***
Sean tracked the woman as she went by him, very aware of her smooth, gliding stride. Tall and lean, she was wearing an old pair of blue jeans and a four-sizes-too-big Red Sox T-shirt he was willing to bet she’d be sleeping in later. Her shoulder-length blond hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense way and the ends were damp as if she’d just showered. She smelled of Ivory soap.
Which he liked.
“Lizzie it is, then,” he said as he closed the door. “And you can call me Sean, of course.”
As he spoke, he realized his Southie accent had resurfaced and it was strange to hear the speech pattern of his childhood back in his words again. During his years at Harvard, he’d assiduously tamed the telltaler s and learned a different, less regional way of talking.
Less regional. Ha. Try more upper-class.
Lizzie stopped in the middle of the room, her pale green stare going over everything as if she were inspecting the place. She had smart eyes, he thought.
“So you’re a nurse?” he said.
“I am, but I wasn’t treating your father. I was a friend of his.”
Had he heard that right? “A friend.”
“Yes. I’ve lived downstairs for the past two years so we got to know each other. He was lonely.”
“Was he.”
“Very.” As she nodded, she ran her hand over the back of the Barcalounger. “We had dinner together a lot.”
For some reason, the sight of her touching his father’s chair creeped him out.
“Well, then, I guess you know the way to the kitchen.” Sean reached into his duffel for some jeans. “You mind if I don’t put on a shirt? Damn hot up here.”
He was surprised when she blushed. “Oh…no. I mean, yes, that’s fine.”
As she headed out of the room, he pulled on his pants and thought of his father.
Lonely. Yeah, right. Not with this tenant around. Eddie O’Banyon had been a loner by nature, but it was funny how a pretty young woman could get a man to feeling sociable.
And she’d obviously spent a lot of time up here. Not only did she know where the kitchen was, but along the way, she shifted the edge of a cheap picture that had tilted off center and straightened a pile of mail. He had the feeling she was the reason the place was so clean.
While Sean worked his way up his button fly, he was willing to bet she was also the reason his father had gotten off the booze, too. Nothing like love or some serious attraction to the opposite sex to turn a guy around. At least temporarily.
Except what had she seen in him?
Sean cursed under his breath. Like he had to even ask that? On impulse, he removed his gold watch and tucked it into his duffel. If she’d been attracted to what little cash his father had had, there was no reason for her to know he was swimming in the stuff.
As he went into the kitchen, he wondered if she knew who he was. He figured chances were fifty/fifty. His face had been in the newspapers often enough, but it was the kind of thing that, unless you were into the world of high finance, you’d probably overlook. Although maybe his father had mentioned something.
Not that Eddie had known much.
“So cop a seat and I’ll cook for you,” Sean said, nodding to the table in the center of the room. “All I got are eggs and bacon, but the good thing is that’s hard to screw up.”
“Sounds perfect.”
He went to where the frying pan had always been kept and what do you know, the thing was still there. “Scrambled okay?”
“Fine.”
As he got the bacon going and grabbed the eggs out of the fridge, he kept his tone casual. “So you knew my old man well, huh?”
“He was very kind to me.”
I’ll bet.“You lived here two years, you said?”
“Since I got out of nursing school. I wasn’t around much as I work at a clinic in Roxbury and I moonlight at BMC a lot, but we spent some time together.” A sad smile lifted her mouth. “Your father always said I worked too hard.”
Did he? What a prince.“And you took care of this place, too, didn’t you? I mean, it’s pretty obvious. He never was into housekeeping when I knew him.”
“Well, at first he wouldn’t let me. But after a while, he needed help.” She cleared her throat. “When was the last time you saw him? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“A while. He told you not to call me until it was over, right?”
As she stayed quiet, he cracked eggs into a bowl and started to beat them with a fork. The choppy, liquid sound cut through her silence.
He looked over his shoulder. “Didn’t he?”
“Yes. It felt wrong not to, but I respected his wishes.”
When her green eyes lifted to his, he stopped dead.
Check out that stare, he thought. So compassionate. So…kind.
As he looked at her face, something popped in his chest, like a lid being released. And what came out of his inner soda can was a yearning that unsettled him. He literally wanted to dive right into those warm eyes of hers.
“I think the bacon is burning,” she said.
He cursed and got back with the program. As he transferred the strips onto a paper towel–covered plate, he asked, “So where are you from?”
“The north shore. Essex. My mother is still up there.” Lizzie laughed a little. “I was hoping to introduce your father to her. Maybe they could have been friends. But your father liked to keep to himself.”
Or maybe keep Lizzie to himself? “You got a husband or a boyfriend there, Lizzie?”
As she blushed again, he became absorbed in the pink tint on her face. To the point that when she dipped her head, he found himself leaning to the side so he could keep measuring her cheeks.
Man, the women he knew in Manhattan did not blush and he realized he liked it. Or hell, maybe he just liked this particular woman turning red.
“Lizzie? Was my question too personal?”
“Not at all. I don’t have a husband. Or boyfriend. Too busy.”
Good, he thought. Then frowned.
Wait a minute. Not good . Doesn’t matter. None of his business.
Besides, maybe she’d been saving herself for his father . God, what a cringer that was.
“What about you?” she asked. “Are you married?”
“Nope. Not my thing.”
“Why not?”
Well, there were a whole bunch of why nots. The first of which was prenups could be broken and he had no intention of someone in stilettos walking off with his hard-earned cash. More than that, though, you had to trust your wife wouldn’t play you. And he’d long ago lost the illusion that faith in lovers or business associates could be justified.
Hell, maybe he’d never had it. His two brothers were really the only people on the planet he believed in.
“No particular reason,” he said, dumping the eggs into the pan. As a hiss rose up from the hot iron, he tacked on, “Other than I’m a loner.”
She smiled. “Like your father.”
He whipped his head around. “I am nothing like my father.”
As she recoiled, he didn’t apologize. Some things needed to be stated clearly and he was not like that abusive, drunken bastard on any level.
“You like a lot of pepper in your eggs?” he said to fill up the silence.
***
Chapter Three
Sean O’Banyon might be a little touchy about his father, but he made a very good breakfast, Lizzie thought, as she put her fork on her clean plate and eased back in the chair.
Wiping her mouth on a paper towel, she glanced across the table. Sean was still eating, but then again he had twice the food she’d taken to get through. And he was slow and meticulous with his meal, which surprised her. He seemed like the kind of tough guy who wouldn’t bother with good table manners. But his were beautiful.
And…boy, yeah, the way he ate wasn’t the only beautiful thing about him. That chest of his was sinfully good to look at. So were his thick eyelashes. And his mouth—