The Billionaire Next Door(13)

Then things got worse. As she came over, he started to wonder exactly what was under that baggy shirt of hers—and his “problem” got harder.



“Are you going to have a funeral for him?” she asked.



Well, at least that question slapped him back to reality.



“No. He’ll be cremated and interred next to my mother. Told me ten years ago he didn’t want any kind of memorial service.” Man, that had been an ugly phone call. His father had been drunk at the time, naturally, and had maintained he didn’t want his three sons dancing on his coffin.



Sean had hung up at that point.



“That’s a shame.” Lizzie tucked a piece of blond hair behind her ear. “For both of you. People should be remembered. Fathers should be remembered.”



As those green eyes met his, they were like looking into a still pond, gentle, calming, warm. Teamed with the heat that had sprung up in his blood, the impact of her compassionate stare was like getting sucker punched: a surprise that numbed him out.



Unease snaked through him. Stripped of defenses and vaguely needy was not what he wanted to be, not around anyone.#p#分页标题#e#



His voice grew harsh. “Oh, I’ll remember him, all right. Good night, Lizzie.”



She quickly looked away and scooted past him. As she hit the stairs at a fast clip, she spoke over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Sean.”



Sean shut the door, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. As he thought about his arousal, he reminded himself that there was nothing mystical or unusual at work here. Lizzie was attractive. He was half-naked. They were alone. Do the math.



Except there was something else, wasn’t there?



He thought back to the past. Though his memories of his mother were indistinct, he recalled her as warm and kind, the quintessential maternal anchor. From what he’d learned about her, she’d come from a very good family who’d disowned her when she’d married a blue-collar Irish Catholic. Her parents had even refused to come to her memorial service.



Back when she’d still been around, their father had been relatively stable, but that had changed after she’d died when Sean was five. After they’d buried her, all hell had broken loose and hard drinking had moved into the apartment like a mean houseguest. Turned out Anne had been the glue that had held Eddie together. Without her, he’d spiraled fast, hit bottom hard and never resurfaced.



Sean stared at the Barcalounger.



Dimly, he heard the water come on downstairs and he imagined Lizzie brushing her teeth over a sink. When the whining rush was cut off, he saw her stripping off those jeans and sliding between clean white sheets.



She looked like the kind of woman who had sensible sheets.



She hadn’t been his father’s lover, he thought. The outrage on her face had been too spontaneous, the offense too quick. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t been stringing Eddie along for money.



God, one look into those green eyes and even Sean had been hypnotized.



Picturing her face, he was surprised that he wanted to believe she was a well of compassion and goodness. But the Mother Teresa routine was tough to buy. That talk about wanting to go to Manhattan, but needing to hold down two jobs to help out her fey, artistic mother? It was almost Dickensian.



He went back over to the couch and lay down. As he put his arm under his head, a small voice he didn’t trust told him he was reading her wrong. He ignored the whisper, chalking it up to the fact that he was off-kilter because he was back in his father’s place.



When his cell phone went off at 6:00 a.m., he was still awake, having watched the sun rise behind the veil of the old lace drapes.



Sitting up, he grabbed his BlackBerry and checked the number. “Billy.”



His brother’s low voice came through loud and clear. “I was crashed when you called and just woke up for practice. Are you okay—”



“He’s dead, Billy.” He didn’t need to use any better word than he… There was only one him among the three O’Banyon brothers.



As a long, slow exhale came over the phone, Sean wished he’d told Billy in person.



“When?” Billy asked.



“Last night. Heart attack.”



“You call Mac?”



“Yeah. But God knows when he’ll get the message.”



“Where are you?”



“Home frickin’ sweet home.”



There was a sharp inhale. “You shouldn’t be there. That’s not a good place.”



Sean looked around and couldn’t agree more. “Trust me, I’m leaving as soon as I can.”