…
Gina shouldn’t have let Lucy do her hair. It looked great—the woman had magic defrizzing fingers—but it was pulled back and twisted into a deceptively casual knot that left her face totally exposed.
Sure, it wasn’t that Ford didn’t know what she looked like, but having her hair back was like giving up a security blanket that she could sort of hide her big honking nose behind.
“We could stay in,” Ford said from his spot by their open bedroom door.
Her hands flew up to her hair. “It looks that bad?”
“No, you look that hot. I don’t think anyone but me should see you in that dress.”
A smile—one of those goofy ones that made her look like a fool falling in love—spread across Gina’s face. She couldn’t help it. Ford may tell everyone that he wasn’t the charming Hartigan, but he was full of shit. The man managed to charm his way into her heart—and panties—every single day. She needed to be careful, she knew that, but she didn’t want to. For once in her life, she was going to take her friends’ advice and believe that she’d get to live the fairy tale she’d never expected—at least for a little while longer.
Her stomach growled. And dinner. She’d also get dinner.
“You promised to feed me, so no staying home tonight,” she said as she crossed over to him and hooked her arm through his.
“And cannoli for dessert.”
“The actual pastry this time.” Last time, there’d been, well, a different kind of cannoli. Oh God, she’d never look at her favorite dessert the same way again.
“I have an order already waiting for us at Vacilli’s. We can pick it up on our way home from the restaurant.”
Home. She couldn’t get over the thrill hearing him call the Victorian that gave her, even though part of her knew it would just make everything hurt more later when he left for good. She’d deal with that when it happened. Not tonight.
…
Crossing the bridge over into Harbor City at night after dinner out meant being surrounded by sparkling lights, people everywhere, and the big-city excitement that always sped up her heart rate. Gina had no interest in ever living on this side of the harbor—even the idea of what rents were gave her a heart attack—but visiting sure was fun.
“So where are we going?” she asked Ford after they’d parked his car in the garage and turned right on 85th Street.
“It’s a surprise,” he said, taking her hand and intertwining his fingers with hers.
“I hate surprises.” She knew she could trust him, but still the anxiousness of not knowing what was going to happen next had her feeling twitchy. “I’ve had too many bad ones.”
“Well, not tonight.” He stopped. “We’re here.”
She looked up at the building and gasped. The original Vacilli’s. The bakery in Waterbury was one of the franchises, but this was the real one. The windows were dark and the closed sign hung in the door, but she could still see the displays of pastries that made her mouth water. Everyone had a weakness, and hers was most definitely this. Even if she couldn’t go inside, this was pretty amazing.
Then the bakery’s door swung inward. An older man in an apron stood in the now-open doorway. “Detective, welcome.” He turned to Gina, and a confused look flickered in his eyes for the briefest of seconds before he recovered. “And you must be Miss Luca. I understand you are a big fan of our cannoli.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” she said, pushing back the familiar angry embarrassment of someone’s first reaction to seeing her because she refused to let that ruin whatever Ford had planned.
“Good,” the man said. “I’d hate to share the recipe with someone who didn’t love them.”
Recipe? Share? The only message her brain sent back was that the man’s words did not compute. “What?”
The man laughed, and a real warmth filled his gaze as he looked at her. “Yes, you’re here for a very special couple’s baking lesson. Didn’t the detective tell you?”
She turned to Ford the sneak and waggled her finger at him. “No, he’s very good at keeping a secret.”
“Well then, surprise,” the man said. “I’m Conrad Vacilli. Come inside so we can get you set up with espressos, and I can show you how to make the most famous cannoli in Harbor City.”
Gina couldn’t believe it. All the times she’d talked about how much she’d loved the Vacilli’s cannoli, he’d been listening, really listening—so much so that he’d made this happen. Warmth spread through her chest, expanding outward until she couldn’t believe she didn’t have light shooting out of her fingertips.
She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his. “Thank you.”
Ford winked at her and gave her that smile that made her stomach do the flippity-flop thing, and they walked inside the bakery together to learn the secret to making the best cannoli in the tri-state area.
Chapter Fourteen
Gina had flour on the tip of her nose, and Ford wasn’t about to tell her. She’d had a perma-smile on her face for the entire drive back to Waterbury and had chattered excitedly the entire ride to her house about this detail and that detail for making cannoli.
As the street lights lit up the inside of the car as he drove down her street, he couldn’t help but sneak peeks at her smile, her eyes, the joy that lit her up from the inside out. He had no idea how so many people missed it when they saw her, but Gina Luca was beautiful.
Once at her house, he followed her inside, carrying the results of their baking lesson in a white Vacilli’s box, while she continued to rave about techniques and ingredients. He walked behind her so he could watch her ass sway from side to side in that yellow dress she’d put on that clung to her curves. He’d spilled a bag of flour at Vacilli’s watching her move around the kitchen in that dress. It had not been his smoothest moment, but those seemed to be few and far between when he was with Gina—and that was saying something.
The woman just did things to him. She shook things up. And he liked it. A lot. Probably too much.
He should probably be worried about that. He wasn’t. He was too busy wondering how, when they’d first met, he’d missed how her eyes twinkled when she smiled, how the curve of her high cheekbones perfectly highlighted her dark eyes, and how the nose she hated so much gave her a unique look that was so much her own that she redefined what beautiful could be.
“And the mixer,” she said as she closed the front door after he’d walked through and flipped the deadbolt. “I cannot believe how big it was.” She paused for a breath as she leaned back against the door, and her eyes went wide when she looked at him. “What’s wrong?”
Not a damn thing. Everything. That he wasn’t touching her. The fact that she still had clothes on.
“Ford?”
His name on her lips snapped something in him. The Vacilli’s box hit the hardwood floor with a thump. His determined footsteps echoed in the foyer as he crossed over to her. She let out a soft mewl when he pressed his body against hers. He cupped her face in his hands and took her mouth like a man who had just discovered the meaning of life, because that’s what he’d just realized. Gina. She was his meaning.
He couldn’t get enough of her because there was no such thing. The curve of her breast. The dip of her waist. The roundness of her ass. God, she was so sweet everywhere.
He broke the kiss, gliding his lips down the long column of her neck as his hands were busy with the hem of her dress, pulling it higher and higher, desperate to feel her soft skin.
Her hands were in his hair, holding him close as he kissed along the line of her exposed collarbone. He raised his hand and brushed the back of his knuckles down the long column of her neck to the collar of the thin material of her dress. Her answering moan tipped him over the edge.
He grabbed her hips and turned her around so she faced the door and made quick work of the zipper on the back of her dress. There was no slow teasing between them, not tonight.