Butterface
“Speaking of which, you have something…” 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.