Free Jinxed by Beth Ciotta

to totally combust when he cupped her bottom and pulled her snug against his crotch. This morning she’d thought him immune to her physical blessings. Oh, no. He absolutely, without a doubt, wanted her. He wanted her in a
huge
way, and considering the torture he’d put her through thus far, it did wonders for her fragile self-esteem.
    “Get a room,” a passing woman grumbled, piercing a hole in Afia’s euphoric bubble.
    Oh, God. She’d made a spectacle of herself. Drawn attention when she’d meant to divert it. She’d lost control. Cheeks burning, she placed her palms on Jake’s chest and eased back.
Don’t panic
. “Is Rivelli gone?” A business-related question. Good. Showed she could focus. Too bad her voice cracked.
    Jake peeked around her shoulder. It took him a full second to respond, and when he did his own voice sounded scratchy. “Yeah.”
    Was it possible that he’d witnessed fireworks as well? Nerves jangling, she hooked a finger over his sunglasses and slid them down his nose until their eyes locked.
    His smoldering gaze ignited a fire that burned a path to her inner thighs.
    Her mouth went dry. A trickle of sweat rolled down between her breasts.
    Sizzle.
    She had two choices: Break the mood or pick up where they’d left off. Mortified that she was actually contemplating an encore, she wiggled against his erection and faked a coy grin. “You do know that we’re just role-playing here.”
    A muscle jumped in his cheek, and she instantly regretted her taunt. She was out of her league. He was going to chew her up and spit her out. Fire her for insubordination or for endangering his covert surveillance.
    Jaw clenched, he rose, set her gently aside and then took a cautious step back as though she were a ticking bomb. Her skin prickled with dread as he wiped his palms down the legs of his jeans and then picked up the shopping bags. “Let’s get back to the office and discuss your duties,” he said, while nudging her toward the parking garage. “Seems there’s more to you than meets the eye, Jinx.”

Chapter Seven
     
    A basic background check told Jake plenty and zip about Anthony Rivelli. Thirty-seven and never been married. No record of being a sexual predator or a deadbeat dad. No civil suits filed. No criminal record. Never been charged for DWI, although he’d been issued a couple of speeding tickets. Not surprising since he drove a BMW Z4.
Nice.
    Rivelli owned a condominium in Ventnor, the shore town bordering Atlantic City, and a house in Cherry Hill, a ritzy community midway between Atlantic City and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He was a college graduate who’d worked his way up from slot host to the vice president of a major casino in less than fifteen years. Anthony Rivelli was driven, rich, and squeaky clean.
    At least on the surface.
    Jake shut down his computer and wondered what he’d find when he dug deeper. Generally he found dirt. People, in general, were a major disappointment. Six years with the Atlantic City Police Department had exposed him to the dregs of humanity. Near the top of his list were men who physically or emotionally abused women and children, and that included fathers who failed to pay child support. Intimidating deadbeat dads didn’t pay well but it was damned satisfying. As far as he was concerned abandoning a child—emotionally or financially—was a top-ten sin. Children were innocents, and there weren’t a helluva lot of innocents in this world. Almost everyone had a skeleton in their closet.
    Afia St. John had three. Not in her closet, but six feet under.
    That woman was a direct connection to the great beyond, and all he could think about was tapping into her. He’d caught a glimpse of heaven when she’d blindsided him with that mind-warping kiss. A divine warning? A smart man would have issued her walking papers. His intelligence wasn’t in question, but neither was his integrity. He was a man of his word, and he’d promised to look after Afia for