curve where her neck met her shoulder and drink her in, inhale her scent, taste her skin, savor the flavor of her on his tongue. Just like that, any sort of distraction, including conversation, seemed like a damn good idea. “I took lessons. Arthur Murray.”
“You’re kidding.” She couldn’t hide her amazement.
Annoyed and not sure why, except that it pissed him off royally to be lusting after a woman he didn’t like, he retorted, “I’m dead serious. Elliot insisted.”
“Elliot?”
Terrific. If ever there was a subject he didn’t care to discuss with her, this was it. “Elliot Sutherland,” he said repressively. Determined to distract her long enough to retake control of the conversation, not to mention his treacherous body, he executed a complicated series of steps.
She followed effortlessly, not missing a beat. “I apologize if I ought to recognize his name, but I don’t,” she said easily. “Is he a friend?”
“Yes.”
She continued to look at him, the picture of interest—and endless patience. Clearly, she wasn’t going to drop the subject.
“Elliot was my boss.” And the closest thing to a father I ever had. Not that she needed to know that. Or would care if she did. “He owned the Independence Hotel downtown and he gave me my first real job in the business.” Not to mention the mantle of his chosen successor. Thanks to Elliot’s having noticed Gavin’s savvy business mind and solid work ethic, today Gavin stood before Colleen a wealthy hotelier with five-star lodgings all over the country. He’d done his best to make Elliot proud, adding hotels to the chain over the years. But he never lost sight of his humble beginnings.
“Elliot’s and my backgrounds were similar, so he took an interest in me. In addition to teaching me everything I know about business, he also insisted I learn some other things.”
“Like how to dance?” she said softly.
“Yeah. Like how to dance. And dress. And use the right fork and choose the right wine at dinner.” Try as he might, he just couldn’t keep the trace of sarcasm out of his voice. “Hell, he even made sure I’d know how to behave at a big society wedding.”
She flinched, just as he’d intended. Yet rather than experiencing satisfaction, he felt more than a little ashamed of himself. Colleen might be a spoiled, social-conscious snob, but he was no bully. Nor was he likely to make her regret giving him up if he kept behaving like a callow jerk still smarting from a long-ago rejection.
Which he wasn’t. He’d gotten past that a long time ago.
Yeah? Then prove it. See if you can’t locate a little of the Irish charm Clarice and Caroline and Angelina and the rest of your dates are always prattling on about.
He drew Colleen slightly closer. Ignoring the treacherous leap of his pulse, he swung her around and reversed direction as they reached the edge of the dance floor. “So what about you?” he inquired, doing his best to sound mildly curious and nothing more. “Did you get your teaching degree?” Given her chic little haircut and stylish suit, it was easy to imagine her teaching French or Nineteenth-Century Romantic Poets to a giggly group of teenage girls at some posh private school.
Some of the tension left her body. “Yes, I did.”
“So what are you doing these days?”
“I run a counseling program for gifted but at-risk kids at Jefferson High.”
He missed a step. “You what?” Surely he hadn’t heard her right.
Her voice held a totally unexpected hint of wryness. “Don’t look so horrified.”
“I’m not. Just…surprised.” That was putting it mildly. Jefferson was his alma mater, a tough school in an even tougher neighborhood. Given Colleen’s privileged, sheltered, parochial-school background, he would’ve thought she was joking if not for the calm, steady way she was gazing up at him. “When did you start?” Even if she was being serious, surely this had to be something recent, some sort of fleeting, poor-little-rich-girl scheme to help the needy and downtrodden.
“This is my third year.”
For a moment he was so stunned he couldn’t think what to say. “And your family—your parents—are all right with it?” he finally managed. He simply couldn’t imagine the fashionable Moira Barone allowing such a thing.
Colleen gave a slight shrug. “They’re not wild about it. But then, they were so over-wrought when I decided to leave the order that they consider my subsequent errors in judgment these last three years minor in comparison.”
Her voice was so matter-of-fact it took a moment for her words to sink in. “You left… What order? What the hell are you talking about?”
All solemn blue eyes, she looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I just assumed you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“After we broke up…and after college, I joined the Sisters of Charity. For seven years I was a nun.”
Two
“Hey, lady.” The cabbie turned to give Colleen a quick, questioning glance over his shoulder, then twisted back around to peer through the windshield at the street ahead. “You sure you gave me the right address?”
Jarred from her thoughts, she contemplated the back of the man’s balding head and told herself to focus. “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
He snorted with disbelief. “You’re kiddin’, right?” He lifted a hand off the wheel and gestured at the surrounding area. “Take a look around. In case you haven’t noticed, this ain’t exactly Beacon Hill.”
She dutifully turned her head although she already knew what she’d find outside. With each block they passed, the sidewalks grew narrower, the store signs less refined, the building facades dingier. More and more steel and iron grills secured by chains and padlocks protected businesses; more upper-story windows were barred.
Wryly she conceded the cabbie had a point; the area didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to either Beacon Hill or the upscale neighborhood where Nick and Gail’s wedding reception had just been held.
Yet as she noted the eclectic mix of people on the street, some standing and chatting, some coming and going from various bars, cafés and delis, some clearly intent on getting somewhere else, she felt a distinct fondness for the area. It might not be squeaky clean nor even particularly attractive, but it was very much alive, with no pretensions. It was also home.
“You’re right. It’s not Beacon Hill. But we are in the right place. My street is the third one after the next light. When you reach it, go right, and my building is a few blocks down, just past a small park.”
The man parted his lips as if to make yet another disapproving observation, then seemed to think better of it. He shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
Colleen swallowed a smile, suspecting his sudden lack of opinion had more to do with the sizable tip he’d been promised by her father than a sudden appreciation of the neighborhood. Carlo Barone had not only insisted on calling her a cab, but had told the driver he’d
