Jinxed (19 page)

“What makes you so sure we’re not going to have an affair?”

An affair? Afia tried to back away from Jake, but he tightened his grasp on her forearms. She supposed she should be grateful for his vice-like grip, as her knees were five seconds from buckling. She cursed herself for losing her composure, for allowing him to offer comfort. His idea of comfort was a slow, tender kiss that wrapped around her heart and ignited images of cuddling in bed, talking about their day and their kids. Longing had swirled in her stomach like a cyclone, overwhelming in its power. It was like having a glimpse of what you’d always wanted, and feared you’d never have. It was torture. “You said so yourself two days ago.
You and me. It’s not gonna happen
,” she mimicked, swiping away her tears and steeling herself against his seductive gaze. “I distinctly remember you saying that.”

He focused on her mouth and then looked deep into her eyes, searing her soul with a white-hot declaration. “As much as I hate to admit it, I’m not always one hundred percent right.”

Nerves jangling with anticipation, she suppressed a sigh of relief when he released her and headed for the door. At least one of them had regained their good sense. But then he turned the deadbolt, locking out the rest of the world, and her heart threatened to burst through her ribcage. Her own world spun as he took a deep breath and slowly closed the distance between them. She took a step back. Then another.

He followed until he’d backed her against the desk. “Maybe we should stop fighting this thing,” he said. “See where it takes us.”

“By having an affair?” she croaked. An affair sounded even more risky than a fling. So passionate. So
emotional.
No, no, no. She couldn’t risk getting emotionally involved with Jake. Men she cared about, men who cared about her, died. Somehow Rudy had escaped the curse. Or had he? For the first time she pondered the wisdom of moving in with her dear friend. Today, the powers that be had given her a not so subtle reminder of her ability to attract fatal danger in the form of Marty Ashe. That black cat could’ve been Jake’s doom as easily as his savior. Thank goodness she’d had the wits to arm him with her protective charms.

“What are you afraid of, Afia?”

“What?” Her thoughts muddled as his hands slid to her backside. The next thing she knew she was sitting on the edge of the desk, Jake’s big body wedged between her thighs.

“Is it the difference in our social status?” He worked his right hand up under the hem of her T-shirt, smoothed his palm up and over her bare back, his fingers brushing the clasp of her bra.

Her breath hitched as a wave of shock and excitement rippled through her body. He wasn’t going to feel her up right here on his desk, was he? “You forget. I’m not rich anymore.”

“Your friends are rich,” he said, leaning closer.

“No, they’re not.” Not her real friends. Oh, God. Was her bra undone? She shifted. No. Still clasped. Darn. No, good. No … She leaned back, trying to gain breathing room, but bumped up against his left arm. She glanced over her shoulder and caught him shoving aside notepads and receipts. Why was he clearing the desktop? Her mind danced with X-rated possibilities.

“Your mother’s rich.”

“Filthy rich,” she squeaked, her vision clouding as she breathed in the scent of herbal shampoo and raw masculinity. “Now that she’s married to Bartholomew.”

“Bart’s Bonbons,” he said, close to her ear, his breath hot on her neck. “The man’s practically an icon. I’m not an icon.”

“No.” Her eyes lazed shut as he nipped her earlobe and suckled. That felt good! No, great! No … “You’re an everyday guy.” Though far, she thought hazily, from ordinary.

“Your mother would hate me,” he said, easing her back until she was pressed flat against the top of the desk.

She nodded, her breath coming in shallow pants as he inched up her shirt, pressing kisses over her taut stomach. “She would strongly advise me against,” she swallowed hard, “seeing you.”

“Do you always do what your mother tells you to?” he asked, rolling up her shirt to reveal her bra.

Always. “Mostly,” she whispered as he skimmed his fingers over the swells of her breasts. Her skin tingled, her body pulsed. He pressed his erection against the juncture of her thighs, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him.
Do it
! She gripped his shoulders, trembling with anticipation.
Take off my pants, rip off my panties
.
Do it
!
Do it
! She felt naughty, feverish. She’d never had sex on a piece of furniture other than a bed. “Too conservative,” she mumbled.

“Your mother?”

Actually she’d been thinking about her husbands. Her cheeks burned. Now wasn’t the time to bring up her boring sex life. “Her choices … safe,” she managed as she risked meeting Jake’s heated gaze. Passion and excitement danced in his emerald-green eyes, promising a wicked adventure. He’d looked sexy and dangerous, and out-of-this-world gorgeous.

He smiled down at her, squeezed her nipples through the thin, lacy fabric. “Ready to take a walk on the wild side?”

Walk? She was ready to leap, run. Hell, she was eight steps ahead of him. She blinked, unable to articulate a dignified answer, warning bells clanging in her head. No, wait. Not clanging. Ringing. The phone was ringing six inches from her ear.

“Let the machine get it,” he said, smile fading.

“What if it’s Nancy?” she whispered. What if Marty made bail? The thought was as effective as being doused with cold water. She snatched the receiver before Jake could stop her. “Leeds Investigations,” she said, her voice sounding unnaturally husky. She cleared her throat. “Hello? Oh … hello.” Sincere worry faded to wariness. Client or not, Afia didn’t like this woman. “Yes. One moment, please.” She glanced up at Jake, who’d yet to remove his hand from her breast. He didn’t look very happy, and she suspected this call wouldn’t help her case. Quirking an apologetic smile, she offered up the receiver to Jake, and mouthed, “Angela Brannigan.”

He mouthed a word that started with an “F” and this time she was positive it wasn’t fudge. Frowning, he took his hands off of her to take the call. “I’m working on the dancer angle, Ms. Brannigan. Nothing yet. Mmm. Uh-huh.” He straightened and raked his fingers through his hair.

Afia shimmied off of the desk and yanked down her shirt. Two seconds ago she’d been ready to have wild, dirty sex. Just now … she didn’t know what she wanted just now, but she certainly wasn’t in the mood to lie there half naked while Jake conversed with a client. She tried to escape, but he nabbed her hand, stroking his thumb back and forth across the sensitive skin of her wrist.

“The Summertime Gala, hosted by the SCC,” he said into the phone while snaking his arm around her waist. “Yes, I’ve heard of it.” He tugged her close and maneuvered the receiver so that they could both listen to Angela speak.

“This year the event is being sponsored by the Carnevale Casino. Tony just informed me that his attendance is mandatory,” the woman said in a strained voice. “I want you to go to that gala. If he’s there, watch who he interacts with. If he’s not there … find him and, and …”

“Photograph who he interacts with,” Jake finished for her.

“I don’t know how you’re going to get in,” Angela went on. “I just called and the event is sold out, and obviously I can’t ask Tony to put you on a guest list.”

Afia poked Jake then patted her chest and gave him the thumbs up.

He raised an eyebrow, telling Angela, “I’ll get in.”

Afia smiled and nodded.

“Good,” Angela said, relief evident in her tone. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow morning.” Then she disconnected.

“If it weren’t for those fishnets and press-on nails,” he said, replacing the receiver, “I’d be questioning that woman’s suspicions. Five days into the investigation and Rivelli still smells as sweet as a rose. Either he’s really good or I’m really slipping.”

“Or he’s innocent.” Afia pulled clear of Jake and backed toward the door with a sigh. “Not that I’m convinced after talking to my friend.”

“That’s right. You have additional info on those dancers.”

“And some scoop on Rivelli. Don’t worry,” she said, leaning back against the door and fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “My friend doesn’t know why I asked. I used some of the interviewing techniques you taught me, and I’m pretty sure I did it right.”

“No doubt.” He cocked his head and studied her with a smile. “Why don’t you come over here and we’ll talk about it.”

Her gaze slipped to the bulge in his jeans. “Because if I come over there … just now … we won’t end up talking.”

He laughed and propped a hip on his desk. “Good point. Okay. What have you got?”

“Not that much, but it may lend credence to Angela’s ‘dancer’ theory. Even though Rivelli oversees all of the departments—gaming, food and beverage, hotel—his main interest lies in entertainment. Thanks to Anthony Rivelli, the Carnevale has the most aggressive entertainment program in Atlantic City. Public areas, the lounges, the restaurants, and of course the showroom. He really pushed for the current variety show,
Venetian Vogue.
Glitzy, over-the-top costumes, dancing and singing, and plenty of T&A. Vegas meets Broadway, according to my friend.”

Jake crossed his arms over his chest. “This friend of yours have a name?”

She didn’t want to drag Jean-Pierre into this. What if it somehow got back to Rivelli? What if it compromised his job? “Surely you don’t expect me to give up the name of my snitch?”

Jake snorted. “You’ve been watching too much television. All right. So Rivelli’s hot on entertainment. That doesn’t make him hot on an entertainer. Unless your friend, who I am assuming works at the Carnevale, heard some in-house gossip.”

“No. Nothing like that. No one in particular, that is. It’s just that he shows up at a lot of rehearsals and performances. Apparently he’s very friendly with all of the cast members. More than one of the dancers has been seen sitting in his lap, but that doesn’t mean anything. Show people tend to be touchy-feely.”

“I’ve been known to get that way myself.” He raked a slow, hot gaze over her body. “Anything else?”

So that’s what it felt like to be undressed with someone’s eyes! She ignored the tingling between her legs and crossed her arms over her chest. “Just that Rivelli engineered a special performance for tonight’s gala. One of the flashy dance numbers from
Venetian Vogue.
”

“So our nine lovely suspects will be in the same room with Rivelli tonight, and we’ll be there to see if he gets touchy-feely with any one in particular.” He smiled. “Excellent. So how are we getting in? Your friend?”

“Actually, I have two tickets. I bought them months ago. I attend the gala every year. I’ll just go home and get them.” She needed a breath of fresh air, time away to clear her mind. She still couldn’t believe what she’d almost done on that desk.

“Just bring them with you tonight,” Jake said with an amused grin as he watched her struggle with the deadbolt.

“I’m not going with you.” In light of her financial fiasco, she’d decided to skip this year. The cost of her tickets had gone to a worthy cause. That’s all that mattered.

He walked over, gently nudged her aside, and released the deadbolt with ease. “I’m not going to that fancy shindig alone.”

“Then take a date.”

“I’m planning on it. What time should I pick you up?”

She wasn’t sure which was more frightening: Facing the SCC board members or going out on a “date” with Jake.

He tugged on her pigtail. “Come on, sweetheart. Think about it. You know these people. You know this event. With you by my side I’ll mix right in. I need to be as inconspicuous as possible.”

She gazed up at him, entranced by his chiseled jaw, full mouth and twinkling eyes. Why couldn’t he be butt-ugly? If he were hard on the eyes maybe he’d be easier to resist. But she knew that wasn’t true. Jake’s beauty radiated from his confidence and his determination to protect the innocent. “So this date … it’s just business?”

He grinned. “Mostly.”

Her knees and will weakened. Devastated by a smile. She was pathetic. Then again, he was right. She did know these people. Her being there would make his job easier. Being skittish just because he’d suggested they have an affair was childish. “I’ll meet you there.”

He angled his head. “I’ll pick you up.”

She worried her bottom lip. He knew where she lived. He’d dropped her off the other day after that rainstorm. But she hadn’t let him come inside. She hadn’t wanted him anywhere near Rudy. Now she was wondering if perhaps she’d been taking the wrong course. Maybe if Jake got to know Rudy, he’d realize how absurd it is to be threatened by a person’s sexual preference. He’d admitted that he wasn’t always one hundred percent right. Maybe she and Rudy could help him to see the error of his homophobe ways. “All right. You can pick me up.” She cracked open the door, her body tingling with the thought of making a positive difference in Jake’s life. “Oh, and by the way,” she said as she slipped out the door, “the Summertime Gala is a black-tie affair.” She smiled. “Dress to blend.”

“Afia.”

“Yes?”

“If you’re interested in picking up where we left off …” He winked. “Dress to impress.”

“What do you think?”

Rudy set aside his book, sipped his power-smoothie and took in Afia’s radiance with an appreciative smile. He adored the way she’d twisted her hair into an up-do reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn in
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
. Her make-up was exquisite, dramatic without being over the top. But he’d told her that before, and he knew that her worries now centered on the dress. She pivoted, allowing him a full view. The strapless, satin orchid gown with the A-line skirt suited her figure and color and reeked of sophistication. “You look beautiful, honey. Very classy.”

Her face crumpled. “You mean boring.”

Rudy leaned back in his recliner and dragged a hand over his face. They’d been at this for over an hour. Where was Jean-Pierre when he needed him? He’d pluck an evening gown off Afia’s packed clothing racks, spout something in French, and,
ta-dah
, she’d be transformed into whatever she was striving to emulate. “Sweetie, you’ve had on four evening gowns. Each one looked fabulous.”