Full House-e

Full Circle Series, Vol. 2

by Anna Dynowski

Officer Matt Paladini presents a cool, calm, and in control, face to the small community he’s sworn to serve and protect. But when Petra Lojek, the new teacher, blazes into town, he tries valiantly to dodge the bullets of love she shoots at him. The trouble is, she's an excellent markswoman and Matt finds himself anything but cool, calm and in control.

ISBN 1-59431-608-2 Romance / Romantic Suspense

Also available in RTF and HTML formats.

Cover Art: Shelley Rodgerson



Chapter 1

Detective Constable Matthew Paladini looked into her eyes--an extraordinary shade hovering somewhere between gray and green--and fringed with long lashes.

Beautiful eyes. The kind of eyes, he thought, that looked up at him from an ad in his daughter's many thirteen-going-on-thirty-cosmetics-and-fashion-oriented magazines. Not at all from a real woman.

The quick and helpless flutter around his heart surprised him, and clearing his throat, he asked, "Ma'am, do you know how fast you were traveling?"

The attractive eyes blinked rapidly behind the round, silver-framed glasses. Glasses, he noted, which did little to detract from this woman's good looks, but in an odd way, enhanced her makeup-less face. As did the gray streaking her brown hair.

"Um…no, Sir." She pushed her eyeglasses up higher on the bridge of her nose. "Um…seventy…seventy-five?" The corners of those eyes crinkled.

"No, Ma'am." His stomach gave a little bounce. What was the matter with him? First his heart and now his stomach?

He stood where he was, elbow pressed against his weapon and tapping his fingers on the side of his leg, knowing, inspite of his appearance, he was anything but cool, calm, and in control. And all because of this stranger. And her eyes.

What happened to the command presence he was taught from day one at the Police Academy and which he had no problem practicing these last nineteen years?

Shot to smithereens.

He almost grimaced but pulled the brim of his hat down lower on his forehead instead.

He could still hear Commissioner Chapman's imposing voice. Hold your head high. Keep your back straight. Feet wide. You must look people in the eye. Speak to them in a strong voice. And walk with a purposeful stride. Command presence is the first step, an important step, in keeping an officer--you--alive.

Command presence.

Imagine at forty-four, widowed, and the father of a twelve-year-old, he should need to remind himself to display command presence with a civilian. He shook his head.

Okay. Right.

Legs wide, with one foot back, Matt assumed the quarter to quarter stance, with his left shoulder facing her left shoulder, arms out, hands free, and leaned slightly toward the open window. "I would not have pulled you over, Ma'am, if you were doing seventy-five in a sixty-five kilometer zone."

Look people in the eye.

He let out a whistle of a breath when he trained his gaze on hers and realized, too late, it was a mistake. He had seen the quick flare of interest in her eyes before a shutter dropped down on them, effectively barring him from further scrutiny, but not before sending shock waves of awareness through the pit of his stomach. Dizzy, dazed, and desperate, he felt the impact all the way to the bottom of his feet, and for what seemed like a small eternity, it paralyzed his senses.

"How…how fast was I going, Officer?" she asked, with a slanted look at his face.

The air suddenly stopped moving around them, every sound was hushed, as an unwelcome tension settled over him and his mind turned to mush. Although weaving under some strange spell she cast, he made an effort, a frantic effort, to reclaim his composure. He had to. He could not allow himself to be distracted. Not now. Not ever.

Relief flooded through him as he felt the adrenalin pump through his veins, much like it did when he responded to a domestic violence or an armed robbery he'd been dispatched to. He approached with caution, always focused on what could hurt or kill him. Always alert about who was lying in wait. And what firearm they could be brandishing. Eyes couldn't pull a trigger, but hands could. And did. All the time.

Matt made his second mistake.

He took his eyes off her face and settled them on her hands, still clasping the steering wheel. It was only for a second. But long enough for him to ascertain a ringless left hand.

He noted a sense of satisfaction zing through him, as well, and became perplexed.

Now, why should he care if she was married or not? It was none of his business. He wasn't interested in engaging in any relationship with any woman. Relationships and him--a cop--didn't mix. It was like oil and water. Like fire and ice.

More like life and death, as he learned. The hard way.

A dark cloud of melancholy swirled around him. Deep from its filthy bowels, bolts of grief and shame, vying with one another, shot indiscriminately at him, prodding for points of entry. Irritation boiled to the surface and shaking them off with controlled vehemence, he returned his attention to the woman.

Speak in a strong voice.

"Ma'am, you were doing eighty-five kilometers an hour."

"Oh." It came out in three long syllables. Reaching for her purse, she dug out her wallet and handed him her driver's license, proof of insurance, and vehicle permit.

"Are you going to arrest Mommy?"

For the first time since he pulled the vehicle over for speeding, he became conscious of the parties--juveniles--in the backseat, tugging against the restraint of their seatbelts in an attempt to get a closer look.