Butterface

“Are you nuts?” Ford’s eyes nearly bugged out. “It fits in perfectly with the Victorian era of the house and will be a real wow moment.”

“You’ve been watching too many design shows.” Because they had totally shown him the light.

“That’s a lie.” He snorted and looked down the aisle at another couple, who were discussing the pros and cons of a reclaimed stained glass window. “You know I only watch action movies and cop dramas to laugh at all of the shit they get wrong.” He reached up and tucked a strand of wavy hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ear. “Get the tin ceiling—at least for your office, but it would look great in the rest of the main floor, too.”

It would. She nearly winced knowing how amazing it would look, because it wasn’t to be. She was a practical business owner and she had priorities she had to follow. Being a grown-up really sucked some days.

Too bad there wasn’t any way around her bank balance. “Not gonna happen, Officer Bossy.”

Ford took a hard look at her, the intensity of it making her face heat up. She wanted to press her hands to her cheeks but refused to give in to that old insecurity.

“Is it because of the price?” he asked.

Of course it was. “Nope.”

He slid on his cop face. “You know I trap people in lies for a living, right?”

“So?” She wiped her suddenly clammy palms against the sides of her worn jeans and nibbled on her bottom lip.

He stepped in close, his next words brushing against the shell of her ear and sending her heart rate into overdrive. “I know you’re lying.”

“How’s that?” Damn, she sounded breathy.

“Because you’re gonna make your bottom lip bleed if you chew on it any more.”

She immediately stopped nervously gnawing on her lip. “Fine. I want it, but I can’t afford it.”

He smiled down at her. “Good thing you don’t have to.”

It took a second for his words to penetrate the lust fog limiting the visibility in her brain to almost nothing. “What are you talking about?”

He took out his phone and opened the calculator app.

Wait a minute. How did he remember the dimensions of her office ceiling? Realization hit. This trip to the Wooden Barber was a setup. He’d planned the whole thing.

“It’s my housewarming gift to you,” he said as he finished his calculations and started putting squares of stunning tin into their cart.

She watched, vacillating between oh-my-God-yes and this-is-a-big-no-no. “I can’t accept that.”

“Why?” He didn’t slow his pace. “Your friends don’t give you presents?”

“Is that what we are?” she asked, not liking the word to describe them and really not liking the reason why. “Friends?”

“With handyman benefits.” He gave her a wink. “Don’t forget that part.”

“Like that’s gonna happen,” she said with far too much despair in her voice that had nothing to do with his skills with a hammer. Oh God, she was in so much trouble.

He grinned down at her. “Good, I’d hate to be the only one.”

As he finished adding the tin squares, Gina pushed down the giddy hope bubbling inside her—the one that made her want to believe that there could be something more permanent about what was going on between them. As if that was possible. As if there was a Cinderella moment in her future. She wasn’t waiting for Prince Charming, and no fairy godmother was going to give her a makeover. She was who she was—and that was Miss Right Now and Not Miss Forever.

She’d better remember that, or there was nothing but trouble ahead for her.

…

Guilt buying? Ford? Yeah, he was doing exactly fucking that. He hated lying, but was doing it anyway with Gina, and that was exactly why he was handing over his debit card to the clerk at the Wooden Barber. The only other choice was coming clean about why he was staying with her. He couldn’t do that. There were rules that had to be followed in an investigation, and giving up the goods to a civilian was a rookie mistake and he sure as hell wasn’t a rookie. He was an asshole who was starting to think too much about a woman he should see as only a source, a way get the information he needed to stop the Espositos.