One touch of her hand and he felt the full force of his desire for her all over again. When she stroked her fingers along the line of his jaw, earnestly examining the extent of his bruise, he didn’t even flinch. Instead he had an urge to cup her hand, press a kiss against the warm center of her palm.
But he restrained himself. He could scarce try to make love to her on the El, and he didn’t want her running away from him again.
Gently, Zeke. Go gently this time. Even the clack of the train wheels seemed to admonish him. So he bided his time, allowing his eyes to drift half-closed, soothed by her feather-light caress and the monotonous clatter of the train.
It had been a long time since he had ridden on the El. He had forgotten how the tracks seemed to cut through the very pulse of the city. It was as if one could thrust out one’s hand and reach into the upper stories of the tenement windows.
Vignettes flashed by like scenes from a play: a lodging house where some pathetic old men were bedding down on the floor; the topmost room of one of those hellish sweatshops, young girls growing old before their time hunched over sewing machines; a dingy parlor where a haggard lad was swilling rotgut and shooting dice.
Yet in the midst of this, there was an occasional room with a plump motherly woman darning socks or standing over a steaming iron while a brood of children romped like puppies at her feet. It never failed to amaze Zeke, the strength of such women, their ability to fashion a place that could be called home even in the midst of such wretched poverty.
It never failed to remind him that he had known such a home once, such a woman.
“Zeke?”
Rory’s voice recalled him from his thoughts. He was a little surprised to discover that he was no longer leaning back, but sitting bolt upright and staring out the train window.
Finding Rory’s troubled gaze upon him, he forced himself to settle back.
“Is your pain getting worse?” she asked. “You had such an odd look in your eyes just now.”
He forced a smile. “I guess over the years, I have taken a few too many knocks to the head.”
No, Rory thought. More likely too many knocks to the heart. This wasn’t the first time she had seen that haunted look shadow Zeke’s face. Although outwardly she accepted his explanation, she could not help but wonder what ghosts he had glimpsed out the windows of the train.
She studied the man who had erupted back into her life. Earlier today she had tried hard to dismiss Zeke as though he had been some figment of her imagination. But she saw now it had been Delmonico’s and that castle on Fifth Avenue that had seemed like a dream, but not Zeke.
His broad shoulders solidly filled the seat opposite her. He was far too real, his presence too strong. There was nothing dreamlike about the man. Even his bruises, his torn collar, became him in an odd sort of way, more so than any silk ruffled shirt would have.
She thought she would be reliving the fight scene for weeks in her nightmares, that horrible moment when it had appeared as though Zeke were about to have his throat slit. All dressed in his elegant clothes, he must have seemed an easy victim to those two thieves.
What a surprise Zeke must have given them! She started to smile only to end with a perplexed frown. The more she thought about the fight and O’Connell’s sudden arrival, the more some elusive memory niggled at her, a memory of something that seemed not quite right.
Perhaps it was nothing more than that Zeke had fought with such unexpected ferocity. She could not help recalling what Tony had hinted earlier, that Zeke’s origins were no mystery and that he hailed from the East Side, ‘the old neighborhood.’ By that, Rory knew Tony meant that part of New York his family had inhabited before the Bertellis had moved on the block adjacent to hers. The old neighborhood was that colorful noisy tenement district known as Little Italy.
Not as dangerous a place as the notorious Five Points, but a man still had to be tough to survive there. Rory had no doubt Zeke possessed such toughness. He had fought off those two street thugs with all the ruthless savvy of any dockworker. A man didn’t get muscular forearms like Zeke’s from a lifetime spent in playing croquet on the front lawn.
Of course, such impressions weren’t facts. She could not say for sure that Tony was right. But instinct told her that whatever Zeke’s past life, it hadn’t been an easy one. Her curiosity was roused, yet she hesitated to ask Zeke questions.
Even now she could sense him squirming under her scrutiny. He closed his eyes. Whether he was only feigning sleep, she couldn’t tell. She only knew he didn’t look quite so formidable with his dark lashes resting against his cheeks, that rock-hard jaw for once relaxed. It roused strange feelings in Rory, the urge to stroke back his hair, tuck a quilt beneath his chin.
She almost hated to disturb him, but the train was rapidly approaching her stop. It took no more than a touch to urge him to his feet. By the time he followed her down from the platformto the street below, he appeared to have forgotten his injuries and had taken to scolding her.
“I hope you don’t make a habit of walking the streets after dark. The Lord knows, you certainly can’t rely on the coppers hereabouts for protection.”
“The police in our precinct are much better than Sergeant O’Connell,” she assured him. The mention of the policeman’s name struck off a sudden realization. She recalled that elusive something that had been troubling her earlier about the fight. It had nothing at all to do with Zeke’s prowess in fending off the thugs, but rather with what had transpired after the arrival of the police.
“Zeke! O’Connell knew you.”
“What?”
“He did. He called you by name. I remember clearly now.” Rory halted in the flickering shadow of a gaslight. Troubled, she stared up at Zeke, remembering Tony’s insinuations, that to become so wealthy, Zeke must have done something shady. He might be on most intimate terms with the police for the wrong reasons.
Although Zeke looked startled by her words, he said, “I can assure you I never set eyes on O’Connell before tonight.”
Rory could not say why, but she believed him.
“Maybe he saw my picture in the papers.” Zeke suggested.
