by Beth Ciotta
Comfort had started by way of a bottle of wine and a massage and had ended up in bed. The interlude had been hot, gratifying, and, when Jean-Pierre had fallen asleep in his arms, oddly fulfilling.
“All right.” The source of his insomnia pushed his hair off of his face and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Then what have you been thinking about? You have been staring at the ceiling for twenty minutes.”
Rudy grunted, embarrassed and aroused. “I can’t believe you’ve been lying there watching me.”
“You are very easy on the eyes, mon amour.” He flashed one of the devilish smiles that simultaneously irked and stimulated Rudy.
“I wish you wouldn’t use that word.”
“What word?”
He sighed, rolled over, and pushed himself onto an elbow to face Jean-Pierre and his greatest fear. “Love. I don’t take it lightly.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then stop tossing it around.”
Jean-Pierre screwed up his face. “Tossing?”
“I ignored it last night because you were hammered.”
“What is hammered?”
“Drunk.”
Jean-Pierre’s lips twisted into an annoyed smirk. “Rudy, I am French. I have wine in my veins. I was not drunk. I meant what I said.”
Rudy’s heart pounded in slow, aching thuds as his fears started to ebb. Maybe all of those affirmations had helped. Maybe what he was looking for was right here in his bed. Was Jean-Pierre the one? Dare he believe? Dare he put his heart on the line? An Erica Jong quote floated through his head. “If you don’t risk anything, you risk even more.”
“So what were you thinking about?” Jean-Pierre asked.
“Vermont,” he said, taking a leap of faith. “I’d like to spend Christmas in Vermont with you.”
Jean-Pierre nodded. “And I would like to show you Paris in the springtime.”
His heart swelled at the genuine affection swimming in his bed partner’s eyes. Then a lone thought lanced his euphoric bubble. He flopped back on the bed, jammed his hands through his hair. “Shit.”
“Now you are thinking about Afia.” Jean-Pierre fell back beside him. “You are wondering how you are going to break it to her that we are in love. No doubt, she will want to move out to allow us privacy.”
“When did you get so damned perceptive?”
Jean-Pierre chuckled, reached over and squeezed his hand. “Do not worry, Bunny. Last night I got a glimpse of Afia and Jake on the dance floor. I think she will be moving out regardless.”
Chapter Eighteen
“I like your bed,” Afia said. “A lot.”
Grinning, Jake watched her stretch like one of his cats and then roll side to side on his mussed sheets while he zipped up his jeans. “I’m glad.” He wasn’t sure if she was referring to the queen-sized pillow mattress, or to what they’d done on it. Either way the sight of her filled him with bone-deep pleasure. She filled this house with warmth, goodness, and an enigmatic energy. Wrapped in a thick burgundy towel and still damp from their shower, she looked pretty as hell and hot to trot.
He was down for the count. Her idea of torture had been smothering his body with kisses, stroking him to the brink, and then rolling on a condom and climbing aboard. He’d flipped her over, managing to hold out for another twenty minutes, intent to give as good as she gave. Exhausted, she’d drifted back to sleep, and he’d slipped off to take a shower. Damned, if she didn’t join him midway through to soap him up into another lather. The woman was insatiable.
“I’m going to go downstairs and fix us some breakfast. You,” he said, pointing a stern finger, “put on some clothes.” Did those words actually come out of his mouth?
She rolled over on her stomach. The towel scrunched up, and he got a peek at three-quarters of her firm bottom. He shook his head at the tempting sight as she propped her chin in her hand and grinned. Velma curled up on one side of her, Scamp on the other. He still couldn’t get over how the wary cat had taken to her so quickly. Then again, he’d fallen in love with Afia in under a week.
“I’ll have to borrow something of yours to wear,” she said. “My evening gown is a little dressy for breakfast, and all of my other clothes are at Rudy’s.”
“Not for long,” he mumbled, pulling a T-shirt over his head.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. We’ll talk about it over waffles.” He streaked a comb through his wet hair. “Do you even like waffles?”
Her eyes twinkled. “With strawberries?”
“Don’t have strawberries. What about bananas?” Her eyebrows rose, and he cut her off. “Don’t say it. Keep those X-rated thoughts to yourself.” He grinned. “At least for a couple of hours.”
She snickered and rolled off of the bed in one fluid movement, smiling as she walked toward him with all that dark, wet hair, the towel skimming those enticing thighs, the devilish gleam in her eyes tempting him to …
Groaning, he sidestepped her and slid on his wristwatch. “Hands off, woman.”
Now she was giggling. “Geesh, what happened to my fantasy fulfilling superhero?”
Christ, she was adorable. “His powers need recharging.” His cell phone rang.
“Saved by the bell.” She sighed and then turned and slid open his top drawer.
“Hello? Yes, this is Jake Blaine.” He listened to some woman from the SCC introduce herself and watched in amazement as Afia folded his underwear. Women. His mother had folded underwear. Joni folded underwear. What was the point? “We did? Great. When and where?”
He moved in beside her, opened the middle drawer, and yanked out a pair of sweats and a tee. “Got it,” he told the woman. “Thanks.” He powered off then nudged Afia. “Get your hands off of my briefs.”
“But—”
“We won the painting we bid on last night,” he said, giving her something else to do by shoving the pants and shirt in her hands.
Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. “We did?”
He wanted to wrap around her like a garland. He turned away and sat in a chair to tug on a pair of boots. “The prize chairperson—”
“Sally Clarkson,” she said, pulling on the faded blue T-shirt.
“Yup. Said we could pick up the painting anytime this week.”
She stepped into the navy sweats and tugged the drawstring tight. “I can’t believe we won! That painting was beautiful. Surely several people wanted it. How was it that we had the highest bid?”
He tied off his work boot. “Lucky, I guess.”
They looked at each other at the same time.
“My luck does seem to be changing for the better,” she said, wide-eyed. “Since I met you.”
Jake poked his tongue in his cheek and digested that statement. The last thing he wanted was to become her lucky talisman. He wanted her to be with him out of love, not because she thought he could magically ward off misfortune. “You know what I think?” He braced his arms on his knees and regarded her intently. “We make our own luck. It’s all in the mind. Positive thought over negative.”
She divided her wet hair evenly over her shoulders and weaved the mass into two long braids. “You sound like Rudy.”
He raised a brow. “A friend wouldn’t steer another friend wrong, right?”
She cocked her head, studied him for a moment, and then padded over in her bare feet. “You really are my friend, aren’t you?”
He took her hand and pulled her down onto his lap, humbled by the trusting look in her eyes. “I don’t care if you’re young or old, rich or poor, if you live next door or across the country. I sure as hell don’t care that you were born on Friday the thirteenth. I will always be your friend, Afia.”
She clasped her hands in her lap, her voice stilted and breathy. “I think that’s the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
He wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed. He ached to say much more. He wanted to be her lover, her husband, but he wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear that just
now. Although he was fairly certain she’d fallen in love with him, she’d neatly avoided last night’s sleepy confession. Something was holding her back, and he didn’t want to make things worse, ultimately scaring her off. Still, he had to say something, make some play to set their future in motion. “Yeah, well, that part about you living next door or across the country … Gotta be honest, baby, I’d like it a hell of a lot better if you lived here.”
She toyed with the end of one braid and glanced away.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and it makes sense,” he plowed on. “Gallow’s townhouse is cramped. He’s already got a roommate. You’re sleeping on the couch, cluttering his dining room with your boxes and racks of clothes.”
She shot him a worried look. “Did he say something to you?”
“No. I’m just observant. Things are tight there. I have this big house to myself. Well, except for the cats, and you seem to get on well enough with them. There are two extra bedrooms. You can take one of those if you like. I want you to share my bed, but I don’t want to pressure you into something you’re not ready for.”
Her leg started to bounce.
“You said you had a flair for decorating. I could use some help around here. And,” he added lamely, “we could ride into work together.”
“I would want to pay my share,” she said, “you know, like a boarder. It would only be fair.”
He didn’t want her money, but he knew it was a matter of pride. Hold on. “I can take it out of your salary. Say you forfeit a hundred a week for room and board.” That solved both of their problems.
She shrugged. “Okay.”
His heart pounded. “Okay, what?”
She quirked a nervous smile. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” Wasn’t the answer he wanted, but then again it wasn’t “no.” “Still want those waffles?”
She nodded.
“Thank God, because I’m starving.” He patted her backside to get her going. Otherwise he’d kiss her, they’d wind up back in bed, and he wouldn’t have the strength to peel a damned banana let alone do some record checking on Rivelli.
“I’m really pleased that we won that painting,” she said, hopping off of his lap and returning the conversation to safer ground. It’s going to look stunning on the office wall. I forget. What was the artist’s name? Noah something? I’d like to send him a thank you card.”
“I don’t remember. I think it’s listed on the program.” He reached into the inner pocket of the tux jacket he’d draped over the chair. “Here you go.” He handed her the gala program he’d tucked away last night, caressed her cheek, and then headed for the door. He wanted to give her a bit of space, some time to think over his offer. “I’m going to check out the closet in the guest room. I think Joni may have left a pair of sneakers in there, and you’re about the same size. I’ll meet you downstairs.” Hopefully, she’d have her mind made up by then and put him out of his misery.
As soon as Jake cleared the threshold, Afia sank down on the chair, her knees as wobbly as her emotions. He wanted her to move in! Her heart cried, yes, but her head screamed, no. Actually, it was her mother screaming, but she had been listening to that voice for a very long time, and old habits die hard. Especially when there was some truth to what that phantom voice chanted. She was jinxed. A target for bad luck. Men who loved her perished.
She wasn’t sure if Jake loved her, but without a doubt he cared. His eyes betrayed the passion and affection in his heart, as did his endearments and gentle touch. He was a compassionate, honest, chivalrous man, and he set her sheltered world on fire.
She knew for a fact that she’d fallen in love. Real love. Passionate, giddy love. Cupid had shot her with a million drugged arrows. She was loopy with amour. It felt wondrous and natural, and unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It was as if she’d been in love with him, and only him, forever.
I love you.
She’d said it in her dreams, and yet this morning the words had lodged in her throat. She fretted that by confessing her feelings she’d put Jake in danger. A hundred scenarios flashed through her mind, one freak accident after another. With her luck …
“We make our own luck. It’s all in the mind. Positive thought over negative.” Jake’s voice bellowed over her mother’s, and when the superstitious woman tried to interrupt, Rudy stepped in. “When the odds are against you, trust your heart and seize the day.”
Afia breathed deeply, allowing a strange sense of peace and determination to envelop her, and suddenly she was surging with the power of free will.
“With my luck,” she said, rebelling against living another moment in fear, “we’ll get married, have three healthy children, and live happily ever after.”
Affirmations are powerful.
She chanted her heart’s desire three times and then glanced down at the program in her hand, wondering how she was going to break it to her mother that she was taking control of her own fate. That’s when she noticed the listing of beneficiaries of last night’s gala. The name of one social service, in particular, was missing. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe it was a mistake. She wasn’t willing to let it slide to avoid a nasty confrontation.
This was unforgivable.
Seize the day! Crushing the program in her hands, she stood and marched out of the room and down the stairs, chanting the words over and over like a mantra. Seize the day! Seize the day! By the time she reached the kitchen her face burned and her temples pulsed. “Are those for me?” she asked, pointing to a pair of navy-blue high-tops.
Jake set down a carton of milk, glanced over his shoulder, and nodded. “They’re a six-and-a-half.”
“Close enough.” She plopped down in a wicker chair and slipped her size-six feet into the shoes, double-knotting the overly long laces.
“Are you all right?”
She looked up. He was stirring a bowl of batter and studying her with a furrowed brow. She couldn’t address his concern. If she opened the dam, she’d burst. “Where’s the closest bus stop?” she asked, rolling the baggy sweatpants to above her ankles. The jitneys didn’t run to Northfield. She’d have to take a bus from here to Margate. She didn’t know which one, but she’d figure it out.
He abandoned his mixing bowl and turned to face her. “What’s going on, Afia?”
She ignored his stern tone. “I need to go somewhere, to do something, and I need to do it now.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“It’s personal.”
“Then take my car.”
She shook her head. “I can’t drive. I mean, I can. I have a license, but I’m a lousy driver. Randy hired Rudy because I’d been involved in so many fender benders. That’s how we met. Rudy and I. He was my chauffeur.” She was rambling now. Her blood boiled, and she felt dangerously close to overheating. She stood, the program clutched in her hand. “Just point me to the bus stop. Please,” she added, trying not to take her anger out on him.
“I’ll drive you.” Frowning, he flicked off the coffeemaker, put the mixing bowl in the refrigerator, and breezed passed her. “Let’s roll.”
She caught up to him in the foyer, just as he snatched his keys and opened the front door. “Okay,” she said. “But you’ll have to stay in the car.” She didn’t want him fighting this battle for her. Seize the day!
He didn’t say another word until they were buckled in and backing out of the drive. “Where are we going?”
She gave him the address and stared down at the crumpled program. “How can she be so cruel?”
“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” Jake asked as he navigated Saturday morning traffic. “Or make me guess?”
“I can’t talk about it.” She was thinking some very unkind thoughts, thoughts that shouldn’t be voiced. Except maybe to the witch who’d summoned them.
Jake glanced sideways, grunted his exasperation, and then focused back on the road.
“She thinks she’s hurting me, but she’s really
hurting the children and their families.”
“Who? Dora? Frances? I’m guessing here, because you can’t talk about it.”
“Dora,” she growled. “She has the ultimate word. I mean the board votes, of course, but she wields a lot of influence.” Oh, she could hear her now. We’ve been giving money to The Sea Serpent for years now. They can apply for a state grant, solicit private donations. Let’s focus our energy on needier organizations. “Ooh!”
Jake passed two slowpokes and picked up speed. “Does this have to do with the daycare center?”
“Haven’t you been listening to me?” Afia squealed, her adrenaline pumping harder as they crossed the Margate Bridge. She waved the program in the air. “It’s not on the list. The Sea Serpent won’t get a dime from last night’s gala. Mrs. Kelly planned to put that money toward new educational playground equipment. Now the children will have to go without. And why? Because Dora Simmons is a petty, jealous shrew. It’s not fair!”
“No, it’s not,” Jake said calmly. “So what are you going to do about it?”
She balled her fists in her lap. “I’m not sure. The money’s already been delegated. Every social service is deserving. I can’t very well ask the SCC to pull funds from where they’ve been promised.”
“Weren’t funds promised to The Sea Serpent?”
“No. It was more like tradition. My dad co-founded that daycare center. He also served on the SCC board for several years.”
Jake shot her a meaningful glance. “Generous man.”
Her heart skipped. “Yes, he was.” And she’d put his humanitarian efforts at risk by resigning from the SCC and enabling Dora and Frances to act selfishly. What a wimp! Two minutes later she spied Dora Simmons’ beach block mansion, and her pulse accelerated. “There it is!” She barely waited for the car to roll to a complete stop before throwing open the door. She was halfway to the cobblestone porch when she realized Jake was following her. “You agreed to stay in the car.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t agree to anything.”
