formed an O, but nothing came out.
“So far, if he’s glanced this way, all he’s seen are two lovers on holiday.” He brushed her lips with a cashmere-soft kiss then plucked the soiled towelette from her hand and rose to toss it in the nearby trashcan.
Afia blinked at him from behind her sunglasses, while pressing her fingertips to her smoldering lips. He’d barely skimmed her flesh, and yet he’d left a trail of fire. Her heart pounded as a fierce yearning spiked from her brain to her nether region. Lust was potent and completely unnerving. She didn’t know whether to giggle, sigh, or dive into the chilly ocean. She dropped her hands into her lap and fingered her wishbone charm.
This one
, she could hear her dad saying,
means wishes come true. Be careful what you wish for, Peanut
.
She
wished
that Jake’s lips had lingered a little longer. She
wished
that he was single and that fleeting kiss had been an actual come on. But then she surveyed his casual attire,
her
casual attire, and the two souvenir plastic shopping bags resting near her feet. She conjured the image of them sitting side-by-side, gorging on junk food, and basking in the sun—
two lovers on holiday
—and she knew the truth.
He was playing a part. The kiss, if one could call it an actual kiss, hadn’t been personal. She should be thrilled, relieved at the very least, since he was quite possibly married, and she was most definitely not an adulteress. But instead, her spirits sank like a stone.
This is crazy
, she told herself when he sat back down.
You’re the one who wanted to learn the tricks of trade. Get with the program. Stop panting after Jake and start hunting down Glick.
“So are you telling me that we’re on a stake-out?” she asked, struggling to feign nonchalance. “Is that why you wanted me to look like Joe Schmo?”
He angled his big body toward her, stretched out his right arm and rested it behind her on the bench. “More like Jane Doe, but yeah.”
“Dress to blend.”
“Bingo.”
She tensed when he stroked the length of her ponytail, idly twirling long strands around his fingers. Was this a test? Was he seeing how far he could push her before she turned skittish? Wondering if she’d prove as inept in the field as she’d been in the office, thereby giving him sufficient grounds to fire her? Needing all the good fortune she could conjure, she squeezed her charms and chanted a string of silent affirmations.
I will keep this job. I will get back my money. I will give as good as I get.
Keeping her back to Anthony Rivelli, she inched closer to the poker-faced P.I. and toyed with the third button of his shirt. Unlike her stint with the computerized cash register, she knew exactly what she was doing. She’d taken a high school drama class. She could play the enamored girlfriend. “Is Mr. Rivelli connected to the blond woman with the silk chiffon sundress?”
“You’re sure it was silk chiffon? Specifically?”
She nodded. “I have an eye for fabrics and designers. She was also wearing Jimmy Choo shoes, which means she has money. She spends a lot of it fighting off time.”
“Meaning?”
“She’s had work done.”
His lips twitched. “You mean her breasts. I noticed.”
“Figures,” she said, tossing back his earlier sarcasm. Although any red-blooded male would have admired the ultra-perfect 38-Cs. “She spends too much time in the sun, or tanning salon, and then counteracts the negative effects with Botox injections.”
“How can you tell?”
Afia slid her sunglasses to the tip of her nose and then pointed to her forehead and the space between her eyebrows. “No wrinkles. She was frowning, intensely. There should have been wrinkles.”
“Anything else?”
“She’s not a real blond.”
He laughed. “Maybe my sister isn’t a one-of-a-kind after all.”
She scrunched the very brow she’d been pointing at. “Your sister?”
“Joni.”
“Joni McNichols is your sister?”
Jake motioned her to
“So far, if he’s glanced this way, all he’s seen are two lovers on holiday.” He brushed her lips with a cashmere-soft kiss then plucked the soiled towelette from her hand and rose to toss it in the nearby trashcan.
Afia blinked at him from behind her sunglasses, while pressing her fingertips to her smoldering lips. He’d barely skimmed her flesh, and yet he’d left a trail of fire. Her heart pounded as a fierce yearning spiked from her brain to her nether region. Lust was potent and completely unnerving. She didn’t know whether to giggle, sigh, or dive into the chilly ocean. She dropped her hands into her lap and fingered her wishbone charm.
This one
, she could hear her dad saying,
means wishes come true. Be careful what you wish for, Peanut
.
She
wished
that Jake’s lips had lingered a little longer. She
wished
that he was single and that fleeting kiss had been an actual come on. But then she surveyed his casual attire,
her
casual attire, and the two souvenir plastic shopping bags resting near her feet. She conjured the image of them sitting side-by-side, gorging on junk food, and basking in the sun—
two lovers on holiday
—and she knew the truth.
He was playing a part. The kiss, if one could call it an actual kiss, hadn’t been personal. She should be thrilled, relieved at the very least, since he was quite possibly married, and she was most definitely not an adulteress. But instead, her spirits sank like a stone.
This is crazy
, she told herself when he sat back down.
You’re the one who wanted to learn the tricks of trade. Get with the program. Stop panting after Jake and start hunting down Glick.
“So are you telling me that we’re on a stake-out?” she asked, struggling to feign nonchalance. “Is that why you wanted me to look like Joe Schmo?”
He angled his big body toward her, stretched out his right arm and rested it behind her on the bench. “More like Jane Doe, but yeah.”
“Dress to blend.”
“Bingo.”
She tensed when he stroked the length of her ponytail, idly twirling long strands around his fingers. Was this a test? Was he seeing how far he could push her before she turned skittish? Wondering if she’d prove as inept in the field as she’d been in the office, thereby giving him sufficient grounds to fire her? Needing all the good fortune she could conjure, she squeezed her charms and chanted a string of silent affirmations.
I will keep this job. I will get back my money. I will give as good as I get.
Keeping her back to Anthony Rivelli, she inched closer to the poker-faced P.I. and toyed with the third button of his shirt. Unlike her stint with the computerized cash register, she knew exactly what she was doing. She’d taken a high school drama class. She could play the enamored girlfriend. “Is Mr. Rivelli connected to the blond woman with the silk chiffon sundress?”
“You’re sure it was silk chiffon? Specifically?”
She nodded. “I have an eye for fabrics and designers. She was also wearing Jimmy Choo shoes, which means she has money. She spends a lot of it fighting off time.”
“Meaning?”
“She’s had work done.”
His lips twitched. “You mean her breasts. I noticed.”
“Figures,” she said, tossing back his earlier sarcasm. Although any red-blooded male would have admired the ultra-perfect 38-Cs. “She spends too much time in the sun, or tanning salon, and then counteracts the negative effects with Botox injections.”
“How can you tell?”
Afia slid her sunglasses to the tip of her nose and then pointed to her forehead and the space between her eyebrows. “No wrinkles. She was frowning, intensely. There should have been wrinkles.”
“Anything else?”
“She’s not a real blond.”
He laughed. “Maybe my sister isn’t a one-of-a-kind after all.”
She scrunched the very brow she’d been pointing at. “Your sister?”
“Joni.”
“Joni McNichols is your sister?”
Jake motioned her to
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