washed over him. Would she ever come to New York? he wondered. “So where we headed?”
“Boston Medical Center.” She frowned and tilted her head to one side. “Hey, your right eye is twitching. Are you okay?”
He rubbed at the thing, annoyed by the way it was making his vision flicker. “Yeah, just fine. Actually, I got some great news from work.”
“Good.” Her stare surveyed him in what suddenly seemed like a professional manner.
He brought his hand up again and tried to get his eyelid to quit the disco routine.
“Sean, when was the last time you slept for more than a few hours?”
He had to smile. “Probably back when I was in college. That was basically the only time I slept well. But it’s no big—”
Sean stopped breathing and blinked hard. Then scrubbed both his eyes. As he looked at Lizzie, half of her was gone, dissolved in a shimmering halo.
“Crap.”
“Sean?”
“I’m having a migraine.”
“Have you gotten them before?”
“Once or twice.”
“Do you have medication?”
“No, because they don’t come frequently enough. I think you’d better call a taxi because I can’t drive right now. Oh, man…This is going to be a big one.”
* * *
When Lizzie got home at 4:00 a.m., she opened the door to her apartment quietly and snuck in. The place was dead dark and dead silent.
Carefully putting her keys and purse on a table, she kicked off her shoes and padded down the hall. She put her head through her bedroom door and was disappointed when she saw through the dimness that her bed was empty.
Before she’d left for work, she’d pushed Sean between her sheets and closed the blinds and the curtains and told him to stay put. Clearly, though, he’d gone upstairs at some point.
Which meant she was going to go check on him. She wanted to see how he was doing and give him some of the over-the-counter medicine she’d picked up at the hospital.
Before she went up, she headed for the bathroom and flipped on the overhead—
Lizzie froze.
Sean was on the tile, curled up next to her toilet, having obviously spent some time throwing up. Had he passed out? she thought with panic.
A moan came up from the floor. “Lights off. Please.”
She quickly hit the switch, and as blackness returned, he let out a ragged breath.
Kneeling by him, she whispered, “I have something for you to take if you’d like. Excedrin Migraine. It works very well or so I’ve heard.”
His voice was reedy, nothing like the deep bass she was used to. “Don’t think I could hold anything down.”
“You want to go back to the bed?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you need to go to the ER?”
“No.”
She left and came back with a pillow and a blanket. Then she did the kindest thing she could for him: she left him alone.
After using the hall bath, she got into bed and stared at the ceiling. Stress was a classic trigger for migraines and she was willing to bet his father’s death coupled with whatever news had come from New York, even though it had been positive, had been what did it. All that travel couldn’t have helped, either.
She thought of him lying in a ball on the floor. It was difficult to imagine someone as powerful as him being so fragile, but that was illness for you. As a nurse, she’d seen it so many times. Pain was the great equalizer, capable of stripping the crowns from kings.
She hated that Sean was hurting. And wished there was more she could do for him. Poor man…
She must have fallen asleep because sometime later the mattress wiggled. “Sean? How are you feeling?”
“Bad. Stomach has settled down though.”
“Can I give you the meds?”
“Yeah.”
She got the bottle, gave him two white pills with some water, and then lay back down beside him. As she turned to him, his hand came fishing through the sheets and the blankets and found hers. When he squeezed, she squeezed back.
“I’m right here if you need me,” she said softly.
“Thanks.” There was a stretch of silence. “I think I need you.”
“You want something to eat? Drink?”
“No. I just…think I need you.” He exhaled and fell silent.
She looked at the ceiling…and against her better judgment, beamed in the dark.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Could you please call my brother?”
It was late the next morning and Lizzie was standing over her bed, hands on her hips, clinical eye on Sean.
She ignored his request. “Have you ever had one that’s lasted this long?”
“Yeah. It’s been a decade, but yeah.”
Boy, Sean was the color of kindergarten paste…except for the smudges of black under his eyes. His brows were cranked together, his breathing shallow. His big body was so still, it was obvious the slightest movement caused the headache to get worse. Still, he didn’t seem to be in any medical danger. He was just miserable.
“So can you call Billy for me?” he asked. “I’m go
ing nowhere this afternoon. He’ll also know how to get hold of Mick.”
“How do I get in touch with your brother?”
“I’ll give you his number.”
She memorized the digits as he recited them. “You want anything?”
He managed to say the word no without moving his lips at all. Then tacked on, “Wait, my duffel bag from the car would be great. Has my toothbrush in it.”
“Be right back.”
After she got the bag and put it just inside her room, she shut the door and headed for the phone in the living room. While dialing his brother’s number, she held her breath. She’d never spoken to a pro football player before.
The voice that answered was a low drawl. “Yeah?”
“Is this Billy O’Banyon?”
“Depends. Who are you and how did you get this number?”
Whoa. Evidently, linebackers had nice voices. “Assuming you are him, your brother Sean gave it to me.”
There was a pause. Then the voice got sharp. “Is he okay?”
“He has a migraine. Bad one. He asked me to tell you that he won’t be able to come to the game today.”
“Oh, hell. Considering all that’s been going on, I should have known one was coming. Where is he?”
“At your house.”
“My house? Which one?” As if he had so many he couldn’t keep track.
“Um…your father’s house, I guess. In South Boston.”
The man’s tone turned incredulous. “He’s still staying there? ”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Wow.” There was another pause. “Tell him I’ll stop over after the game.”
“I’ll pass on the message. Oh, and he wanted you to call Mick and let him know what’s going on.”
“Yeah, okay. Wait, who are you?”
“I live in the apartment below. I’m kind of taking care of him. My name’s Lizzie Bond.”
“Well, I appreciate your making the effort, especially because I’ll bet you’ve got to tie him down to keep him still. That brother of mine never slows up.”
“Well, he’s slowed up now. Has been since last night.”
“Poor bastard. How bad is he?”
“You can see for yourself. When you come by, just knock on the downstairs door. I’ll be here, and considering how he’s faring, so will he.”
“I’ll do that. And thanks again for watching over him.”
As she hung up, she heard a noise from the bedroom and went down the hall. Sean was writhing on the bed, his big body twisting in the sheets, his brows drawn tight. He made a noise deep in his throat, a kind of strangled protest, then shook his head back and forth on the pillow.
She went over and touched his shoulder. “Sean?”
He woke up on a full recoil, his hands shielding his face as if he were about to be struck. In a voice that didn’t sound like his at all, he said, “Please…no.”
They’d done this before. The night of the storm.
“Sean?” she said gently, though she was thoroughly creeped out and worried about him. “Wake up. You’re just dreaming.”
“Mac?”
She frowned. “No, it’s me. Lizzie.”
He blinked a number of times, then sank back down into the pillows and closed his eyes. “Lizzie? Oh…yeah…yeah, I know. Sorry.”
She stayed over the bed, the sound of his voice ringing in her mind. Mac was his other brother, right? And what had he been so afraid of? She had a feeling the dream was a repeater.
“Sean?” When he made an affirming noise, she said, “I’m going to go out for a little while, if you’re okay?”
“I should probably leave, too. Not fair. Take up all your space.” He started to push himself up, moving slowly as if he had an unbalanced load on his neck. Or maybe a ticking bomb.
“No, Sean. I want you to stay.” The way he collapsed back down told her just how weak he was. “Listen, I have my cell with me and I’ve left the number by the phone, okay?”
“Don’t want you to have to nurse me. ’Nough of that on your day job.”
“I don’t mind at all.” She truly didn’t. Although she was sorry he felt bad, she was glad he was in her bed, his hair dark against her pillows, his heavy shoulders filling out her blankets and covers. In her room, between her sheets, he was safe and she could care for him and he would be far more comfortable than upstairs on that couch he insisted on using.
“Thank you,” he said in a garbled voice. “Once again.”
Before she left, she had a consuming urge to kiss him on the forehead, but she resisted. “I’ll be back.”
She went out the front door a couple of minutes later and walked the long distance to the nearest T-stop. In the back pocket of her jeans was a list of open houses for apartments in Southie, Charlestown and Cambridge. She figured it was going to take a while to see them all.
She was right. And the prospects were bleak.
After three hours of hoofing it up and down stairs and taking the T around, she had a sense of what she could afford and it was not a lot. Prices had skyrocketed in the two years since she’d last been looking, and for what she was paying now, her only options were cramped studios in buildings that were kind of run down. Her only other choice was to look even farther out of Boston proper, to Watertown, for instance, but then getting to work would be more of a hassle.
On her way back home on the T, she called the service station and had to curse to herself. Her car was going to need a thousand dollars’ worth of work. Evidently, it wasn’t just the starter this time.
As the T trundled along and sank underground, she looked out and saw nothing but a rhythmic pattern of tunnel lights, some of which had burned out.
She really needed one of those job applications to come through. Fast.
* * *
For Sean, the migraine’s pain started to recede about 250 years after it had started. Or maybe it was twentyfive minutes. Hard to tell. Time had warped, becoming like cloth that was bunched up and wrinkled. Maybe if he made an effort he could smooth it out and count the hours. But he really didn’t care that much.
He rolled over onto his side and cracked an eyelid.
He was still in Lizzie’s bed. Hell, he’d taken it over, lying in the middle as if he owned the damn thing. Man, bad enough to have been sick in front of her, but to have all but kicked her out of her own room? That was just awful.
He gingerly pushed himself onto his elbows and gave his head a moment to adjust to the altitude. Then he looked at the clock. It said nine and he was pretty sure that was nine at night. Yeah…no slits of sunlight through the drapes. Definitely nighttime.
He moved himself to the side of the bed slowly, feeling as if there were an anvil on the left side of his head. Still, the dull pain was a big improvement over the ax blade that had been there before.
As his feet hit the floor, he thought, okay, he could handle upright. And it was time to plug back into the real world. He needed to call Mick and get a status report on Condi-Foods. Had to check in with his office—
Whoa. The mere thought of doing either of those things brought the ax back. As his head started to pound again, he thought maybe he and his BlackBerry would stay estranged for a little longer.
Throwing the thoughts of work out the window, he concentrated on getting to the bedroom door in one piece. When that mission was accomplished, he opened the thing and followed the muted tapping of computer keys out to the living room.
“Hi.”
Lizzie twisted around in the armchair by the window. “Hello!”
“I think I’m back in the land of the living.”
“So you are. How’s the head?”
“Still attached. Not real clear on whether that’s a good thing, but at least I’m vertical.”
“Good. Would you like something to eat?”
“I was thinking I’d get out of your hair, actually.”
“Oh. Well, you weren’t really in it. You’ve been a very quiet patient.”
“Don’t worry about that. Besides, you look like you’re about to fall over.”
“I’m okay. Can’t wait to have a shower though.”
“Take one here if you want.”
“No, thanks. I’ve intruded enough.” With his energy already flagging, he glanced at the front door and wondered how he was going to make it to the second floor. But that wasn’t what was really on his mind. “Ah hell, Lizzie, I’ve ruined your weekend.”
“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t have done anything differently.” She nodded at the computer. “Right now I’m all about the job search.”
“Find anything?”
She shrugged. “A few. By the way, your brother said he was coming by, but I don’t know how late.”
Sean stopped breathing. “Here? He’s coming here?”
“Yes.” Lizzie frowned. “Is that bad? He’s worried about you.”
“No. It’s just—” Sean cut himself off, thinking that if Billy was coming over, he didn’t want his brother going upstairs. “You know what? I think I will shower down here, if you don’t mind. And if he comes, would you feel comfortable just letting him in? He’s a good guy. He only looks like a thug.”
“Of course. Wait, what exactly does he look like? I don’t watch football on TV.”
“He’s six-five, about 260 pounds. His hair’s blond like my mother’s was and he’s got a jaw like a slab of rock.”
“Sounds handsome.”
In a flash, a good old-fashioned shot of jealous-for-no-damned-good-reason went through Sean’s chest. Handsome?
“Ah, yeah, I guess he is,” Sean muttered. Actually, his brother was a total looker and women always loved the guy. The bastard.
“Well, I’ll watch out for him.”
Sean nodded and headed for the bathroom, hoping to get in and out of it fast. And not just because he didn’t want to keep his little brother waiting.
There was no reason to have Billy working out his charm on Lizzie.
* * *
Within moments of the shower starting, Lizzie heard the house’s front doorbell ring.
She got up and went to the blinds. Whoa… There was a Greek god out on the porch: Billy O’Banyon just about defined jock handsome in his blue jeans and his white muscle shirt and his blond hair.
