Butterface (The Hartigans #1)(46)

“Not in this case,” he shot back.

“Ford Hartigan, are you breaking the rules?”

“I seem to be making a habit of it whenever I’m around you,” he groused.

Now this was something worth exploring, and since he didn’t seem to actually be hurt apart from his pride, she put her phone away in her back pocket. “Well, since I have you trapped, you’ve got to tell me everything.” She was being an ass. She knew it, but how often did a woman like her have the hot guy she lusted after trapped in her porch? This was a situation that needed to be savored like a fine wine or a greasy cheeseburger when she had a hangover from savoring too much of that fine wine. “Why are you here instead of at work?”

“I punched a fellow detective who happens to outrank me.”

Whoa. It took a few seconds for his words to sink in. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

His face darkened, and for a second she didn’t think he’d answer. Finally, he grumbled, “I had my reasons.”

“Don’t suppose you’ll tell me?” Because she was dying to know what in the world could push someone like By The Book Hartigan to punch a superior.

He just held her gaze.

Wow. Throwing punches at another detective. She would have to follow up with Fallon about that, because Mr. Tight Lips wasn’t going to give up any of the goods, which was really too bad. Of course, it wasn’t enough of a reason to let her house eat him, no matter how nice it was to have him around again.

“Then I guess I’ve got no choice but to free you.” Sticking close to the outside wall of the house like Juan had warned her to do, she went to the end of the porch where there was a ladder she’d used to put up the hanging plant baskets.

She carried it back and laid it down so that it spanned not only the hole Ford was stuck in but also several feet past it in both directions, giving him something to brace his arms on that wasn’t dried-out wood from the last century. Was it bad that she totally scoped out his forearms when he pressed his palms onto the ladder and lifted himself out of the hole? Well, if it was, too bad, because she had to get her thrills where she could.

By the time he was standing next to where she stood close to the door, his T-shirt plastered to his chest because of the water from the watering can, she was having to stuff her hands in her pockets to keep from reaching out and running her hands over him to make sure he was really okay. He looked okay. Correction, he was Ford Hartigan—he looked way better than okay.

Regina, this is not the time to go there.

But she couldn’t help it. Being so close to him that she could smell the warm cedar of his cologne and feel the sizzle of the air around them discombobulated her.

“If I take you out to eat, will you agree not to sue me?” She regretted the words as soon as they were out. Why did she always make dumb jokes when she got nervous?

He gave her that cocky half grin. “Is there cannoli involved?”

Of course, the mention of her favorite pastry sent her brain right back to that night in her kitchen. Did he mean… He couldn’t… She looked up into his face. There was no missing the heat in his eyes as he watched her. Oh God. He did.

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Most definitely there will be cannoli.”





Chapter Thirteen

They walked into the bakery. Scratch that. Ford did his best I’m-not-shoving-you-but-I’m-totally-shoving-you move to get into the tiny storefront of Vacilli’s Bakery so Gina wouldn’t have to be elbows-to-asses with a bunch of sugar-crazed Waterbury citizens desperate to get their pastry on.

“What is with these people,” he muttered under his breath—but not enough under his breath, going by Gina’s giggle and the dirty looks he got from the other people crowded into the bakery.

“You haven’t had their cannoli yet.”

“But I’ve had cannoli. Remember?”

Pink splotches appeared on her cheeks. “You got distracted.”

“I can’t imagine why. Maybe it was when you took your dress and—”

She cut him off, “Ford!”

He was almost as disappointed as the old man in line ahead of them whose face fell when Gina interrupted and then grumbled something about young people not being any fun.

“You know, in some places it’s illegal to be as sexy as you are. I’m a police officer. I know these things.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know very well that that’s not true.”

“You know every law in every state in the U.S.?”

Her gaze faltered, dipping down to the floor. “No, I know for a fact that I’m not that sexy.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” Her smile lost that joking quality and went stiff. He couldn’t help but think that she was recalling whatever it was that someone had done to her to break her trust so completely that she wouldn’t tell him about that day at the Wooden Barber. But he knew better than to push. She’d tell him eventually. He could be patient—for her.

“What’s so special about this place? Cannoli is cannoli.”

“No. There is cannoli and then there is Vacilli’s cannoli. The main bakery is in Harbor City and has been there for decades. I would love to get to go to the Harbor City one someday and spy on them making the cannoli. They opened this one a few years ago.”