Jinxed (14 page)

“That’s disgusting.”

“That’s what I said.” She climbed out and snatched up a fluffy towel while maintaining her grip on the cell phone. “So what should I do?”

“Soak and scrub, and hope that he owns some talcum powder. It’s not like you know him well enough to borrow his deodorant.”

Afia rolled her eyes, trading the towel for the T-shirt and sweatpants Jake had given her just before he’d escaped into his own bathroom. “Hold on.” She laid down the phone to pull his faded gray T-shirt over her head, breathing in the distinct scent of fabric softener. There was something undeniably intimate about wearing her host’s clothes. Smiling, she tugged on the dark blue sweatpants, pulled the drawstring tight and then put the cell back to her ear. “You have approximately sixty seconds to give me a crash course in flinging.”

Rudy sighed. “You’re absolutely positive you don’t have feelings for this guy?”

“I’ve known him for less than two days.”

“Takes less than two minutes. Cupid’s a quick shot.”

She blocked out the image of Jake fired up and ready to pummel her “assailant,” his affectionate behavior toward his five “stray” cats, and the knowledge that he spent his free time shopping for antiques to furnish his charming Victorian home. She focused on his sexual charisma—his hands, his tongue, the hard evidence of his desire—while shaking her hair loose from its bun. A plethora of feelings had rocked her body, but she was certain it had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with lust. “If you don’t want to help me, Rudy, just say so.” She leaned over to roll the too-long hem of the overly baggy sweat pants to above her ankles. “I just thought, well, you have more experience than I do.”

“Ah.”

Afia cringed at her friend’s flat tone. “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re …”

“The king of quickies?”

“I’m sorry, Rudy.” This morning he’d received three new self-help books from
Amazon.com
. He’d probably been sitting in the airport waiting area engrossed in an enlightening read when she’d called. Afia crumpled onto the toilet seat, feeling like an insensitive heel. “I know you’re trying to alter your lifestyle. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have said …”

“Afia.”

“Yes?”

“Always do what you want and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.”

She relaxed and smiled. “Shakti Gawain?

“Dr. Seuss.”

“I love you, Rudy.”

“I love you, too, honey. Now here’s what you need to do.”

Showered, dressed in comfortable black cargo shorts and a faded blue T-shirt, Jake sat at the oak butcher-block table petting Velma with one hand while sorting through Rivelli’s discarded magazines and receipts.

The afternoon storm raged. Rainwater dripped into the three stainless steel pans, an annoying audible plop that registered every five seconds. Rosco and Barney wrestled in the laundry room. Mouser cowered under the sofa waiting for the storm to subside. Wary of women, Scamp had taken refuge under Jake’s bed and wouldn’t be showing his whiskers until Afia left the house. Jake almost wished he could join the skittish puss.

He stretched his muscles, but the tension remained. The woman had him tied up in knots. His “talk” hadn’t gone precisely as planned. No, he’d had to complicate matters by sticking his tongue down her throat for the second time today.
Smooooth
. He’d spent ten minutes under an icy shower spray trying to numb the craving to join her in that claw-footed tub. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this stupidly hot for a woman.

Probably because this was a first.

His head snapped up as Afia padded into the kitchen wearing his sports socks, sweatpants, and police academy shirt. He’d purposely provided her with worn workout gear guaranteed to fit her like a potato sack. The T-shirt fell to mid-thigh. His sweats, rolled to above her ankle, bagged in all the right places. She had absolutely no shape. Her face was scrubbed clean of make-up, and her damp hair was divided into two long braids. She looked all of seventeen.

Perfect. He’d never been attracted to jailbait.

Just think of her as off-limits, which she is, and you’ll be fine
.

Right.

So long as she follows my dictate and doesn’t raise the subject of our mutual attraction, everything will be cool.

Sure.

He focused on Rivelli’s crumpled receipts and continued to stroke Velma, who’d sprawled out on the left half of the butcher’s block. He’d tried to break the tiger cat from jumping up on the tables, but she was stubborn and needy, and hell, it’s not like he ever used the butcher block anyway. “Feel better?” he asked Afia without turning.
Be cool, man. Don’t bring up the kiss
.

“Much better,” she said. “Thank you.”

“There’s a T.V. in the parlor. Make yourself comfortable. We’re not going anywhere for a while. It’s raining like a bitch out there.”

“I can see that.”

He heard the scrape of metal against tile and glanced over his shoulder to find her adjusting the placement of one of the three pans.
Plop. Plop
. He waited for a snide comment regarding his leaky ceiling but, naturally, she disappointed him.

She motioned toward the receipts. “How’s it going?”

“Not good.”

“Oh.” She worried her full, naturally pink bottom lip while sitting down on the stool next to him. Just his luck she didn’t have a favorite afternoon soap opera. “So I guess you found some incriminating evidence,” she said, her disappointment as evident as the welt beneath her eye.

“Just the opposite. I found zip.” A surge of protectiveness washed over him. Accident or not,
Billy
had clocked her good. “How’s your eye?”

She glanced sideways at him. “You’re not going to get riled again, are you?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Four years old, huh?”

She quirked a lopsided grin. “He was defending himself. Someone called him a sissy.”

“Ah, well in that case …” He resisted the urge to touch her, to kiss away the pain. Touching was bad. Kissing was worse. “I’ll get you some ice.” He escaped toward the freezer and some frosty air.

“I like the way you decorated your kitchen. It’s …”

“Rustic?”

“Homey.”

He found it hard to believe that she actually like the scarred walnut table and mismatched wicker chairs. The appliances were ancient. The collection of old-fashioned kitchen utensils a flea-market whim. Then again little-rich-girl was full of surprises. He returned with a folded dishcloth full of ice cubes. “Here. Try this.”

“Thank you.” She pressed the makeshift icepack to her cheek.

He focused back on the receipts, silently cursing the flowery scent wafting from her glistening clean skin. That’s what he got for setting out the soap Joni had given him, one of her perpetual housewarming gifts. “
What if you have a female guest
,” she’d said, “
like me. If you think I’m using your manly deodorant bar on my sensitive skin, you’re nuts.
” He wished to Christ he’d tossed his sister’s advice along with that flowery-smelling “guest” soap.

“So Rivelli’s trash was,” she shrugged, “clean?”

“No empty drug or liquor bottles,” he said, biting back a smile, “or hefty receipts to suggest he’s a drug or alcohol abuser. Not even a wine bottle to suggest casual drinking.”

“Or an intimate dinner for two,” Afia added. “No love letters?”

“Nope. No condom wrappers or empty tubes of spermicide, which implies no sex, unless he’s having unsafe sex.”

“Or unless she’s on the pill. That’s assuming there is a
she
other than his fiancée. Did you question Ms. Brannigan about her choice of birth control?”

“No, I did not. Good call, Jinx.” He glanced sideways, impressed by her reasoning, intrigued by the tinge of pink in her cheeks. Either she was pissed off by the nickname (Good. Insurance that she’d keep her distance) or she was embarrassed by the topic of discussion. The woman had been married twice, and she was possibly,
probably
screwing around with her ex-chauffeur. Surely birth control had been addressed. She was childless after all. So what method did she prefer? He wondered. The pill? The ring? A diaphragm? Not that it mattered, because they were
not
going to have sex. And even if they did he’d still wear a condom. He didn’t bed hop, but he did have a healthy sex life and a string of casual girlfriends. Protection was second nature and a matter of respect for one’s self and one’s partner.

He wondered if biker boy wore a pocket rocket.

He wondered a lot of things about that guy. He knew through Joni that Afia had bought him that limousine. What kind of a man accepted a gift like that from a woman? A gigolo? A gold digger? A lazy bum? She’d claimed that a four year old had given her that shiner, but how did he know for sure? Was her relationship with Gallow on the rocks now that she’d lost her fortune? He’d only met the man once, but he’d bet his P.I. license Rudy Gallow’s interest in Afia wasn’t rooted in her feminine charms.

Jake clenched his jaw, cursing his obsession with Afia’s mysterious “friend.” He’d known this woman all of two days, and he was acting like an overprotective, over-possessive ass. He couldn’t help wondering if she’d affected her father and husbands this way. First they lost their minds, next their lives.

Jinxed
.

“Didn’t find a phone bill,” he said, smoothing his palm over Velma’s exposed belly in a bid to calm his nerves. “And there’s nothing suspect about the receipts I did find.”

Velma stretched out, bumping her paws against Afia’s elbow.

Using her free hand, she reached across the table and scratched the cat’s head with her fingertips. “Maybe Rivelli’s not having an affair.” Velma purred, and Afia grew bold, using her entire hand to massage the tiger’s furry neck. “Maybe Ms. Brannigan’s unduly insecure.”

“It’s possible,” he said, flinching when her hand connected with his.

“But not probable?” she asked, pulling away and fisting her hand in her lap.

“I still have another bag of trash to go through.” He rose to check on the rain-catcher pans. “We’ll see.” Dammit, if she didn’t abandon the ice pack to follow him, sliding a spare pan into position while he emptied a full one into the sink.

“I guess your line of work has made you cynical,” she said, from behind him. “That’s understandable, but people aren’t always what they seem.”

“I’ll agree with you there.”

“I mean sometimes they have secrets, but it’s because they’re embarrassed about something, not because they’ve done anything immoral or illegal.”

Thunder rattled the kitchen windowpanes as a different kind of tension charged the air. This was no longer about sexual awareness. This was about deceit. Intrigued, Jake abandoned the pan, turned and caught Afia stroking that damned bracelet. A practice she indulged in whenever she was nervous, which bothered the hell out of him because it suggested she was relying on a superstitious talisman rather than self-confidence. He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Are we still talking about Rivelli?”

“I wasn’t bored,” she blurted.

“Excuse me?”

She stepped in next to him, avoiding eye contact, and turned on the faucet. “I told you that I wanted this job because I was bored. That’s a lie.” She soaped up a sponge and attacked the stainless steel saucepan. The way she scrubbed you’d think it had been filled with burnt pudding instead of rainwater. “My business manager embezzled all of my money. I’m … I’m … ” she scrubbed harder. “Well, I don’t have any money. I need to work to pay off my bills and I wanted to work for you because I thought maybe …”

“Yes?”

“I was hoping to acquire the skills to … ”

“What?”

“To track down the man who stole my money.”

“I see.”

She scrunched her brow. “You’re being very calm about this.”

“Very little surprises me, sweetheart.” Actually, she had surprised him. He’d expected a confession regarding her ex-chauffeur, not her traitorous accountant. He would have preferred to know where she stood with Gallow, as he already knew the specifics of her financial status. Of course,
she
didn’t know that he knew. He had two choices: play dumb or fess up about Harmon. Since Harmon had hired him, and the man therefore was a client making Jake’s “assignment” confidential, the latter was not an option. “So you’re embarrassed because you’re broke?”

“No!” She jerked back, soaking the front of her shirt with soapy water. “I’m embarrassed because I was stupid enough to give Henry Glick power of attorney.”

Jake relieved her of the pan, trying not to stare at her chest, because, dammit, she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples pebbled against the thin, wet cotton, teasing him, taunting him. Hell. “Intelligent people get ripped off all the time, Afia.”
You weren’t the only one who was conned by Glick
, he wanted to say.
He was a trusted acquaintance of your mother’s
. Instead he said, “Look at it as a life lesson.” How lame was that?

But she wasn’t paying attention to him. She was hyperventilating. “Oh … my … God … my …”

Jake’s heart pounded as he watched her fingering her bracelet and gasping for air. He wrenched open the door beneath the sink and yanked out a paper bag. “Breathe into this.” He placed the bag over her mouth. “Slow. Easy.”