Butterface

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Unable to stop himself, he swept his free hand over the parts of her body he could reach to make sure, a process made difficult by the fact that there was maybe an inch between her back and sides and the pointed edges of the wood, and because she glared at him the entire time as if she was plotting his death, which she probably was. He moved his hands so they were between her back and the broken wood.

“I’m fine,” she said, turning her face from his as if she could will him away.

His gut dropped. “Gina—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she interrupted. “I just want to get out of here.”

Ford looked around. The replacement planks of wood were scatted out of reach across the porch and down the steps. His feet were on solid ground, but the fit with the two of them stuck in the hole together was too tight for him to leverage either of them up. The truth of it was, they were well and good stuck.

“That’s not happening without help.” The first glimmer of a backup plan began to flicker in the back of his mind. “Can you reach your hand in my front pocket?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Really, you want me to cop a feel?”

Yes. No. Well, not at this moment. “My phone is in there. We have to call for help.”

“Fine,” she said with a huff.

It took a little adjusting in how they were squeezed together, but she managed to get her hand in his pants—or at least close enough to make his dick stand up and take notice.

Cool it, Hartigan. You’re not going to get another chance at this.

She bit her lip in concentration and pulled out his phone. “Got it.” She angled it so the camera zeroed in on his face, unlocking the screen.

“Go to contacts,” he said, working his new plan on the fly. “Hit the one that’s just the number six.”

“Is that your precinct number?”

He shook his head, praying silently that she’d understand what he was about to say next. “It’s Frankie’s station.”

Her finger hovered over the touchpad. “I thought you never wanted to call them for help because you’d get so much shit for it.”

“It’s worth it to make sure you’re okay.” And it was, a million times over.

“Let me stop you there. I don’t know where my brothers are, and since I don’t have any other ties to the Esposito family, you can just stop trying to butter me up.” She hit the contact listing for station six with a solid thunk.

“I’m not,” he said, and his heart sank as he watched the pain and anger flash in her eyes before she locked everything out, including him. He knew he had to tell her the truth, though. He owed her that much at least. “I know you won’t believe this, but I love you and I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

She laughed. It was the broken sound of a woman who’d reached her limit. “Well you better figure out how, because I’m done with liars and people who see me as a way to get ahead in their career. I know that’s why you came back. You thought my brothers had some Esposito secrets in that box.”

The relief that had gone through him when he’d realized there wasn’t anything related to the Espositos in that box had been so powerful that he’d nearly dropped into the nearby kitchen chair, because it wasn’t until that moment that he’d realized how far he was willing to go to protect her, the woman he loved.

“I did. And I was willing to do whatever it took to make sure none of the criminal repercussions came back to you.”

That got her attention. She stopped pretending to ignore him as if they weren’t practically glued together and looked up at him, her expression softening.

Of course, that was the exact moment when Frankie’s voice came out of his cell phone’s speaker. “Station Six, Hartigan speaking.”

…

Gina needed a minute to process. Heart beating against her ribs like it was getting ready for a jailbreak, she tore her gaze away from Ford—seeing him muddled her thoughts—and looked around at her neighbors’ houses. No one was out, but curtains were getting moved to the side, no doubt to figure out what the commotion was on her porch.