by Beth Ciotta
She didn’t have the energy to fight him and Dora. “All right, but please don’t interrupt.”
“I won’t say a word.”
Satisfied, she rapped on the crimson red door with the gleaming brass knocker. Dora’s husband answered, dressed in creased white shorts and a blue designer polo shirt.
“Afia.” Shock then pleasure registered on his tanned face. “What a nice surprise.” Then his wolfish gaze ate up her frumpy attire and spit it out with a flicker of disapproval.
She braced her hands on her hips. “That’s right, Bernard. I just got out of the shower and put on the first thing I could find. This is me without makeup, without brushing my hair, without visible curves. The real me.” She thrust back her shoulders and angled her chin. “How would you like to wake up to this every morning?”
Bernard sputtered.
Jake groaned.
She ignored them both and pushed her way into the foyer. “Dora!” She moved swiftly through the house. She’d been here for various meetings and parties. She knew the way to the dining room.
Dora sat swilling her morning tea, perfectly made up and dressed in preppy boating attire. Eyes wide, she clanged her china cup into the matching saucer. “Afia? What in the world?”
She smacked the program on the polished mahogany table. “The Sea Serpent isn’t on the beneficiary list.”
“Oh.” Dora sat back in her chair, crossed her arms, and smiled. “No, it’s not.”
Afia braced her hands on the table and leaned forward. “I’ll make this quick.”
She smirked. “Please do.”
“You are a fake. You pretend to care about the underprivileged and the disadvantaged. But all you really care about is the attention that comes with organizing and advancing the social events that ultimately help those in need. You’re a petty, insecure snob on a power trip. This coming year I am going to do whatever I can to make sure you are not reelected to the board.”
Dora’s eye twitched as she dismissed Afia with a wave of her bejeweled hand. “As if anyone would listen to a jinxed, fortune-hunting air head.”
Unruffled, she pushed off the table and glanced at Bernard who was standing in the archway alongside Jake. The two men couldn’t be more different. Bernard represented everything she’d had, and Jake everything she wanted. She turned her back on the wicked witch and headed toward her enchanting prince. “For the record, Dora, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes for all the diamonds in Tiffany’s.”
Dora snorted. “You can’t afford my shoes, dear.”
Afia flipped her off and kept walking. “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” she told Jake as they cleared the front door.
Chuckling, he clasped her hand and squeezed. “I’m not.”
His touch warmed her soul, melted her anger, and steadied her erratic pulse. She glanced up at him, swallowing hard at the admiration glittering in those beguiling eyes. “I’ve never given anyone the finger before.”
“If anyone deserved it, she did.” He winked. “Bet it felt good.”
She grinned. “It did.” They reached the car, and her satisfaction ebbed. “Not that it helped The Sea Serpent.” She fell back against the passenger door with a groan. “Why wasn’t I smarter about managing my money? If it weren’t for my mindless shopping and Glick fiasco, I could have bought that playground equipment myself.”
Jake nabbed her chin and chided her with a mild frown. “You worry too much. Stop obsessing on what you should have done and focus on what you can do.”
What could she do?
He kissed her scrunched brow and then opened the car door and helped her inside. “You’re a smart woman. You’ll figure it out.”
By the time he rounded the car and slid behind the wheel, she had the answer. “I can put my years of experience with the SCC to work,” she said with a smile. “I can organize an event to specifically benefit The Sea Serpent. Find out how much that playground equipment costs and make that figure our goal.”
Jake grinned and keyed the ignition. “Can we have our waffles now?”
He sounded so desperate. “Sure,” she said, buckling in, and suppressing a giggle. “Right after we swing by Rudy’s.”
They were sitting at the table having breakfast and discussing the revival of one of their favorite musicals when Rudy heard the front door open and two sets of footsteps ascending the stairs. His laughter died in his throat, and he dropped his fork to his plate with a clang.
Jean-Pierre reached under the table and squeezed his thigh. “You worry too much. Relax.”
Afia walked into the dining room with Jake on her heels, took one look at the scene and froze.
Instead of sitting at the opposite end of the table, as was his habit, this morning Rudy had elected to sit beside Jean-Pierre. He knew she must have heard them laughing, and even though she couldn’t see Frenchie’s hand on his leg, damn him, they were still sitting unusually close. At least they’d already showered and dressed. Don’t think about that shower. Rudy sat stock still, but his insides squirmed with guilt.
Jake cleared his throat.
Jean-Pierre rose from the table and moved swiftly to kiss both of Afia’s cheeks. “Bonjour, Chou à la crème.” He tugged at her braids, the hem of her baggy T-shirt, and grinned. “You look cute. Like a petite fille.”
Rudy disagreed. She didn’t look like a little girl. She looked like a ravished woman. It wasn’t just the fact that she obviously wore Jake’s clothes. Her skin glowed and her eyes sparkled. She oozed sexuality and … confidence.
“You must be Jean-Pierre,” Jake said, thrusting out his hand.
“Oui,” he said, with a firm grasp. “And you are Jake. Bonjour. Would you like a cup of café?”
“God, yes.” The P.I. glanced at the table, but his eyes were on the food, not Rudy. “Are those fresh croissants?”
Jean-Pierre laughed and rapped their guest’s shoulder. “Come with me into the kitchen, and we will fix you a plate.”
As soon as the two men were out of earshot, Afia streaked across the room and wiggled into Rudy’s lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged. “You’re in love,” she whispered in his ear. “I knew Jean-Pierre was the one. I just knew it!”
He rolled his eyes and returned the hug. “How could you possibly know? Nothing happened until last night.”
She snorted, pushed back, and smirked. “Sparks have been flying for weeks. Jean-Pierre adores you. He hangs on your every word. Every time he looks at you his eyes soften. You were too busy taking exception to his smart-aleck comments and renegade straight pins to notice.”
Even though he was settling into the idea of a long-term relationship, it still felt too good to be true. Jean-Pierre was a creative genius, vibrant, and surprisingly wise for his age. “He’s hot for my body.”
She shook her head and placed her hand over his heart. “He’s hot for what’s inside this body. Stop resisting. The more you get to know each other the better it will be.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re doing with Jake? Getting to know him?”
A sweet flush bloomed on her cheeks. “It’s not what it looks like. Well, it is, but it’s more.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “He asked me to move in with him.”
Rudy patted her knee, carefully choosing his words. He didn’t want to burst his friend’s bubble, but he didn’t want her living in one either. “You’ve only known each other for a week.”
She shrugged. “Like you said. Cupid’s a quick shot.”
He was torn between panic and euphoria. “Are you telling me that you’re in love with, Jake?”
She grinned ear to ear. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Like being zapped over and over by a live wire. Electrifying. And yet I feel at peace at the same time. Calm. Content. Happy.” She rolled her eyes. “Sounds crazy, huh?”
He shook his head. “Sounds familiar.”
“Then you understand and you won’t be upset if I move out?”
&nb
sp; “No, I won’t be upset.” He hated throwing a negative thought into the universe, but he knew things that Afia didn’t. For one, Harmon was trying to get back her money. Jake struck him as a proud man. How would he feel if Afia’s bank account overshadowed his by a million or so? And how would Afia feel if she found out Harmon had engineered her job with Jake? Rudy’s stomach churned at his own role in the charade. “Just know that our door is always open in case things don’t work out.”
“You worry too much. Jake and I are going to get married, have three kids, and live happily ever after.” She quirked a lopsided grin. “That’s my new affirmation.”
He expected her to rub her wishbone charm to back up that thought, but, amazingly, she wasn’t wearing her bracelet. Interesting. He started to ask her why, but then he caught sight of Jean-Pierre and Jake rounding the corner.
“About what I told you, about being in love,” she whispered. “I haven’t told Jake yet. I don’t want to scare him off.”
“He doesn’t strike me as the skittish type.” Rudy glanced over his shoulder at the imposing P.I. Afia was sitting in another man’s lap, but instead of jealousy he only registered pure affection in Jake’s assessing gaze. Of course, it probably helped that the man she hugged was her gay best friend.
Jake placed his plate on the table, sat in the chair opposite Rudy, and slathered his croissant with strawberry jam. They traded knowing looks. “We need to talk.”
“We made you an omelet, Chou à la crème.” Jean-Pierre glanced at Rudy while setting her plate on the table.
Rudy winked, assuring him that everything was fine.
Jean-Pierre smiled.
“Thank you,” she said, hopping off of Rudy’s lap, “but we don’t have time to eat.”
Jake set aside his knife and glanced longingly at his spinach omelet. “We don’t?”
Afia rounded the table, wrapped her arms around him from behind, and whispered something in his ear.
Rudy watched Jake’s eyes and warmed at the genuine affection that burned in their depths.
“Excuse us, gentlemen,” he said, pushing out of his chair. “We have some boxes to pack.”
Chapter Nineteen
Hands braced on either side of the door, Jake stared at the twenty boxes stacked along the wall of his largest guest room. He’d only been able to fit five into his car. They’d loaded the remaining cargo into Rudy’s stretch limo. He and Jean-Pierre had been more than happy to drive over Afia’s belongings and to tote them inside in order to get a peek into her new home. She was giving them the grand tour now.
Jake was obsessing over the future.
He’d never known a woman, strike that, anyone, with such a vast wardrobe. She could probably wear a different outfit every day for a year and never wear the same thing twice. An exaggeration maybe, but not by much. The problem was that the bulk of her coats, blouses, pants, skirts, dresses, sweaters, shoes, and purses suited her old lifestyle. They were a harsh reminder of what he couldn’t give her. How long would she be content in discount clothing? What if she got the itch to indulge in a designer shopping spree? Would she be satisfied with popcorn and a movie when she was used to caviar and the opera?
Then there was the flipside. What if Kilmore found her money? If she could afford to live in luxury, would she be happy living with Jake? Would she resent his modest income? Would he resent her seven-figure bank account?
Each of those damned boxes represented a doubt, and he couldn’t stop staring at them.
“Is anything wrong?”
He looked over his shoulder and saw his princess schlepping up the hall in pauper sweats. He’d been so distracted he hadn’t even heard her scale the stairs. “Just thinking,” he said, shooting for nonchalant.
She paused a few inches away, wrapped her arms around her middle, a telling, insecure gesture. At least she wasn’t stroking her bracelet. She wasn’t even wearing her bracelet. He wanted to believe that it had been a conscious choice. Positive thought over negative. “Are you sorry you asked me to move in?” she asked.
“No, I’m not.” Amazing, in light of the mini-meltdown he’d just experienced, but true.
“Are you sure? You don’t look very happy. In fact, you look miserable.”
He pushed off of the jambs and met her troubled gaze. His pulse tripped as he fought to get a grip on reality. The truth of the matter was that it didn’t matter if she wore designer suits or hand-me-downs. Clothes did not make the woman. Nor did the bank account or lack there of. All that mattered was her heart. If he possessed her heart, then nothing and no one would come between them.
He cocked a playful brow hoping to ease the tension. “I was just wondering if you plan on utilizing this room for anything other than a walk-in closet?”
Her shoulders relaxed, and her lips curved into a coy smile. “Do you mean do I intend to sleep in there?”
“Mmm.”
“I’d rather sleep with you.”
“Good answer.” He crooked a beckoning finger. She moved swiftly into his arms and all of his worries magically receded.
“Have you ever lived with anyone before?” she asked, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
“No.”
“Are you nervous?”
“A little.” No doubt a partial reason for the meltdown. “You?”
“A lot. But it feels right.”
“Yes, it does.” Cupping the sides of her face, he swept his tongue inside of her sweet mouth, his mind racing with visions of their future. “We make our own luck. Positive thought over negative.”
He pinned her against the wall, his hands roaming possessively over her curves, the kiss intensifying with each emphatic declaration. This woman will be my wife. This woman will bear my children. I waited my entire life for this woman.
He eased back, gazed deeply into her eyes, his heart bursting with tenderness and torrid affection. “Afia, I—”
“Don’t say it!” Eyes wide with panic, she pressed her fingertips over his mouth. “Please. Don’t. I … ” She glanced toward the stairs.
Frowning, he kissed her fingers then nudged them aside. “Are Rudy and Jean-Pierre still down there?”
“Yes. They … they felt bad that you didn’t get to finish your omelet, so … well, I showed them your waffle batter.”
He dropped his forehead to hers and groaned. “They’re making us breakfast?”
“Brunch.” She balled her fists in his shirt. “I just … can we pick this up later? When we’re alone?”
His stomach twisted with pent-up feelings. “I’ll ask them to leave.”
She shook her head. “That would be rude.”
“Then we’ll eat fast.”
“Not too fast. I don’t want them to think we’re trying to get rid of them.”
“The hell with that.” He nabbed her hand and practically dragged her down the stairs. He was going to declare his love, and she was going to answer, “I love you, too.” He wasn’t willing to wait another two hours to hear the words. He needed to know that what he suspected was dead-on true. That Afia loved him.
He wasn’t all that worried about rushing the boys out of his house as he suspected they had their own issues to work out. Gallow had insisted that he and Jean-Pierre weren’t sleeping together, but something sure as hell was going on. When it came to sexual tension, straight or gay, it was all the same.
Afia squealed as Roscoe and Barney, the wrestling-wonders, rolled directly in their path. He swept her up and over the cats and kept walking. They were midway through the living room when his cell phone rang. “Shit.” He paused to check the number, cursed again when he saw it was Joni. “Go on in,” he said, giving her a gentle nudge. “I’ll be there in a minute. And start eating!”
Afia waggled her fingers over her shoulder at Jake and chanted, “Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” all the way through the living room, parlor, and dining room. He loved her. She’d seen it in his eyes. The words had been on the tip of his tongue. She’d almost been f
orced to say, “I love you, too.” The mere thought made her ill. It would start their relationship off on the same foot as Randy and hers. As Frank and hers. Doomed relationships. Not because she was jinxed, but because she hadn’t loved them body and soul.
She had to say it first.
I LOVE YOU.
Rudy and Jean-Pierre had to go.
She marched into the kitchen intending to ask them politely to go home. All she had to do was find the proper words.
Rudy sat at the table pouring four cups of coffee. “What took you so long?”
“Where is Jake?” Jean-Pierre asked, setting down two plates of waffles and then taking a seat on the opposite side. “I want to ask him where he found those antique demi cups and saucers.”
Afia pushed her bangs off of her forehead. Oh, boy.
Jake blew into the kitchen before she could say a word. “I have to go. Joni has an emergency, and Carson isn’t there.”
Her pulse quickened. “Is it the baby?”
He shook his head. “Something to do with an unwanted guest.” He attached his holster to his belt, making sure it was hidden beneath his loose fitting shirt. “She sounded panicked, and she hung up on me. I have to go.”
Rudy shoved out of his chair. “I’ll come with you.”
“Thanks, but, if it wasn’t something I couldn’t handle alone, she would’ve called the cops.” He nodded to the men and then kissed Afia on the cheek before blowing out of the room.
“Call me!” she shouted. Heart racing, she slumped into the wicker chair next to Rudy.
“Was that a gun?” Jean-Pierre rolled his tongue and growled like a tiger. “Sexy.”
“It’s an implement of death,” Afia snapped. “It is not sexy.”
“When someone as tasty as Jake is carrying, it’s sexy,” Rudy said. “Very alpha.”
She smacked a palm to her brow. “Men.”
“Eat your waffle before it gets cold, Chou à la crème.”
“I’m not hungry.” What if the unwanted guest was someone like Marty Ashe? A big bully with a bigger gun? “How can you two be so calm?”
