She went to take a step back, but he grabbed her hand, stopping her. Surprise and heat flared in her eyes. Yes, his entire body answered, and he stepped close, dipping his head as he did so.
A loud wolf whistle from a passing car barely registered, but Gina jolted back at the sound, her face flushed as she nervously chewed her bottom lip, a protective arm slung across her belly.
Shit.
Ford searched the street, wanting to mop the street with the dick who’d put that look on Gina’s face and stopped the kiss before it could happen. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it wasn’t you, I just…” Her words died off.
He intertwined his fingers with hers. “What?”
“It’s nothing.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t take.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” Sure, he was pressing, but no one should be able to put that lost, beaten-down look on her face.
“Sometimes old hurts come back to slap you in the face, that’s all.”
“Gina,” he said, using the same comforting but authoritative tone he employed when interrogating nervous witnesses. “I want to understand.”
She swallowed and lifted her chin and pulled her hand free from his, obviously determined to brush whatever was going on under the rug. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Was it the guy in the car? Do you have history?” His gut clenched at the idea of that. Possessiveness wasn’t the best look for a guy in his position, but he couldn’t deny that’s what had him grinding his teeth in frustration.
“A history?” Her cracked laugh was as disbelieving as the look on her face. “No. I have no clue who that was.” She walked around to the passenger side of the car. “Look, let’s just go home and put up this ceiling.”
“You can’t avoid this story forever.” Not if it made her react like she just had. This was important, and he wanted to protect her from it.
“Yes,” she said, opening the door and sliding inside. “I can.”
…
The next week was all hammers and nails—and not in a way that would reduce any of the frustration building each time Ford laid eyes on Gina. So far, he’d helped take out a wall in the hall so it could be widened, knocked out some primo avocado-green laminate countertop in the kitchen, put up the tin ceiling, and helped Huey, the plumber who seemed to owe a great debt to the Luca family—Ford didn’t want to know for what—renovate the master bath. That last one meant traipsing through Gina’s bedroom multiple times a day, which was its own kind of hellish torture for his imagination.
The woman might love organization, but it didn’t show in her bedroom. It was impossible to miss the black lace panties on the floor near the laundry basket, the rumpled pillow and half-made bed, and the warm vanilla scent of her that seemed to linger in the air. He’d spent way too many hours at night on that poor excuse for a couch staring at the ceiling and picturing her wearing only the black lace panties, dabbing perfume on her wrists and between her perfect tits. It was not what he should be pondering during the long, sleepless nights, as his captain would have told him if he wasn’t chewing Ford’s ass out already.
“So you’ve got nothing,” the captain said during their usual late-afternoon call.
“You knew this was a long shot.” Ford left out the part about the captain being the one to come up with this cockamamie plan, even though keeping it to himself was about to kill him. So, he took a second to inhale a deep breath and watch Gina through the window as she put another coat of white paint on the backyard fence.
The pinch in his shoulders eased, and his blood pressure dropped from the red zone as he watched her work her paint roller.
Then she bent over to get more paint on the roller, and the calming breath he’d inhaled came out as a frustrated groan that he hoped the captain took as annoyance about the lack of results. “Her brothers haven’t been around all week.”
“You need to find a way to change that.”
Well sure. He’ll just teleport the Luca brothers over from wherever they were. That would totally work. Clamping his mouth shut before that thought could spill out, he tapped his finger and thumb together to the count of twenty and only then gave himself permission to speak.
“Her grandmother’s birthday party is tomorrow. I’m her date. The whole family will be there.”
“If that comes up empty, then I’m calling your operation.”
And there it was. The captain couldn’t have been any clearer with his meaning, and the blame for the lack of results landed with a loud thud at Ford’s feet. It was a response that anyone could have seen coming, but that didn’t make it any easier to take. That’s why his gut did that clench and shimmy thing, because the failure that was all but assured was going to get pinned to him.
It wasn’t because the end of the operation meant no more Gina or hearing the silly songs she sang to herself as she brewed coffee in the morning or the mind-melting view of her ass in those black yoga pants she always paired with ridiculous novelty T-shirts.
That part didn’t matter. It couldn’t. He was one of Waterbury’s finest, and she was a Luca. There had to be regulations written down forbidding that kind of fraternization. So after tomorrow, that was that.
His grip tightened on his phone, and he turned away from the window. “I understand, sir.”
“Don’t worry, Hartigan. You’ll still be in the running to stay on the task force, but I have to tell you that bringing in some hard intel would go a long way to helping you there.”
No shit, Captain Sherlock. “Yes sir.”
And that was the little breath of hell that hung over him for the rest of the afternoon, right up until an incoming text message made his phone buzz as he and Gina were sanding down the intricately carved banisters for the main staircase. She’d been telling him some of her wedding planner horror stories—who knew ducks could shit that much—and explaining that despite the craziness of it, she was ready to start working with her newest client next week. Continuing to listen, Ford pulled out his phone and glanced down at the message.
Mom: Don’t forget to pick up the pastries from the bakery before you stop off for family lunch today.
Great. Lunch was in an hour. He rammed his fingers through his hair and tried to work out how he was going to explain to his mom that he wasn’t coming. Kate Hartigan was not going to be happy, and she wasn’t going to be shy about telling him. “Oh hell.”
“Did someone run a red light?” Gina asked.
God, didn’t he wish. “It’s my mom.”
The teasing look in her brown eyes softened. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just forgot to tell her I couldn’t make Saturday family lunch today. It’s pretty much a standing event for the entire family, and not going means you better be in the hospital.” He stared at his phone.
Gina started sanding again. “Why can’t you go?”
“I’m not leaving you here alone.” Yeah, or is it that you know your time pretending to be Mr. Fix It with Gina is almost over?
“Then I’ll come with you.”
As if it was that easy. Bringing the uninitiated to a Hartigan family event was not something to be undertaken lightly. “Trust me, that’s the last thing either of us want to do.”
She stopped sanding and looked up at him, her smile too cheerful to be real. “Don’t worry, it’s not like you have to pretend I’m your girlfriend with your family.”
And there it was, the famous Ford Hartigan charm thrilling women everywhere. Fucking A, Hartigan. Get your shit together.
“It’s not that.”
“What is it, then?” she asked.
“My family can be a lot to handle—especially all at once.” How in the hell did he explain it to her?
First, there was the sheer number of them. Then there was the whole volume aspect, because they were not a quiet family. Finally, there was the fact that his mom wouldn’t stop pestering Gina with questions about every aspect of her life from the moment she walked in the door.
The Hartigans were not for everyone.