Hard Habit to Break

by Linda Cajio

“Perfect,” Matt said.

  *

  In the deep shadows of the night Matt approached Liz’s back door. Dressed completely in black to camouflage himself against prying eyes, he grasped the doorknob with a gloved hand and tested it. The door was locked, but there was only one lock and it was an old one. Piece of cake.

  He slid a credit card from the back pocket of his jeans and began wiggling it between the doorjamb and the door while jiggling the door handle. The door wouldn’t budge.

  “Open sesame, dammit,” he cursed in a bare whisper.

  Continuing to wiggle and jiggle, he could feel beads of perspiration already forming on his forehead. This always worked in the movies, he thought. He pressed the credit card harder into the narrow gap.

  The door opened suddenly with a loud click.

  For an instant he stared at it, shocked that the lock had actually given. Then he slipped inside and let his eyes adjust to the darker shapes of the kitchen. The table and chairs were against the window to his left, leaving a clear path into the next room. He tucked the card back into his pocket.

  “Don’t leave home without it,” he said with a quiet chuckle.

  Moving swiftly and quietly through the house and up the stairs, he listened carefully for any noise that indicated Liz might have awakened. He heard nothing.

  On the second floor he headed straight for the third door on the right, knowing that room was the master bedroom. He’d wistfully observed those lights going out at eleven-thirty every night, until he’d felt like a fantasizing schoolboy. This, though, was a much better fantasy, he decided.

  At the door of Liz’s bedroom he stopped and leaned one arm on the jamb. A slow smile touched his lips as he gazed longingly at the slender form outlined under the bedclothes. Then he walked to the double bed, his sneakers soundless on the plush carpet. Liz was sleeping on her side, facing him. Her hands were tucked under her chin, and her hair was a pale, tousled halo surrounding her delicate features.

  She could almost be a child, Matt thought as an odd tenderness washed over him. But the curve of her derriere was all woman, and the sight of it provoked a very male response. It tempted him to forget his good intentions and join her in the double bed, but with a struggle he finally forced the thought away.

  For a lingering moment more he savored Liz’s peaceful face. Then, pulling a single red rose out of the waistband of his jeans, Matt laid it near the outer edge of the second pillow. Giving in to one small temptation, he braced his hand on the old-fashioned maple bedpost and leaned farther over the bed.

  The touch of his lips was feather-light on her brow.

  Smiling down at her, he straightened. As he crept out of the room he decided he could have given lessons on romance to Errol Flynn.

  Hell, he could have given lessons to Don Juan too.

  Five

  Liz’s sleep was penetrated by a familiar and annoying buzzing. Her fogged brain automatically commanded a hand to stretch across the pillow to shut off the noise. But then that hand encountered something she knew shouldn’t be there. Something sticklike and hard attached to a velvety-soft ball. With a monumental effort she opened one eye.

  There was a rose on her pillow.

  For a long moment Liz gazed at it, wondering why she had brought a rose to bed with her. It really was the oddest thing to do, she told herself sleepily and rolled over onto her back.

  Suddenly her second eyelid snapped open, and she shot up into a sitting position. Whipping her head to her left, she stared in disbelief at the red rose lying in solitary splendor on her pillow.

  “Ohmigod,” she whispered in a hoarse voice as shivers of terror ran down her spine. Some perverted nut had broken into her house during the night, watched her sleeping, and left a rose on her pillow. Someone in nice little Hopewell had to be crazy. Some insane …

  She suddenly realized who in Hopewell was crazy. And that—that maniac lived right next door to her. But Matt Callahan wasn’t crazy at all. He was showing her how easy it was to be in her bed. And how she’d spread her own petals and bloom under his touch, just like the rose. That damn rose didn’t mean anything more than her expected, unconditional surrender to him.

  A red haze of fury clouding her vision, Liz snatched up the rose and scrambled off the bed. She stopped only to throw on her blue terry robe before racing down the stairs and unlocking the front door.

  “I’ll show him that he can’t play mind games with me,” she muttered, clutching the rose in her right hand like a baseball bat. “Break into my house … leave a rose like some stud lover … see me asleep. See me asleep? That lowlife watched me sleep! The hell with showing him, I’ll kill him!”

  She slammed the door behind her, marched across the adjoining lawns, and up the steps of Matt’s porch. She banged her fist against the brightly painted red door, shattering the early morning quiet. When the door didn’t open instantly, she banged on it again. And kept banging.

  The door finally swung open, and a dark-velour-robed Matt stood glaring at her, like a harsh and omnipotent god, the impact of his presence momentarily overwhelming. Then his green eyes softened and his big body relaxed.

  “Liz!” he exclaimed before she could speak. He reached out and quickly pulled her inside. “I’m so glad you’ve finally decided to give up this farce. But this is hardly discreet, honey. It looks like I’ll have to arrange our meetings from now on.”

  He shut the door, and it was another shocking moment before Liz finally found her voice. More angry than ever, she slashed the air in front of him with the rose. “What the hell do you think this is, Matt Callahan?”

  He tilted his head to examine the flower. “It looks like a rose.”

  “Damn right, it’s a rose!” she shouted.

  “Do I go to the head of the class? Or do I have to guess what variety it is first?”

  “You can tell me how it got on my pillow last night.”

  “On your pillow?” he asked in a voice that sounded genuinely surprised.

  Liz took a deep breath and firmly told herself not to lose her temper. It didn’t work, and she swatted him with the rose. “You broke into my house last night, came into my bedroom, and left the rose on my pillow. You watched me sleep!”

  “If you were sleeping, how do you know it was me?” Matt asked logically.

  “Because you’re the only qualified pervert in Hopewell!”

  He grinned. “Nice to know you think so highly of me, Liz. Actually the rose sounds more like the work of a secret admirer. As you know, I’m an open one.” He paused and thoughtfully rubbed his beard. “I don’t like having competition, though. Let alone one so suave and gallant as to leave a rose on your pillow.”

  Liz uttered a barnyard curse. If he ever set foot in her house again, she’d shoot him, she decided.

  “Shocking language for a banker,” Matt commented. “I wonder if your secret admirer knows you’ve got a mouth that would make a sailor blush. Personally, I think it shows you’ve got a good deal of passion. Besides, I curse when I’m angry, so why shouldn’t you? It just proves we’ve got passionate natures, although we already know that, don’t we?”

  She swallowed back the second curse on her lips, vowing not to give him the satisfaction of hearing it. Matt was deliberately trying to provoke her anger even further, and she’d fallen right into his trap. The thought was enough to cool her anger into a cold lump of ashes. He was obviously aware her emotions were always out of balance whenever she was around him, and he was using them against her. He was a very shrewd game player, but she didn’t have the inclination to play.

  Cool air drifting across her bare ankles made Liz aware of another, much more intimate fact. They were both dressed only in bathrobes. At least she was wearing the additional but flimsy protection of a nightgown. She had the feeling, though, that Matt’s robe was the only thing between her and his total exposure. She hoped not, but a helpless downward glance told her Matt’s feet were as bare as hers. Several inches of male legs showed between
the hem of his robe and the floor, and the deep V of the robe’s collar revealed a wide band of silky hair and hard chest.

  One quick flick of the belt, and Matt would be as naked as the day he was born.

  Her body heat rising alarmingly, Liz had the sudden urge to untie that belt. She swallowed and forced herself to stand very still. She willed Matt to stand very still too. One move, and she was a goner.

  “So,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “since we’ve established I’m no ‘secret admirer,’ what are you going to do about the guy?”

  Liz silently sent thanks heavenward that his one move hadn’t been toward her. But she couldn’t give away her inner turmoil with some wimpy answer or he’d take advantage of that too.

  She smiled, hoping it looked sickly sweet and not just sickly. “You really want to know?”

  He nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly. Evidently her smile was sickly sweet. She wanted to let her breath out in a whoosh, but resisted.

  “First of all, I’m going to call the police and report an escaped psycho …”

  “Bad move, Liz. Think of all the gossip it will create when the cop cars pull up in front of your house.”

  “My goodness, Matt, you really have my best interests at heart.” Sometimes game-playing was in order, Liz decided. “The cops are out. Maybe I should borrow Romeo for a few days and let him pasture in my yard. One ton of mean bull ought to be enough to scare anyone off.”

  “That does have merit. But how do you explain Romeo to the neighbors?”

  “I’m going into the dairy business.”

  “Bulls don’t give milk.”

  “Good point.” She made a show of tapping her chin in concentration, then shrugged. “Well, I’m sure I can think up some little surprise. I’m sorry I mistook you for my admirer. I really don’t know how I could have. You’re nowhere near as suave and gallant as he is. Have a nice day, Matt.”

  Feeling she’d had the last word, and a very effective one, Liz turned on her heel and opened the front door … and immediately shut it on the sight of Corey Wilson across the street delivering newspapers. She collapsed against the door and closed her eyes in embarrassment.

  “Forget something?” Matt asked in an amused voice.

  “Only my brains,” she muttered. She straightened away from the door and turn back to him, lifting her chin to a dignified angle. “Matt, I always seem to make an idiot of myself around you, don’t I?”

  “Forget it. I’ve done my share with you.” He chuckled, moving beside her. “Now, who’s out there?”

  “Corey, with the morning papers.”

  “No problem. He’ll be gone in a moment.”

  He silently waited with her until there was an audible thunk on the porch. Matt motioned her back away from the door.

  “I’ll check the street.”

  Liz didn’t breathe as Matt opened the door and stepped outside. With straining ears she heard him pad across the porch. There was more silence, and she knew he was checking the surrounding houses for activity. Maybe her luck would be good and—

  Suddenly she realized that no matter how fast she could possibly run, anyone could pick that moment to look out of a window and see her. In her nightgown and robe she was well and truly stuck. There was no logical way to explain her leaving his house at seven in the morning. Even if she suddenly grew wings, she still couldn’t fly over the rooftops. That would attract even more attention.

  Feeling helpless and depressed, Liz turned away from the open door and dragged herself over to the stairs. Sitting down on the third step from the bottom, she propped her chin in her hands. Realizing she was still holding the rose, she absently stuffed it into her pocket while contemplating the fates.

  “Dammit, Liz! What the hell are you doing sitting on the steps?” Matt asked impatiently as he strode into the house. “You should be over here, ready to go—”

  “I’m sitting on the steps, wishing I had paid more attention in my chemistry classes,” Liz interrupted, slowly rising to her feet.

  “Chemistry!”

  “Maybe then I’d know the formula for making myself invisible. That’s the only way I’ll get out of here.”

  Matt scowled at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’ll take only two seconds to run across the lawns. Nobody will see you.”

  “Matt, anyone can look outside during those two seconds,” she said, shaking her head. “And they’ll see their upstanding bank manager running for her life with her bathrobe hiked up to her knees. I just can’t take the chance of going out your front door.”

  Gazing into her distressed gray eyes, Matt silently and thoroughly cursed himself for putting her in this predicament. Granted, he hadn’t expected her to show up on his doorstep before breakfast, but the responsibility for getting her back to her house unseen was his.

  Feeling that increasingly familiar protectiveness rise up inside him, he walked over to her and put his arms around her in comfort. She didn’t return his embrace, but she didn’t resist either.

  “I’m sorry, Liz. If only Corey hadn’t already been around with the papers, we could have disguised you as him. Can you call in sick at the bank? Then you could stay here all day.…”

  She stiffened and pulled away. “No. Anyway, I have to be there today. It’s important.”

  “Okay,” he replied, sensing she couldn’t be swayed. “Maybe some coffee will help us—”

  He cut off his own words as an idea popped into his head. Ignoring her puzzled frown, he worked through the details. It was crazy, but it might just work.

  “Liz, could you stand a little claustrophobia? If you can, I think I can get you out of here.”

  “I suppose.” Shaking her head again, she chuckled wryly. “Actually, I’d do anything.”

  He grinned at her. “Anything?”

  Her face flushed, and she nervously rubbed her forehead. “Matt, I really hate repeating myself …”

  The smile dropped from his face. “Forget it, honey. I already got the message. You might as well make yourself some coffee while I get things ready, okay?”

  She nodded. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  “Just practice being the trash.”

  “I can’t believe I’m going to do this!” Liz said with a groan twenty minutes later.

  “Well, if you can think of a better way to get out of here without being seen, go ahead,” Matt said, grinning. He was dressed in cutoff jeans and a sweatshirt, its sleeves ripped out.

  Hands on her hips, Liz kept her gaze on the large packing carton she was to hide in. She knew Matt had reinforced the bottom so she wouldn’t fall out of it, and he’d already cut a small hole in the hedge out by the gardening shed. One side of the carton had been cut, also, and was held together only with packing tape.

  “You’re going to carry me out to the backyard in this carton like I’m the trash, and then I’m supposed to climb through the hedge and pretend I’m out by the shed to smoke a cigarette?” she asked in awe.

  It sounded ridiculous, she thought, but she couldn’t help believing it would work. Somehow, crazy things always did. At least no one would see her until she “magically” appeared at the shed. She only hoped any observer would be questioning his eyesight and not how she got there in the first place. And Matt would bring out several more boxes and place them with the first, as if he were getting them out of his way before they went in the trash.

  “The plan’s foolproof, and you’re always smoking by the shed,” he pointed out. “By the way, lately you’ve been out there more than three times.”

  “I had a setback.” She wasn’t about to tell him he was the setback.

  “There is another way to quit.…”

  “I saw Cold Turkey and forget it! Sex doesn’t cure everything,” Liz replied caustically. There was a long silence, and she glanced up into Matt’s amused eyes. “Don’t say it! Don’t even think of saying it!”

  He laughed. “Just get in the box, and I won’t.”

 
; She immediately stepped over the edge and sat down. She stood back up.

  “Wait a minute. You’ll hurt yourself if you try to pick this up from the floor.” She glanced around the garage and spotted a small workbench. “The box would be easier to lift from on top of the bench.”

  “Why, Liz, I didn’t know you cared,” Matt exclaimed, and planted a smacking kiss on her lips.

  She felt the sudden rush of blood to her face. “Dammit, Matt!”

  He suddenly swung her up into his arms and set her down feetfirst on the floor.

  “I could carry you anywhere, but I think you’re probably right about it being easier to lift the carton from up there.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t want you all upset about my hurting myself.”

  Still flushed, Liz glared at him as he picked up the empty box and placed it on the workbench. She refused to admit she’d been concerned about him. She would have felt the same about anyone lifting a heavy object from the ground.

  He turned around and crooked a finger at her. With a last grumble of frustration she climbed up on the wooden stool in front of the workbench. She hesitated for a moment, the sides seeming higher than when the box had been on the ground.

  “Here,” Matt said, putting his hands around her waist to steady her. She’d just opened her mouth to object when he added, “I’ll brace myself against the side, so it won’t fall off.”

  She glanced down in confusion, then realized the edge of the carton overlapped the bench about two or three inches. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought, but decided to get into the box anyway. Matt would probably turn a protest from her into another innuendo.

  With his help she swung one leg, then the other, over the top of the carton. She crouched down.

  He flipped the ends closed over her head and said, “All set. You know, Liz, I like having you worry about me, but I promise I won’t hurt myself. I wouldn’t dare. You may still need me for that cigarette cure.”

  Huddled down in the darkness, Liz banged on the side of the carton. “Shut up and start playing trashman!”

  She squirmed around trying to find a comfortable position in which to brace herself and yet spread her weight evenly along the edges. The only one that even remotely worked was on her hands and knees, like a dog. She heard the click and whirr of the automatic garage door opener.