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“I’m wondering about a lot of things.”
“WhereI’mconcerned?” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Why?”
“Not sure exactly.” He preferred to fade into the background, but there was something about this guy she found oddly appealing. He was good-looking, of course. Not many men were as muscular. He also had a beautiful shape to his mouth, with lips that were full, and the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a man. Those two features softened a face that probably would’ve beentoomasculine otherwise.
Still, it wasn’t his looks that intrigued her. Remy was probably more handsome, in a classic sense, anyway. It was the intensity of Bo’s eyes. There was a fire inside them that burned bright even when he wanted her to believe he was relaxed. He seemed ever alert, ever watchful, always on guard.
The question was why? What kind of threat was he expecting?
“I’m just the handyman who takes care of your rich boyfriend’s future inheritance,” he said. “There’s nothing interesting about me.”
“Do you think it’s your job that defines you?”
His eyebrows snapped together. “I think Remy’s entirely wrong for you. That’s what I think.”
She felt her jaw drop. “Really? You’ll barely say anything, but you’ll saythat?”
When he looked away, she got the impression he regretted the comment. “I have a tendency to focus on what matters.”
“Okay, then. What makes you think Remy’s wrong for me?”
“You’re nothing like him.”
“Some say opposites attract.”
He cleared his throat. “It’s none of my business,” he said, clearly backing away from the subject.
The pancetta was nice and crisp. Ismay set it on the back burner while she dropped the pasta into the water and prepared the sauce. “I’m sorry you lost your mother at such a young age. That must’ve been rough on you and your sister. You said you don’t know where she is, but are you assuming she’s in Louisiana?”
“Probably Florida, where we were born,” he replied with a shrug. “When my mother died, she went to live with my father in Tampa.”
Why hadn’thegone with his father? What kind of father wouldn’t take both of them? “And you went to live with an uncle in the swamps of Louisiana.”
“Yeah. I was his favorite.”
She got out two big bowls. “I hate to ask about such a painful topic, but—”
“You’re going to anyway?” he challenged.
That response would have stopped her, except there was a slight curve to his lips that hinted at his first smile. He liked her in spite of himself. She could tell. “What happened to your mother?”
Ismay expected him to say it was none of her business. He’d be right. But the strange situation they found themselves in seemed to give license to questions she wouldn’t ordinarily ask someone she’d barely met. And with that bit about her not being right for Remy, he, too, had said things she couldn’t imagine he’d volunteer under normal circumstances.
“She died of a gunshot wound.”
Ismay almost dropped the bag of pasta she’d taken from the cupboard. “I assumed you’d say she died of cancer or in a car accident or something. I hope... I hope it wasn’t suicide.”
“No.”
“You’re saying she wasmurdered?”
He didn’t answer, but a muscle moved in his jaw that seemed to confirm it.
“You must’ve been devastated! Did the police catch whoever did it?”
He pulled the blanket back around his shoulders. “He got what was coming to him—eventually,” he added.
Although she could tell there was much more to the story, he didn’t elaborate. She wished she could ask, but she decided she’d found the line he wouldn’t let her cross and wouldn’t even attempt it. “Where’d you go to school?”
