Page 29 of Justice for Francesca

The abrupt change from answer to question shocked her. She stuttered, “Wh-wh-what?”

“You hate it when everyone calls you Frankie.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because when someone calls you that, you tense up.”

If she hadn’t already been attracted to him, his noticing something so simple would have started her fall. “I used to ask people over and over—my family included—not to call me that. It was like I wasn’t even speaking when I said it. Eventually, I gave up because it was clear no one cared what I wanted. Everyone’s always called me Frankie. I was a tomboy—still am—so I think people felt Francesca was too feminine for me.”

“What do you want me to call you?”

Her heartbeat sped up, and she felt herself fall a little bit more under whatever spell he was working on her. “Francesca.”

“It’s a beautiful name.” He slipped his hand up to curve along the side of her face. “You’re beautiful, Francesca. Your name suits you.” He leaned in, his lips inches from her. “I want you to call me Ethan. Can you do that?”

“Ethan,” she whispered.

His lips brushed hers. He didn’t attempt to open her mouth or push the kiss beyond the sweet touch that it was. She felt her hand rise to reach for him, and then reality came snapping back. What the hell was she doing? Anxiety rose up, and she forced her hand away from him. Pulling back, literally and figuratively, she put distance between them. “Your nickname. Tripoli. Why?”

He clearly knew exactly what she was doing because he crept forward to stay close to her, sliding his lips to the underside of her jaw. “You know the answer. Think about your file on me,” he murmured against her skin, then continued to kiss down her neck.

Involuntarily, she craned her neck to give him more access. Her brain raced.

Ethan Ezekiel Evans. Born and raised in San Antonio. Navy medic who deployed with the Marines. Almost forty-four years old.

Her eyes flew open, and she pulled back from his mouth. “It’s not ‘Tripoli,’ the city. It’s really ‘Triple E,’ Ethan Ezekiel Evans.”

“Smart girl. People assume the spelling, and I never bother to correct them. Now. Be even smarter and come back here so I can kiss you some more.”

She tensed. It was unavoidable. The stain of being one of the Dirty McCabes did not sit well with her. Allowing him to kiss her, no matter that he wasn’t technically a suspect, no matter how much she wanted to give in, could not happen. Dinner and questions were at the edge of the line. Kissing was definitely crossing it.

She pushed him away again. “We can’t do this. I can’t break the rules like this. It’s just not in me.”

He’d slid as close to her as he could get, tightly wrapping the arm that had been along the back of the couch around her shoulders. The other arm gathered her around the waist and effortlessly lifted her to straddle his lap.

Panic set in, her fingertips gripping the sleeves of his dress shirt with desperation. Francesca decided to get off of his lap and leave, forgetting this had ever happened. Once again, while her brain was on board with that plan, her body refused to follow her brain’s instructions. She felt frozen in place, his one hand gripping her hip and his other brushing the back of his fingertips along her cheek.

“You’re not breaking any rules,” he whispered. “Not a suspect. Remember?”

Before she could even think twice about moving off his lap, he’d swooped in to kiss her again, his lips seaming to hers. It was useless. The pull between them was just too strong, and her lips parted on a sigh. He took full advantage of her moment of weakness, but she found she no longer wanted to fight him.

For three months at The Library, almost the minute they met, she’d wanted to feel his lips on hers, his hands on her body. She’d wondered what it would feel like to make love with him, sleep curled up to him, and wake up to him in the morning. She’d continued to wonder after she’d been pulled from the case.

Now, here she was, in his arms, and he was everything she’d imagined and more. By the time he pulled away to give them both room to breathe, her knees were gripping his hips, her hands were framing his stubbled cheeks, and she could feel the heat of him burning through the material separating them.

He groaned as if in pain and need. “Your mouth is heaven, Francesca. Sweet like candy. Warm like cinnamon. Smooth like satin.”

“Ethan.” She tipped her forehead to his, her eyes closed, her brain screaming at her to get off his lap and leave, her heart pleading with her to stay right where she was.

Somehow, he knew she was thinking of running. He took one of her hands in his and placed it over his heart. “Do you feel my heart pounding out of my chest? That’s because of you,Francesca. You’re absolutely beautiful. So much so that all of me aches with wanting to take care of you. Just like it did from the first moment I saw you. You’re perfect.” His lips took hers again in a soft, lingering kiss. “Don’t deny us this. You’re not doing anything wrong. In fact, everything you’re doing is right.”

“I…” She looked at him helplessly. “This is too much,” was all she could manage.

“It’s only as much as you want it to be. I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking you to see where this could go. Like me an inch today. Like me two inches tomorrow.”

“Like you an inch at a time?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

His face scrunched up in confusion for a moment before laughing. “Dirty girl. I didn’t even think about the innuendo that comment created.” His smile faded. “What do you say, Francesca? We were friends at one time. I thought you were even beginning to think of me in terms of something more than a friend, but I didn’t want to push too hard and drive you away. We clearly have chemistry, so I know you’re at least attracted to me physically. It seems a shame to waste the opportunity a second time.”

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