by Avery Flynn
The Luca brothers were planning something, a move of some sort, and if he could just figure it out then he wouldn’t have to be lying to a woman he was genuinely starting to like. Gina had been cracking him up over the past few days with her self-deprecating sense of humor, and she was smart, the kind of person who could judge running her own company and taking on a massive home renovation project. Plus, she had legs he couldn’t stop watching.
“Nah.” She shook her head as she reached up and pulled her hair into a ponytail, the move giving him a great view of her tits as they pressed against the T-shirt, which today featured a sloth doing yoga. “I gave up on hiring a handyman for demolition after Julio.”
“What happened with him?”
“He came in, took one look at the place, and gave a quote so outrageous that I knew he just wanted to walk away from the place and never look back.”
Ford took another couple of swings with the sledgehammer before setting it down on the floor. There were now enough started holes that it was time to move on to the reciprocating saw to cut out large pieces of drywall. Taking out an interior wall wasn’t difficult, but it could be time-consuming. And messy.
“Too much work?” he asked before taking a swig from his coffee.
She shook her head again, sending her pulled-back wavy hair swinging in a way that had him wondering how it would look fisted in his hand as she was naked beneath him. Shit. What in the hell was wrong with him? She was the job, not a possibility. There were rules, and he didn’t break them.
“Something about these old houses freaks most folks out,” Gina said, seemingly oblivious—thank God—to where his thoughts had gone. “I was lucky to have gotten Juan to sign on for the real renovation work. His waitlist is a million years long for an older home like this. He’s the best and he knows it.”
He plugged in the reciprocating saw, needing something to do to keep his hands busy so he’d stop thinking about how much he’d like to be touching Gina instead. “If it’s so difficult, why bother with it at all?”
“Her bones are strong.” She ran her hand over the detailed scrollwork on the staircase banister. “She just needs some touch-ups.”
“It’s a makeover story, huh?” He smiled.
“No way.” She handed him a dust mask and grabbed one for herself. “She’s perfect just the way she is, she just needs someone to love her like she deserves.”
“You sound like my sister Fallon with her car.”
Gina’s eyes went wide with excitement. “What’s she got?”
“A 1970 Pontiac GTO convertible.”
“Ohhhh, that just sounds sexy.”
Sexy? He liked the way she said the word.
“You like cars?” he asked, and suddenly he was searching his brain for any tidbit of knowledge he had about cars, which was pretty much nil beyond where to put the gas in and the number of his mechanic.
“I don’t really know anything about them, but I know what makes me stop and say damn yes I will have some of that.” She punctuated the remark with an exaggerated wink and slipped on the dust mask.
And Ford shifted his stance because he knew exactly what she meant, but he sure as hell wasn’t thinking about the house or a car.
…
Gina had held out as long as she could—there was just something about working alongside Ford that made even something as tedious as refinishing the stairs enjoyable—but when she swore she heard her stomach over the sound of the sander, she had to give in to the inevitable. “Okay, that’s it,” she said after she clicked off her sander and took off her dust mask. “I need food.”
He slipped his mask off and stepped closer to her. “Sounds like a plan.”
Ford reached over and tucked a stray hair that had slipped from her ponytail behind her ear. He probably didn’t mean anything by it, but it sent a shiver of awareness across her skin. Then he stepped back, lifted the hem of his T-shirt, and brought it up to wipe his face, exposing the hard planes of his abs and sending her thoughts to the four corners of the earth for the three-point-two seconds it took him to let his shirt drop back down in place.
“There’s just one problem,” she said, struggling to remember things like breathing and—oh yeah—eating. “I haven’t been to the grocery store this week.”
He gave her his cock-eyed grin that she’d gotten a little too used to seeing over the past few days.
“Pizza or Chinese?” he asked, taking the sander from her hand and walking it over to their makeshift supply table.
“I think they should combine both,” she teased, finding her bearings now that his pheromones weren’t close enough to whisper sweet nothings in her ears. “I’d scarf down a General Tsao’s thin and crispy.”
The look of pure horror on his face had her giggling so hard that she didn’t pay attention to where she was stepping on the stairs, and her foot landed on the wrong spot on the third step from the bottom. The wood did a weird shimmy as it creaked and sank underneath her. Her scream was barely to her lips when Ford’s strong arms wrapped around her. In the next heartbeat, she was pressed up against his chest. Would it really be that bad if she just melted into him? Or nibbled his ear? Or—
Regina! Snap out of it.
“You can put me down now.” Or never, she was good with that, too.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice sounding lower, rougher than usual. “Are you okay?”
The moment her feet touched the floor, her answer changed to a needy no, but she managed to shove the truth back before she said it out loud. “That step is all wonky. It’s on the never-ending fix it list.”
Ford took a closer look at the step. “I could fix it.”
“Yeah?” She should be looking at the step, but instead she was checking him out. Again. “Juan has some specialty parts on order to do the repair.”
“Let me know when they’re in and stay off of it until then.” Then he grabbed his T-shirt collar behind his neck and yanked it over his head. “Let me just go grab another shirt, and I’ll be good to go get food.”
He just needed a new shirt? She was more worried about her panties after that show of abs and shoulders. A woman could get used to having him around: rescuer, fixer, hottie—now that was a dangerous combination.
An hour later and they were seated at the neighborhood pizza joint with a half-eaten pepperoni pizza and a mostly empty pitcher of beer between them, and she was getting the inside scoop on one Ford Hartigan, twelve-year-old middle school cop.
“You really were the hall monitor?” she asked, although she already knew the answer.
Ford nodded as he took a bite of pizza.
“Did that mean you let your brothers off easy when they skipped class?”
He scoffed. “No way.”
“So you’ve always been about the rules.” Color her completely not shocked.
“For the most part,” he said and took a drink of his beer. “How about you, did you know you wanted to be a wedding planner?”
She shook her head. “I love to organize things and knew I wanted to be an event planner, it’s why I double majored in business and hospitality management, but the wedding part just sort of happened accidentally when my cousin needed help with her nuptials. Turns out, I love helping people plan for their big day. Once the house gets done, I’ll be able to meet clients in the salon and display past wedding pictures to help give people ideas. Then, if everything works out, I’ll be hiring employees and maybe even franchising out. Not too bad for sort of falling into it.”
“So, you weren’t the type of girl who planned her wedding in the second grade?”
“Not even close.” Even as a kid, she’d known she was different. Maybe she couldn’t place her finger on it, but she knew it was true. She took a drink of her beer before the memories could take hold. “I was too busy following my dad around to job sites, which brings everything full circle, since he was a contractor and now I’m up to my nose in renovations.”
“Speaking of which, you have somet
hing…” Ford leaned forward, reaching across the table and swiping a bit of foam from the tip of her nose. “Got it.”
Heat burned her cheeks. “Damn thing always gets in the way.”
“I like your nose.” He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms, and his gaze never left hers. “It gives your face character.”
“Oh yeah, that’s just what everyone says.”
His eyes narrowed, and he got that look on his face that all but screamed incoming lecture, which was the last thing she wanted when they were having such a good time.
Rushing in before he could say anything, she said, “What’s your favorite movie?”
His grin made her heart hiccup. “Anything with explosions.”
“Ugh, action movies? Really?” It wasn’t a total shock, but it wasn’t what she’d been expecting from someone as committed to getting to the bottom of things as he was. “I would have pegged you as a film noir guy.”
“You don’t like action movies?” he asked, popping the last of his pizza crust into his mouth.
“Not usually.” Sure, the eye candy was nice, but there was more to a good movie than a buff dude.
“You’ve obviously been watching the wrong movies,” he said, standing up. “It’s time to fix that.”
Oh, this sounded like a very not good idea. Still, she asked anyway, “What do you mean?”
“Time to find out where you’re hiding a TV in your house so we can start your education.”
“I just watch on my laptop.” Brilliant conversational skills, Regina. When are you hosting that banter class again?
“Well, that’s part of the problem, but we’ll make do.” He tossed a few bills on the table. “Come on, I know just what to start you with. It’s a classic about a cop who flies to L.A. to see his family for Christmas and a bunch of German terrorists take over the building.”
“Sounds like fun,” she said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice because that plot sounded ridiculous.
“You have no idea.” He pressed his hand to the small of her back, not pushing her bodily but pushing all of her hello-I-want-to-do-naughty-things-to-you buttons. “Now come on, we have a date on the couch. I’ll even share my Ice Knights blanket with you.”
And that’s exactly where she found herself later that night, surreptitiously taking sniffs of the blanket that smelled just like him while explosions lit up her laptop screen and the cop from New York jumped off the roof of a skyscraper using a fire hose as a bungee cord—so in other words, totally different from comedy movie nights with Lucy and Tess, but a helluva lot of fun, not that she was going to admit this to Ford.
“This guy is nuts,” she said as she sort of but not really—okay, really—snuggled a few inches closer to Ford.
“He’s saving a skyscraper full of civilians.”
“And his estranged wife.” It was an important detail. “You didn’t tell me your favorite action movie is really a romance.”
He looked at her like she’d just told him that she alphabetized her books by author’s first name instead of last name. “Not in the least.”
“You really think he’d be breaking that many rules and regulations for just anyone?” Men. So blind to the obvious. “Come on, if it was just a building full of strangers, he totally would have handled it by the book.”
“He’s a cowboy,” Ford said as if that explained everything.
“He’s doing it for love.” She looked up at him, and somehow the inches she’d scooted closer had become much more, because their noses practically touched. His gaze dipped down to her mouth. Her pulse sped up. “Trust me,” she continued, her voice breathier than it had been a moment ago. “Love is my business, I know of what I speak.”
“From personal experience?” he asked.
The rough timbre of his voice and his proximity had her losing IQ points by the millisecond. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, hoping the nip of pain would bring her back from the edge of making a major mistake—one she never wanted to repeat. Handsome men talked pretty but they rarely meant it, not when it came to her. Trusting Ford was the last thing she should do, no matter how easy it was starting to become.
Forcing herself, because it was the last thing she wanted, Gina put a metaphorical chastity belt on, took a deep breath, and got up from the couch. “And I think that’s my cue to head up for the night.”
“You’ll miss the end if you go now.”
Oh man. It wasn’t the movie she was worried about missing. “Let me guess, he beats the bad guys and gets his wife back.”
“Plus, she punches out the dickhead reporter.”
Ten points go to the fictional cop’s wife. “Now that’s a twist I’m almost sad to miss, but I have a client meeting tomorrow morning.” And she didn’t trust herself not to try to jump him on the couch, so she concentrated on moving her feet away from him instead of her hands on him. “Good night, Ford.”
“Sweet dreams, Gina.”
If he meant frustrated dreams of a naked Ford Hartigan, then yes, she would totally be having those. Thank God her sense of self-preservation kicked into gear before that could slip past her lips, and she hustled out of the room and up the stairs, knowing she was skating on a fault line when it came to Ford.
But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from falling a little bit for him anyway.
Chapter Eight
“I’ve got news.”
Gina turned her attention away from the gorgeous pink-and-orange sky to the man standing in the open doorway that led out to the back porch, where she sat with a spiked lemonade and enjoyed the last moments of what had been a beautiful April day. Ford’s face was set into grim lines as he crossed over to her, a brown beer bottle in his hand.
“It’s about your grandpa.”
“They confirmed it was him?” It wasn’t like she hadn’t been prepping for it. She’d known he was gone and wasn’t coming back since she was a little girl—and seeing the ring had only confirmed what had been whispered about for years. Still, the news stung.
“Dr. Dev was able to make the ID.” He stopped next to where she sat, his hair sticking out every which way as if he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly since six this morning. “Can I join you?”
She nodded. “Just be careful, a few of the boards aren’t in great shape. Stick to the edge by the banisters.”
Ford walked around sat down next to her on the step, close enough that his knee touched hers. They sat in a comfortable silence, watching the too many tufts of weeds fighting for supremacy wave in the spring breeze. A squirrel darted through the yard, on the run from a pair of cardinals chirping at it from a tree in the next yard over. The tulips someone had planted eons ago had bloomed into a bright line of pink and yellow that followed the fence that could use a fresh coat of white paint.
Sitting there, Gina let out a deep breath of acceptance. Her grandpa wasn’t coming back, but the home he’d grown up in was starting to come into its own, and that would have to be her memorial to the man who’d been a criminal and, sometimes, a bad man, but a good grandpa to a little girl who knew from the start that she wasn’t like the other kids.
Ford broke the silence. “Did your brothers figure out the funeral arrangements?”
“Turns out he didn’t want any.” She took a drink from her lemonade, the pink drink the perfect mix of tart sweetness and vodka to go with the end of a very long day with a sad, if expected, coda. “He was pretty specific about it, and my grandma is adamant about adhering to his wishes.”
“Weren’t they divorced when he disappeared?”
“Separated. They didn’t divorce, they just lived separate lives. Too stubborn and too Catholic to divorce.”
“Is she taking it hard?”
She pictured her grandma, who’d FaceTimed her from bingo the other night to let her know the cards were hot. The woman was a shark. She had to have been to keep up with Big Nose Tommy Luca.
And when Gina had broken the news to her about
probably finding Grandpa in the attic, her grandma had gotten a faraway look in her eyes before blinking it clear.
“I think she grieved for him decades ago, like the rest of us.”
“Still, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” She fought the urge to lay her head on his broad shoulder as if she had the right. She didn’t usually get this comfortable around people so fast. Something about being burned too many times for that. But Ford just had this way about him that made her feel like trusting him was the right thing to do. “You know, you’re not so bad for a cop.”
He gave her a lazy grin that turned the air in her lungs into champagne bubbles. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment?”
“From someone with my last name? You totally should.” Luca. She’d never figured her last name to be one of the barriers to her hooking up with the right guy. Not that her last name overrode the big nose or her bulgy eyes in that department, but it sure didn’t help. And thinking of her last name… “Any update on the cause of death and if someone is lurking in the shadows to make sure he or she can’t get tied to Grandpa’s death?”
Ford froze, his bottle halfway to his lips, for a second before setting it down on the porch. His unflinching gaze slid over to her. “Not yet.”
She chewed on that for a second, considered it against her initial distrust. It tasted different now that she’d spent some time with him. Ford was dependable, solid, and beyond normal chit-chat about her family, he never asked about her brothers. Maybe she’d gotten to be too cynical. Maybe it was time to stop expecting the worst from him.
She took a sip of her spiked lemonade and looked out at the solar lanterns hanging from her neighbor’s fence that were beginning to flicker on. “No one is going to be coming after me.” There really wasn’t, she knew it in her gut.
Ford pivoted on the step so he faced her and gave her a teasing wink. “You think this whole situation is a farce so I can get close to you?”
She snort-laughed, and it wasn’t a pretty or nice sound. “Definitely not that. But it wouldn’t be outside the realm of reality for someone to use me to get what they wanted.”