Free Smitten by Janet Evanovich

I’m real good with a gun.”
    â€œNo guns!” Lizabeth stood at her seat, palms flat on the table, and leaned toward Elsie to make her point. “I don’t want any guns in this house.”
    Elsie bit into her doughnut. “I suppose it wouldn’t be neighborly to shoot him, anyway.”
    â€œAnd the police would frown on it,” Lizabeth said. “They’re not fond of vigilantes.”
    Elsie turned her attention to Matt. “Did you come over here just to plan a barbecue?”
    â€œNo. It’s supposed to rain tonight, so I thought I’d take a look at the roof. I might be able to patch some of the worst spots.”
    â€œYou don’t have to go up on the roof to do that, do you?” Lizabeth said.
    â€œWorried about me?” Matt asked, looking pleased.
    â€œOf course I’m worried. The roof is a mess. The shakes are loose, and the wood is probably rotted. If you fall off and get hurt, they’ll raise the rates on my homeowner’s insurance.”
    He drained his coffee cup and rose. “I’ll keep all that in mind.”
    â€œDo you need help?”
    â€œYou bet. I need someone to hold the ladder.”
    He slung his arm around Lizabeth’s shoulders and dragged her out of the kitchen. “Holding the ladder is a very important job. Not just anyone can do it. It has to be someone you trust.”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œAnd if you turn out to be good at holding the ladder, later on I might let you hold something else.”
    Lizabeth’s stomach did a rollover. “I’m not sure I want to hear this.”
    He turned and pinned her against the front door. “Lizzy Kane, you have a dirty mind.”
    He was silently laughing, and his mouth was just inches away.
    â€œYou set me up,” Lizabeth said.
    His face was a study in offended innocence. “Not true. I was thinking you could hold my shirt if it gets too warm on the roof, or you could hold my hammer while I carry the shingles.”
    He leaned even closer. “You were the one who thought about holding more intimate objects,” he whispered. “You want to know what I think? I think you want to hold my—”
    Lizabeth made a strangled sound in the back of her throat.
    â€œSomething wrong?” Matt asked. “I thought talking was okay. I thought everything was allowed except the ultimate act.”
    He was seeing how far he could push, she thought. Well, that was great. Two could play that game. “Fine,” Lizabeth said. “You want to play hardball?”
    He was close enough for her to feel the laughter rumbling deep in his chest.
    â€œNo,” he said. “There’s no doubt in my mind that I’d lose.”
    â€œReally? Scared of me, huh?”
    â€œYup. I’m in love with you, and that makes me vulnerable. If you wanted, you could squash me like a bug. You could trample my ego flat.”
    â€œI bet when you were a kid you got away with murder,” Lizabeth said.
    Matt finally broke the embrace, moved away and propped the ladder securely against the house. “What makes you think that?”
    â€œYou know all the right things to say to disarm a woman. You probably had your mother wrapped around your little finger.”
    â€œHardly. I was the fifth kid in a family of seven. Half the time my mother couldn’t remember my name.”
    To Lizabeth it seemed like a bitter statement to make, but there was no bitterness in his voice. In fact, there was no inflection at all. The tone had been flat. Matter-of-fact. His eyes, usually so filled with feeling, were blank, and his face held the sort of vacuous expression that came with denial or followed unbearable pain. There’d been a tragedy there, Lizabeth thought. And it had been dealt with and filedaway. She didn’t want to drag it out and open old wounds.
    She searched for something to say, but found nothing. She wanted to hug him, but she wasn’t