Jinxed

by Beth Ciotta

  “I like it.” Jake took a long swig of beer, needing to lubricate his desert-dry throat. Hot? She was on fire. The beaded gown flowed over her curves, leaving very little to the imagination. Scandalously low-cut, the sable brown fabric matched her hair and eyes perfectly while accentuating her creamy skin. Maybe it was her hair, twisted in a high chignon, or her lined, luminous eyes, or her slender bone structure, but damn if she didn’t look like a sexed-up Audrey Hepburn. He’d always had a thing for Audrey.

  She looked from Rudy to Jake and back again as if trying to gauge the tension.

  “We’re fine, Afia,” her friend grumbled. “We’re having a beer together for chrissake. It’s that dress …”

  She waved off his concern and glided toward Jake on glittering, three-inch heels. “Are you really … fine? With,” she fluttered a hand, “everything?”

  He set down the beer, buttoned his jacket and tried not to drool. “More than fine.”

  She smiled and smoothed her palms down the satin lapels of his single-breasted jacket. “You look very nice.”

  His heart raced in triple-time. “So do you.” How in the hell was he going to make it through an entire dinner dance without feasting on those cherry-red lips?

  She crinkled her nose. “Just nice?”

  He glanced at Gallow who was standing behind her, wide-eyed. The man palmed his forehead and groaned. Jake thought it was because he’d failed to say “hot” until Afia stepped back and did a slow one-eighty. Holy shit. He’d thought the front was low-cut. The back … there was no back. The material dipped dangerously low, very near to the base of her spine. “Impressive,” he choked out.

  She spun and zapped him with a toothy smile. “I’ll just get an evening bag, and we can be on our way.”

  Jake moved in next to Gallow, and they watched as she slinked to the far corner of the dining room and bent over to root through a box.

  “I can’t believe I picked out that dress,” Gallow said.

  “Thanks,” Jake said, enjoying the rear view.

  The other man grunted. “Keep your eye on her tonight.”

  “No problem.”

  “I don’t mean …” He elbowed Jake. “Get your head out of your pants for a minute and listen to what I’m saying.”

  Jake glanced sideways.

  “Afia’s sensitive. A couple of the women on the SCC don’t like her. Screw that, they despise her. Just—”

  “Got it!” Afia straightened with a tiny brown clutch purse in hand.

  “I got it, too,” Jake said to Gallow as she shoved some essentials into her bag and snatched up a sheer wrap. “No problem.”

  She hurried forward and gave her friend a hug. “I don’t know what time I’ll be home tonight.”

  He glanced sideways at Jake and then kissed her on the cheek. “Have fun.”

  Jake put his hand at the base of her back and ushered her to the stairs. The feel of her satiny skin sent a bolt of desire directly to his loins. He ached to slide his hand beneath the thin fabric of that clingy dress, to smooth his palms over every satiny inch of her body, to finish what he’d started this afternoon. Knowing that he had to get through an entire dinner dance and a possible tail before earning the green light was a real bitch. Talk about control. But he knew without a doubt it would be worth the wait. She’d been willing to make love on a desk, she wasn’t opposed to kinky, she was beautiful inside and out. In short, she was every man’s dream.

  He hung back as she started down the stairs, glanced over his shoulder at Gallow. “By the way,” he said with a crooked smile, “you don’t have to worry about Afia’s comfort. She won’t be sleeping on your couch tonight.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The five-minute ride to the Carnevale Casino was excruciating. Conversation was out of the question. She wasn’t sure what had happened between Rudy and Jake, but she was certain she’d felt no tension, and relief had freed her of all of her doubts. Now Afia couldn’t form a thought that didn’t revolve around sex. Jake was as devastating in a tux as he was in a T-shirt and jeans. Every time he glanced sideways at her, her skin heated and her nipples hardened. The memory of how he’d palmed her breast, squeezing her buds through the sheer, lacey cups of her bra, burned strong. Tonight, she wasn’t wearing a bra. He could bare her breast simply by pulling aside the slinky fabric of her bodice. Just the thought of it made her squirm.

  Jake noticed her fidgeting and smiled. Had he read her mind?

  He steered his car into Valet, handed over his keys, and rounded to Afia’s side to help her out. His grasp on her elbow was strong and assuring as they breezed through the chaotic porte cochère. The valet attendants gawked. The bellhops gawked. She adjusted her wrap higher on her shoulders, draping it across her chest. Minutes ago, she’d felt scandalously sexy. Just now she felt supremely self-conscious in her barely-there dress. And she still had to face the women of the SCC along with the other three hundred or so dignitaries that ceremoniously attended the gala. Even the mayor would be there.

  Jake wrapped his arm around her waist and hurried her inside as if sensing she was losing her nerve. “You look beautiful,” he whispered in her ear as he ushered her through the bustling lobby.

  Her heart fluttered at the compliment and provided her with a smidgeon of confidence. Her heels clicked against the Italian marble, mingling with the chatter and laughter of a Friday night crowd. As the Carnevale was the newest, and one of the most heavily themed casinos in the city, it was also currently the most popular. She tried very hard to focus on the stunning Venetian design rather than the patrons’ leers and grumblings. Maybe they weren’t staring at her and gossiping about her husbands’ untimely accidents. Maybe they were griping about their gambling losses, or the exorbitant amount of money they’d shelled out for a gourmet dinner.

  Once she and Jake got upstairs and into the ballroom, she had no doubt she’d be the focus of speculative conversation. In attendance would be acquaintances and so-called friends of her past. She realized suddenly that instead of helping Jake to blend in, she’d only draw undue attention. Look, here comes the Black Widow with her next victim. How much do you think he’s worth? Poor guy’s a goner. Maybe he’ll get lucky and go like her first husband.

  Panic surged through her veins, her past and present colliding as they neared a massive, blown-glass chandelier.

  When Jake veered her toward the elevator, she broke off and slipped into a cocktail lounge called the Rialto. Gilded paintings of Venice’s Grand Canal graced the cobalt walls. An arched bridge rose behind the bar, doubling as a stage for a mandolin player and an electric violinist. Romantic music strained to be heard above the cacophony of buzzing voices and clinking glasses. The room was crowded and dimly lit. The perfect place to get lost.

  Jake walked up beside her, scratched his head. “What are you doing?”

  She took one ticket out of her clutch and pressed it into his hand. “You go on up, have dinner, circulate, and watch Rivelli. I’ll wait down here.”

  Jake scanned the mostly-male clientele seated along the bar, and frowned. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’ll sabotage the surveillance.”

  “What?”

  “Instead of helping you blend, I’ll only create a stir. I’m the ‘Black Widow,’ remember?”

  Impatience flickered across his handsome face. “That’s old news, Afia. Let it go. I guarantee you most gossip mongers have moved onto fresh blood. It’s human nature. I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but no matter how you slice it you’re going to draw attention. You’re goddamned gorgeous.”

  Afia blinked, stunned by the husky declaration. Men had been singing praise to her beauty her entire life, but never had a compliment sounded so sincere. Maybe because she knew that Jake found her attractive even when her clothes were smeared with barbecue sauce or when her hair was shoved up under a two-dollar baseball cap. She’d gained at least three pounds this week, and he still wanted to see her naked. She breathed deeply, while massaging
a strange ache in her chest.

  He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “You can sit down here and hide, or you can take an active part.”

  He was reminding her of her conviction earlier today. She appreciated the not-so-subtle nudge. She’d agreed to help him tonight, and if he didn’t consider her a liability, it certainly wasn’t fair to pull out. If anyone made a nasty remark, she’d handle it as she always did … with dignity. She certainly wouldn’t make a scene. They were on a case. This was work. Feeling foolish, she handed over her ticket. “All right.”

  He pocketed both gala tickets, noted her crinkled brow, and ran his hand over his face. “What?”

  She shifted, glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening. “It’s just that …” She cleared her throat and whispered, “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

  “None at all?”

  Wide-eyed, she motioned him to lower his voice. “Well, a wisp of a thong, but that’s it. Anything more would have ruined the lines of the gown.”

  He massaged his temples. “You had to tell me this now, baby?”

  The sexy endearment quickened her pulse and caused her cheeks to flush. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to hold her voice to a whisper. “But I had to let you know how inappropriately I’m dressed. Now that I’m out in public, I’m feeling a bit self-conscious.”

  “You look sexy, not indecent. Relax. No one knows that you’re naked under there. Except for me.” He studied the ceiling and shook his head. “I need a drink if I’m going to get through this night.”

  “Me, too.”

  He grabbed her hand and practically dragged her to an empty space near the end of the bar. “What would you like?”

  “What are you having?” she asked.

  “Scotch, neat,” he told the bartender.

  “Make that two,” Afia said.

  Jake raised his brows. “You sure about that?”

  “I need as much bolstering as you do. What’s good for the goose …”

  “You’re the goose.” Jake slapped a twenty down on the bar. “I’m the gander.”

  “Whatever.” Afia thanked the bartender for her drink, thanked Jake for treating, and then raised the glass to her lips. The fumes went right up her nostrils, and she instinctively grimaced.

  He laughed. “Let me order you a glass of wine.”

  “No, no. This is fine.” I will hold my own with this man.

  “Whatever you say.” He raised his glass in a mock toast.

  Wanting to get it over with, she downed the drink in one fiery swallow and then gave a full body shudder. Mental note: Scotch is disgusting.

  “Jesus, Afia. You’re supposed to sip it.”

  Since she didn’t think she could speak yet without breathing fire, she simply smiled.

  Jake swore and then matched her, downing his scotch in one shot. “Come on,” he said, nabbing her hand.

  “Maybe we should have one more,” she rasped.

  “No way.”

  She clattered behind him, feeling the burn of that hard liquor all the way up to the third floor ballroom. Music floated out through the open doors. We Are Family. No, Boogie Oogie Oogie. One of those overplayed seventies songs. Hard to tell since the orchestra was in the middle of a solo, no lyrics. Most of the attendees were already inside. Thank goodness. She wouldn’t be forced to make chitchat while waiting in line. They could simply slip inside and find a seat, hopefully in the back at a table where no one knew her. Reserved seating was always up front, and since Afia was no longer a member of the committee at least she didn’t have to worry about sitting next to Dora Simmons or Frances Beck.

  Unfortunately, the wicked witches of the Eastern seaboard were manning the silent auction table.

  It was impossible to move inside without passing them. The table was purposely situated in a high traffic area to elicit the most bids. As Dora and Frances were the most vocal of her critics, she decided to confront instead of avoid. They’d only track her down later. Better to get it over with. She stroked her charm bracelet, silently chanting, I am willing to forgive their pettiness. I am encased in a protective bubble, shielded from their catty jabs. I’m rubber, you’re glue … No, no. Not that one.

  “Well, isn’t this a surprise.” Dora was the first to speak. She was always the first, and the last, to speak. Sometimes Afia thought the woman was in love with the sound of her own voice. Other times she thought she was a controlling shrew. Probably she was both.

  “Good evening, Dora,” she said with an easy smile. “Frances.”

  “We didn’t expect you, dear,” Frances purred in a condescending voice. Baring her sculptured claws, she patted the first of several six-foot tables strung together in a very long “L.” Each table featured donated goods and certificates from local businesses and artisans. “Please don’t feel pressured to bid on anything. Pennies must be precious these days.”

  “Pennies are precious every day,” Jake said, regarding the stylish, forty-something women with a disarming smile. “That’s why we need to spend them on what matters.” He winked at Afia. “We’ll definitely bid.”

  Frances’s surgically tightened face burned red, but her voice remained calm. “I’m sorry, and you are?”

  “Afia’s boyfriend,” he said, offering his hand in greeting. A polite, no, dashing gesture, she thought. “Jake Blaine. Pleased to meet you.”

  She was glad that Dora and Frances were sizing up her escort instead of scrutinizing her heated blush. Boyfriend? Well, she supposed it made sense as they were undercover, but she wished he had warned her, although he had said this was a “date.” Boyfriend. Date. Jake, she realized with a start, made her feel like a woman reborn, instead of the doomsday widow.

  “Very kind of you, Mr. Blaine, as Afia has yet to introduce us,” Frances said, with a haughty sniff.

  “I’m so sorry.” Afia pressed a hand to her racing heart. “It’s just …” She smiled at Jake. “I’m sorry. Jake, I’d like to introduce Dora Simmons, president of the Seashore Charity Committee, and our, their, the vice president, Frances Tate.”

  “So how long have you and Afia been seeing each other,” Dora asked, moving in for the kill.

  “Not long,” Jake said.

  Frances raised her thinly tweezed brows at Afia. “I’m glad you had the good taste to break things off with your chauffeur, dear.”

  Maybe it was the scotch. Maybe it was her reluctance to be a doormat with Jake looking on. Or maybe she was just plain sick of these two hypocritical do-gooders. She smiled, a slow smile laced with innuendo. “Oh, I’m still living with Rudy.”

  Frances blinked and looked at Jake.

  He nodded. “Great guy. A real man’s man.”

  Afia stifled a giggle.

  Dora crossed her arms over the black beaded bodice of her classic silk gown. “And what business are you in, Mr. Blaine?”

  “The business of gathering information.”

  “Oh?”

  “Data processing,” he clarified.

  “Oh. Sounds tedious. Although it must pay terribly well,” she said, glancing at Afia.

  “Not terribly,” Jake said. “Just your everyday, blue-collar job.”

  Frances smoothed her fingers over her diamond choker and chuckled. “Young. Middle income. You’re certainly not Afia’s type now, are you, Mr. Blaine?”

  Zing! Afia felt an invisible arrow pierce her protective bubble, and she almost, almost lost her composure. I am willing to forgive their pettiness.

  Jake’s smile was intact, that same gorgeous, dimpled smile, but his eyes had turned dark and cold. “Here’s a tip, ladies.” He thumped two fingers against his heart. “Charity begins at home.” He nodded toward the silent auction merchandise. “Amazing that you’re able to do so much good when your hearts are so small.”

  “Well!” Dora said with a nervous titter. “I never!”

  “I’m not surprised.” Jake grasped Afia’s hand and tugged her further down the table. “Come on, bab
y. Let’s shop.”

  Afia had to press her lips together to keep from laughing. Jake, and not Dora, had gotten in the last word. “I don’t think you made a very good impression.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass what those two think of me and neither should you.”

  “I know. I don’t. At least, I’m trying not to. They do wonderful work, but they really are obnoxious. To me, anyway.”

  “And why is that?”

  “They’re afraid I’ve got my sights set on their husbands.”

  “Do you?”

  She blanched. “Of course not!” I haven’t done anything wrong. Then she saw the teasing twinkle in his eye. “Oh.”

  He stroked his thumb along her jaw. “To hell with them, Jinx.”

  “To hell with them,” she repeated, that strange ache pulsing in her chest again. Her blood roared in her ears as he focused on her mouth. She moistened her bottom lip willing him to steal a kiss. Just one … just something to appease the hunger until … later.

  He swallowed hard then broke away to peruse the merchandise. “So what should we bid on?”

  Disappointment seeped into her bones, even though she knew he was right to resist her silent plea. If they started kissing now they’d probably end up in the janitor’s closet instead of the ballroom. “Actually,” she said on a sigh, “Dora and Frances were right. I can’t really afford—”

  “Sure you can. End of the week. Pay day. It’s for a good cause, right?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her enthusiasm returned at the thought of all the good that would come from the gala. “Tonight’s proceeds will be divided up among several worthy organizations. The Homeless Shelter. The Aids Alliance.” She grinned. “Even the daycare center will get a small, but much needed slice.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  His insistence melted away her inhibitions and left her light-headed. Or maybe it was the scotch. Probably a little of both. “All right, Mr. Blaine.” She squelched the urge to hold his hand while scanning the merchandise. “Where’d you get that name anyway?”