Hard Habit to Break (2 page)

“Hi. I’m Matt Callahan. I’m really sorry about what happened this afternoon, and I wanted to apologize.”

Her eyes still focused three feet below his face, Liz nodded absently. His voice sounded as if he
were in the next state. Maybe she was getting a cold, and her ears were stopped up.

“Can I ask a favor?”

“Anything,” she blurted out hoarsely, then nearly gasped in horror at her answer. Glancing up sharply, she saw no change in his politely smiling face. She cleared her throat, hoping he hadn’t heard her. “Yes, of course.”

His smile broadened as he held up a yellow stoneware sugar bowl. “Can I borrow some sugar for tomorrow’s breakfast? I need a morning eye-opener, and I haven’t yet found the box that has the kitchen stuff.”

The request was innocent enough, and it was a good opportunity to make up for her initial rudeness to him.

Liz smiled, reaching out to accept the bowl. She immediately caught sight of shredded tobacco and paper in her now open palm.

“My cigarette!” She moaned loudly.

Hooking his little finger through the sugar bowl handle, Matt took her hand and pulled her the few steps over the threshold and onto the porch.

“You shouldn’t be smoking these filthy things,” he said while brushing her hand clean.

Liz snatched her hand away and made an inhuman sound in her throat before shouting, “I can’t take it anymore!”

She stalked back inside the house to the mirrored coat rack next to the door. Grabbing her tan canvas purse, she rummaged through it and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and matches.

“Don’t light it,” Matt warned as he entered the house.

Liz’s slender control over her rising anger broke. Repeating the earlier confrontation, her finger poked him again in the chest. “I was doing very well until you moved next door! Now leave my cigarettes alone and mind your own business, Mr. Aerobics!”

“I guess this means no sugar.”

She ignored him. She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, her withdrawal symptoms already disappearing. Closing her eyes and leaning against the coat rack, she took another satisfying drag.

“I hate to admit it,” he said, “but you look like you needed that.”

Liz blinked and straightened. Her screaming nerves finally soothed, she felt more charitable toward her unwanted devil’s advocate. Smiling happily, she said, “I’ve been very rude to you, haven’t I? I’m sorry. You see, I’m trying to quit, and I’m down to three cigarettes a day.”

“None is better.”

She eyed him for a long moment, tempted to stuff her purse into his mouth. So much for charity. “Three are better than thirty.”

He grinned ruefully and nodded in understanding. “Good point. Congratulations.”

He stretched out a hand, and Liz met it with hers. A strange tingling warmth suddenly radiated up her arm, and she forgot how to speak.

“Lived here long?” he asked, his green eyes seeming to turn even greener. He didn’t shake her hand, only held it tightly.

Trying to unscramble the confusion in her brain so she could get her voice working again, she shook her head.

“Married?”

“Divorced.”

It was a croaked answer, but she was grateful for any sound. She couldn’t believe she was acting like a teenager
again
. Maybe she ought to have her pituitary gland checked.

“Good,” he murmured.

She shook her head again, positive she hadn’t heard him correctly. Something was definitely wrong with her body.

“You haven’t told me your name yet,” he said in a louder voice.

She forced down the dizziness swirling inside her, and managed to reply, “Liz. Liz O’Neal.”

“Liz. I’m sure we’ll be the best of neighbors. How about coming over for dinner on Tuesday night so we can become better acquainted?”

Matt finally released her hand, and Liz felt her body return almost to normal. Then she panicked at his words. Best of neighbors, when he looked like God’s example of the perfect male? Dinner? Better acquainted?

Suddenly she lost all desire for the cigarette she’d been so desperate for. She walked over to a small candlestick table by the stairs and stubbed it out in an ashtray.

She wryly admitted that if she stayed in Matt’s immediate vicinity much longer, she’d be cured of her cigarette addiction before the week was out. It was one hell of a way to quit. She ordered her body to act its age. It was true that Matt was a good-looking and charming man, but she’d invested too much time already in maintaining her spotless image as a single woman and bank manager
in a very small town. Granted, it had been easy so far, but if she saw Matt other than to nod a hello as next door neighbors, she might as well repeat Lady Godiva’s ride around Hopewell’s common. The results would be the same.

It was time to let him know exactly what kind of neighbor she wanted to be.

Turning, she drew herself upright and said in formed tones, “I believe you wanted some sugar.”

“Only if you’re willing to give it,” he replied with a boyish grin.

His grin turned downward, though, when he realized Liz might take his remark as an innuendo. He held out the bowl and added, “I’d really appreciate it.”

Taking the bowl, she made no comment and turned toward the kitchen.

Matt grimaced as he watched her walk away. Dammit! He really thought he was making some progress with her. All afternoon he’d been outside working on his yard. She’d never reappeared. But at least he’d seen no husband or boyfriend, and had finally decided to confirm his hopeful conclusion that Liz O’Neal was unattached.

Her gamine face and figure and her explosive emotions were an intriguing combination. Matt was already very attracted to her, and he wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to explore further. But evidently she didn’t feel the same way about him.

Matt dryly acknowledged he’d had no trouble attracting women in the past. In fact, after his adolescent delight at discovering how his looks enhanced his appeal to women, he’d realized it
was only his face and body that interested the opposite sex. And his former profession had added to their assessment of him as an unintelligent man. Male models were supposedly all body and no brains. He’d acquired a healthy fortune on the side, predicting and investing in commodity futures, but his accomplishments had made no difference to most women. To them it was luck and not his long hours of research into weather conditions, the market, and government directives that had made him successful.

It had been years since he had wanted a woman to like him for his physical appearance. But he wished Liz did. At this point he wasn’t above using any and everything to get a positive reaction from her.

“Here’s your sugar,” she said as she walked back into the room.

Smiling broadly, he took the filled bowl from her. “Thanks. You’re a life saver.”

She smiled back, and he decided to do his damnedest to insure they’d be more than just neighbors.

“How about steak on the grill?” he asked.

She blinked. “Steak?”

“Or chicken. Whatever you want.”

“What are you talking about?”

He chuckled. “Dinner on Tuesday. Bring your empty stomach, and I’ll burn something on the grill.”

“Ahh … dinner.” Her cheeks seemed more rosy, and she shifted her eyes away from him for an instant before adding, “That’s very kind, Mr. Callahan.…”

“Matt.”

“Matt. But you’ve probably got a lot of unpacking to do.”

“And dinner with you will be a nice break.” He reached out and took her hand, then lifted it to his lips and gallantly kissed the back of it. “Have pity on an overworked man, Liz, and come to dinner.”

“But …”

“I promise not to say a word if you smoke.”

“It isn’t that—”

“Good. Three a day is quite an accomplishment after thirty.”

He turned her hand over and planted another kiss on her sensitive palm. To his elation, he heard a tiny moan from deep in her throat. She did feel something too. But he also sensed she was holding back. He wondered if her divorce had left deep scars that he’d have to overcome.

Suddenly and fiercely he wanted to remove those scars and insure she would never have an unhappy moment again. Then another equally strong urge shot through him. He’d love to punch her ex-husband in the mouth.

His violent reaction took him by surprise, and he kissed her hand again, tasting the soft skin more fully this time. He raised his head and gazed into her wide gray eyes.

“Dinner on Tuesday, Liz. I absolutely insist.”

She hesitated, and Matt knew if he gave her a chance, she’d say no. He quickly walked over to the front door.

“Thanks again for the sugar. I’ll see you at seven on Tuesday.”

He stepped outside and shut the door behind him, not noticing the swaying curtains at three houses across the street. He grinned into the dark night and half-ran across the lawn to his large gingerbread-laced Victorian home.

Maybe he’d cut that hole in the hedge tomorrow.

“He’s gorgeous!”

Seated behind her desk, Liz bent her head even lower toward her paperwork and moaned silently. Her own words had returned to haunt her. Her bank tellers had gossiped all morning about Matt, and they were still at it.

“I wonder why he’s not married,” one said.

“Maybe he’s divorced,” another replied.

“Maybe he just wants a weekend place in the country. We’ve got lots of part-timers around here.”

“Who cares? He’s the handsomest man to ever live in Hopewell. Part-timer or not.”

Firmly ignoring the growing urge to scream, Liz prayed they’d stop soon. They had to stop talking about Matt sometime, she thought without much hope. And she couldn’t reprimand them for it. She’d always allowed the girls to chat together as long as they waited on the customers and did their paperwork right. To speak to them now about
gossiping would only have them wondering what was wrong with
her
.

It wouldn’t take them very long to find the answer. Liz sighed, knowing she was trapped. It was enough to make her want a cigarette.

Her gaze remained unfocused on the deposit reports she was supposed to be coordinating for the bank’s central office in Swanton. She wished she had a whole pack of cigarettes in her hands. She’d light all twenty at once. Tonight she had to face Matt and tell him she
wasn’t
dining with him tomorrow evening.

Groaning in self-disgust this time, Liz had a sure feeling she’d be reduced to oatmeal again. What was the matter with her anyway? Why couldn’t she seem to act like a mature adult around him? Okay, so he was good-looking, and charming, and sexy …

In her mind’s eye she could see Matt as he stood behind the hedge. She could almost feel the dense swath of hair on his chest. It would be like silk under her hands. And the skin that glistened like oiled oak in the sunlight would be smooth and damp—

“Hi, Liz.”

Her wits scattered at the sound of an already too familiar voice speaking her name. She glanced up in shock to find the object of her erotic daydream standing before her.

This time, at least, Matt was completely dressed. But his loose white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows emphasized a multitude of perfections. The broad shoulders seemed broader, the hard chest harder, and the trim waist
even trimmer. The beige pleated trousers he wore were the latest male fashion.

Not only was Matt Callahan charismatic and virile, he had style too.

Telling herself she couldn’t possibly have conjured him off the pages of
Esquire
magazine and into the bank, Liz tried to compose herself into a semblance of normalcy. As she stood, her shaking legs told her normal was impossible. She decided to try for semi-idiocy.

“Hello, Mr. Callahan,” she said, surprised at the strong formal tone of her voice. She’d been so sure she’d sound like a croaking frog again. To her left, she caught a glimpse of Georgina and Mavis leaning forward over the marble counter, obviously intent on hearing every word. “May I help you?”

Matt shot her a puzzled look. “I thought we’d gotten to first names last night.”

Liz instantly wished the bank’s roof would collapse on them. A hurricane blow through town. A bomb go off in City Hall across the street. Anything!

The silence was deafening.

So much for positive thinking, she decided after one hope-filled moment.

“I’m sorry … Matt,” she replied hastily, thinking fast to disarm the bomb he’d innocently tossed her. “When you stopped by so briefly last night, I didn’t get a chance to welcome you to Hopewell. Welcome to Hopewell. Is there something
the bank
can do for you this morning?”

Leaning his hand on her desk, Matt grinned. “It seems we forgot to talk about a lot of things last night.”

Liz wondered wildly if the man was trying to sabotage her reputation. There wasn’t anything he could say to make the situation worse.

“You didn’t mention you worked at the bank,” he went on. “Thanks again for your sweet contribution to my morning. I don’t know what I would have done without it,” he added with an even wider grin.

Her stomach lurching, Liz cursed silently. She’d been optimistic in thinking the situation couldn’t be worse. Somehow Matt, in his innocence, had found a way to make her sound almost like the town hooker.