Hard Habit to Break (10 page)

“Not originally,” she replied, backing up until she felt the counter edge digging into her back. “I was born and raised in Muncie, Indiana.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said.”

“Muncie, Indiana,” she repeated in a near screech, then groaned in disgust at the high-pitched nervousness in her voice.

“Farm country all the way. Why didn’t you go back there after Chicago?”

With cautious steps she moved forward until she stood in the middle of the still darkened kitchen. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want my big brothers to cluck over me like a pack of mother hens.”

“Ah.”

She grinned wryly at his noncommittal remark. More than once she had cursed her fate of being the baby sister to three brothers. They had seen her as a little doll who would break at the slightest jarring, and she had never been able to convince them that she was as strong as they were. Their overprotectiveness would have been worse than ever if she’d gone back to Indiana after what had happened with Jonathan.

“Were you always from New York?” she asked, becoming curious about his background even though she knew she shouldn’t. Knowing more about Matt could mean more reasons to like him, and she was afraid to like him more than she already did.

“Always,” he answered. “Are you by any chance related to Tim O’Neal who plays left forward for the Pacers?”

Liz rolled her eyes heavenward at his astuteness. “Unfortunately that’s big brother number three. Big brother number two was a fullback at
Notre Dame, and big brother number one played football for Annapolis.”

The door suddenly swung open and Matt walked into the kitchen, stopping a few feet away from her. Fully clothed, he was still overpowering, and Liz’s breath caught in her throat as she felt the full impact of him. It happened every time, she thought with a silent moan.

“You weren’t kidding around when you said you had
big
brothers,” Matt said.

“Very protective big brothers,” she reminded him with a sweet smile. “I’d hate to think what they’d do to my ‘secret admirer.’ ”

“Mmmm.” Matt made a show of thoughtfully stroking his beard. “I suspect your ‘secret admirer’ won’t be deterred by the prospect of three bruiser-type brothers. Fortunately though, you don’t have to call on long distance protection. I’ll be happy to provide all the protecting you want.”

“I’ve never felt safer,” Liz muttered.

“A jerky ex-husband and overprotective big brothers do explain quite a bit,” he added.

She gasped. “What does that mean?”

“Your contradictions.”

“My contra—!” she snapped, then stopped herself. He was deliberately throwing her off balance. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she asked, “And what about you? Where were you born? What about your family? Tell me how you got started in modeling. Maybe I can find some insights into
you
.”

“I was born in the city,” he answered promptly in an amused tone. “No family though. I started modeling when I was sixteen, and the work was
hell, and the hours even more hellish, but the money was good. I graduated from NYU with a B.A. in economics. Night courses, of course. I like a good steak and a bottle of wine, chocolate ice cream, and spaghetti. Not necessarily served in that order. I like Pat Benatar, ZZ Top, Lionel Ritchie, and Phil Collins. I hate doing laundry. And you know how much money I have and that I invest in the commodities market on occasion. Anything else?”

She blinked, then shook her head. Dammit, she thought. He would have to like everything she liked.

“Good. By the way, which brother is the worst?”

She grinned at the casual sound of his voice. Evidently he’d begun to wonder about big brothers.

“Michael. Brother number two,” she said, trying to control her rising laughter.

“The Notre Dame fullback? Pretty big, eh?”

“Actually it isn’t Michael’s size. It’s his profession.”

“What is he?” Matt asked, reaching up to caress her hair. “A bouncer? Cop? FBI? Kung fu expert?”

Joyfully anticipating the expected reaction, Liz let the words out slowly.

“Michael is a priest.”

Matt’s hand instantly dropped away. There was a very long pause as he digested the information.

“A priest.”

“Wonderful guy,” Liz said warmly, taking Matt’s arm and guiding him to the back door. “Of course, he can be a bit intimidating at times. And he is conservative. Comes with the territory, I guess. I’ll be sure and tell him how you’re willing to come
over at all hours of the night to protect me. Of the three, he’s the one who worries the most about me.”

Hiding her smile at Matt’s stunned expression, she opened the back door and ushered him through it. “Good night, Matt.”

“A priest!”

“Oh, yes. If all goes well, he’ll soon be a monsignor—”

“Monsignor!”

“Say good night, Matt.”

“Good night, Matt,” Matt said, shaking his head in clear disbelief.

Liz shut the door in his face, then collapsed against the white-painted wood, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Maybe she was better at the game than she’d thought.

Early morning sunlight filtered through the sheer white curtains as Liz rolled over to the other side of the bed.

It shouldn’t be an empty one, she thought. Not after last night.

In a restless motion she flipped onto her back and opened her eyes. Staring sightlessly at the ceiling, she remembered exactly how Matt’s mouth had fit so perfectly over hers. How fiercely his arms had tightened around her. How his hand had caressed her breast until she’d ached from wanting him … and how he’d lifted her in his arms and turned away from the bedroom.

“Damn you, Matt Callahan, for being so noble,”
she muttered, that same ache for him spreading through her again.

The only regret she felt now was that they hadn’t made love. Shocking as the idea was, she acknowledged it with only a wry smile. She really ought to be feeling grateful this morning rather than perversely disappointed. She probably would have been feeling the opposite emotions if they had made love. After all, there was her image as a straight-laced banker, Joe’s recommending her for the promotion, and her own qualms about having a relationship with a bank customer.

But, dammit all, it was her body and her decision whether or not to make love. And she had made a conscious decision to be with Matt. She’d known what was at stake, and she’d been willing to risk it all for him. Didn’t he appreciate that? Didn’t he understand that she
had
been ready? Didn’t he realize the commitment she’d been ready to make to him? Even if she hadn’t realized it until that moment, he should have known it.

She sat up in bed and pounded the mattress with an angry fist. “How dare he yell at me for not doing something and then yell at me for wanting to do it! I wonder how he’d like it if I did that to him!”

It would serve him right if she stuffed her “regrets” down his throat until he choked on them. If she sighed wistfully and said, “You were so right, Matt,” every damn time she saw him. He’d regret ever opening his mouth about the subject. And it would drive him crazy if she acted about as regretful as a cat who’d found a stash of catnip.

An evil chuckle escaping her, Liz threw back
the covers and slid out of bed. She quickly padded over to her closet, opened the louvered doors, and surveyed her wardrobe with critical eyes.

She shook her head at the black cocktail dress with the plunging neckline. Too obvious, and besides, she couldn’t wear it to the bank. The forest-green wool with the long sleeves had possibilities, but it might be too warm later in the day.

“There has to be something,” she muttered, flipping through the hangers.

Subtlety was what she needed. Something subtle, and yet seductive …

“Ah-ha!”

She pulled out a vivid pink silk blouse and held it up to the room’s growing light. Perfect! Then she picked out a mauve suit, knowing its pencil-straight skirt was cut deliberately tight across the hips.

Hanging them over the top of the closet door, she headed for the bathroom.

Fifty minutes later she slipped on her highest heels and straightened, glancing over to the full-length mirror to check on her results.

“Oh, my,” she gasped in surprise.

There was definitely a subtle allure to the way her blond hair just brushed her shoulders. By lining both her upper and lower eyelids, she had made her eyes seem larger. In contrast, her other features seemed even more delicate and fragile-looking. She’d turned up the collar of her shirt and left the first three buttons undone. The effect was sophisticated yet sexy. With no bra, the small, full slopes of her breasts were noticeable, and her nipples stood out darkly under the semi-transparent
silk shirt. The skirt seemed glued to her hips and thighs.

“Once you get to the bank,
don’t
take off the jacket!” she warned her reflection.

She picked up the oversize suit jacket and left the bedroom. Her strides were shorter than usual because of the tight skirt, and her step slower because of the height of her heels. Her walk wasn’t awkward, but she prayed she wouldn’t break an ankle as she carefully made her way down the stairs.

In the kitchen she dropped her jacket over a chair and picked up the sugar bowl. Opening the lid, she frowned at the glittering crystals that nearly reached the brim.

“Can’t have that.”

She walked over to the counter and dumped the sugar back into the proper canister, which was three-quarters full already. Then, taking a deep breath and clasping the empty bowl in front of her, she marched through the house and out the front door.

Matt didn’t know it, but he was about to sweeten her morning, she thought, then grinned. He’d sweeten it in more ways than one.

“I’m coming!” Matt shouted as he hurried down the stairs.

Slipping his arms into the sleeves of his blue cambric shirt, he wondered why someone always telephoned or came to the door while a person was in the bathroom. There must be something in bathroom doors that sent out a radar signal—bathroom occupied, send attack force now.

Grinning to himself, he began to button his shirt with one hand and opened the door with the other.

“I’ll be damned,” he breathed, his hand freezing on the top button.

“Good morning, Matt,” Liz said.

The words were a simple greeting, but the delivery sounded as though she were on the other side of a bed than on the other side of the threshold. Her blouse was a wisp of nothing, and
the junction of her legs was outlined in a deep V by her tight skirt.

His heart thumping erratically, he was positive he’d never seen a banker look so sexy. Liz gave new meaning to the words “rising interest.”

“I was wondering if I could borrow some of yours,” she said.

He dragged his eyes away from her too visible breasts.

“What?”

“I need a little sugar, Matt.”

For a moment he thought she was asking for a kiss, until he finally noticed the bowl she was holding in one hand.

“Sugar. Of course.”

He didn’t move away from the door, his attention recaptured by her breasts. Both nipples were raised by the cool morning air. He had a strong urge to rip the blouse from her and taste the sweet flesh underneath.

“Matt? The sugar?” she prompted him. The sugar bowl she was offering suddenly hid the splendid view he’d been admiring.

Blinking, he realized she’d wanted only to borrow some sugar. Motioning her inside, he took the bowl from her hand. As she walked by him he found himself intently watching the provocative swing of her hips.

“Matt?”

“Mmmm?”

“Shut the door.”

Abruptly Matt came to his senses and gave a silent curse at his gawking reaction to her. He shut the front door and reluctantly raised his
gaze to her face. A knowing smile played on her lips, and her eyes held a look of pure feminine triumph.

He squinted at her in disbelief. Liz dressed like an ad for Frederick’s of Wall Street? Borrowing sugar from him? And in broad daylight?

What the hell was going on around here?

Feeling a hasty retreat was his wisest course of action, Matt headed for the kitchen. Once there, he dumped a scoopful of sugar into the bowl, crystals spilling down the sides and onto the blue tile counter. He didn’t bother to clean up the mess as dozens of reasons for Liz’s sudden morning visit collided in his brain. But one thought was uppermost. If she was out of sugar, then he was a Martian. Struggling for some thread of logic to explain her enticing appearance and sultry behavior, he discovered he couldn’t find one. Not one innocently logical explanation for her presence occurred to him. There wasn’t any, he concluded.

Her abrupt change in attitude meant only one thing. Liz was up to something.

Sugar forgotten, Matt turned around and leaned back against the counter. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared at the octagonal wall clock, all the while wondering what the hell she could be up to. He dismissed the idea that she could be trying to provoke a sexual response from him. She already knew he was interested. In fact, he was more than interested with her dressed like that. It was a monumental effort
not
to carry her off to the bedroom.