Butterface

“Too bad, because I do.” He pressed the hotel room door open wide, the move highlighting his ropy forearm and just how big his hands were. “And I think you do, too.”

Her dress was still partially askew, her panties were in her purse, and her nerves were all twangy, and he wanted to talk? He had to be joking. But then she looked up—way up—at his face and realized he was deadly serious. Either that or he had a resting scowl face. Her gut sank down to her toes. What in the hell had she done when she’d taken that hotel key?

…

Ford flipped the deadbolt on the hotel room door and stayed there with his back up against the wall and watched Gina take a weaving path as she paced in front of the bed. The woman should never play poker—especially not at the Hartigans’ weekly game. She was nothing but a jumbled set of tells. The way she fiddled with the handle of her purse. The way her gaze flicked from one part of the room to another, studiously avoiding him. The way her steps seemed both hesitant and speedy. The Hartigan siblings would empty her kitty of pennies before the fourth hand.

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason why he couldn’t bring her to play poker. The wedding planner, with her cute blushes and awkward nervousness, was Gina fucking Luca. Sister to Rocco and Paul Luca, two neighborhood loan sharks with delusions of grandeur. That her name had never come up in the task force’s briefings wasn’t a surprise. The Lucas were bottom feeders, no matter how well-informed they were about the Esposito organization.

So why had he brought her back into his room? It sure wasn’t because it gelled with standard operating procedure to invite a relative of known crime associates into his hotel room while he was wearing only a sheet. If internal affairs knew, his ass would be missing several bite-sized chunks out of it.

Finally, she stopped, crossed her arms in front of her stomach, and lifted her chin a few inches before her gaze dropped from his. “Well, what did you want?”

“You’re Gina Luca.” The words came out because he had no idea what else to say.

She shrugged. “And?”

“Your brothers are Paul and Rocco Luca.”

The tip of her nose turned red, and a splotch of color appeared at the base of her throat. “This is what you wanted to talk about? My family tree?” She tightened her arms around her midsection. “Well, my mom’s Barbara, my dad’s Sal, and my grandfather is Big Nose Tommy, well, was is probably a more accurate description. He disappeared twenty years ago.”

Disappeared. Yeah, that was one way to put probably wearing cement shoes at the bottom of the harbor.

“You need a date to Grandma’s birthday party, and you just told your brothers that I’m your boyfriend.” Okay, not the smoothest of lines or a smart move according to regulations, but he’d never claimed to be the suavest Hartigan in Waterbury.

She snorted. “That was because I didn’t want to have to bail my brothers out of jail because they figured knocking you out cold was the honorable thing to do. Now if that’s all, I’ve got to go.”

So she had idiot brothers, too. He could identify. He needed to step to the side, open the door, and let her go back to whatever life she led. Instead, he stood there like a stump—useless and in the way.

“I’ve been where you’re at,” he said out of fucking nowhere.

One side of her mouth kicked up into an almost smile. “Standing in a hotel room with your panties in your purse?”

He chuckled unexpectedly. “Not quite.” He shoved his hand through his hair. Where in the hell was this coming from? He didn’t talk about this shit. What was next? A look into his feelings about fighting for every case that came his way because everyone on the force seemed to live under the same misconception as his brothers that he should have been a firefighter, like every other Hartigan male since his great-great-whatever got off the boat? Even the idea of doing that made him want to hurl. “I’ve been the one who didn’t quite fit in with my family.”

She rolled her eyes and got some of the same attitude she’d had when she was telling her brothers to take a flying leap. “I have a hard time believing that.”