Jinxed by Beth Ciotta Page B

Jake’s toe-tingling smirk. It was really most annoying being attracted to a jerk. When she’d tripped and fallen into his arms this morning, her knees had gone mushy along with her brain cells. She’d stared up at his scrumptious mouth, hoping for a sizzling kiss, and all she’d gotten was yet another rude remark about her hair. Both of her husbands and almost every other man she’d ever met preferred women with long hair. Sleek, meek “Barbie dolls.” As near as she could tell, Jake liked his women bald, fleshy, and aggressive. Even
she
wouldn’t go so far as to shave her head to please a man. He’d just have to get over it.
    Shooting the infuriating P.I. a sidelong glance, she scrunched her nose while nearing the six-foot, brown-metal dumpster of the ritzy high rise. “What are
you
going to be doing while
I’m
breaking the law?”
    “Standing guard. If anyone starts down the alley, I’ll distract them.” He grinned as he offered her a leg up. “And for the record, you’re not breaking the law.”
    “Then why don’t you want anyone to see us?”
    “Because I don’t want to have to explain why we’re scavenging through the trash. We’re on a case, remember?”
    “How could I forget?” He’d recited his views on confidentiality and covert surveillance on the short ride over to Anthony Rivelli’s shore getaway. She’d appreciated the industry insight, if not the sarcasm. Inexperience might cause her to bobble, but she’d never purposely bungle a job.
    Annoyance gave way to sinful delight when he encircled her bare ankle with one hand and cupped her bottom with the other. Her entire body tingled as her mind raced with a wicked fantasy. She had his pants around his ankles when he called her back to reality saying, “Nothing personal.”
Kaching
! Another ding in her ego. Next he issued a “One, two, three …” and before she knew it, she was flat on her back amidst an ocean of rippling green garbage bags. How romantic.
    “You okay?” he asked with a smile in his voice.
    “Fine,” she grumbled, squirming to find her footing. She swatted away a fly and crinkled her nose, trying not to gag on a noxious odor as she unknotted one of the garbage bags. At least it was a cool, cloudy morning. She didn’t even want to know what this dumpster smelled like in the heat of a sunny afternoon. “What am I looking for precisely?”
    “Anything with Rivelli’s name on it. A bill, a magazine, an envelope. Even an empty prescription bottle. Anything that tells us that that trash is his trash. Then toss the whole bag down to me. We’ll go through it back at the office.”
    “I just don’t see the point,” she grumbled. Picking through strangers’ refuse. It was downright creepy. She quickly abandoned one bag for another.
    “A credit card statement would list recent purchases. If he has a girlfriend on the side he might be buying her gifts.” He paused, and she heard the flick of a lighter, smelled smoke, and knew he’d just lit up a cigarette. Mental note: Buy him a nicotine patch. “A phone bill would list phone numbers and frequency of calls,” he continued. “If we’re very lucky he might be hooked up with a woman who’s fond of writing love letters.”
    “That’s if he’s hooked up,” Afia said, leafing through Mrs. Robert Sheffield’s copy of
Homes and Gardens
. Her heart stuttered when she came across the feature on holiday dinners and renovated Victorian houses. Banking on the power of affirmations, she mentally chanted, “
I am open and ready for a family and a home full of warmth, laughter and love.
”
    “Find anything?”
    Startled, she flipped the magazine over her shoulder and promptly lost her footing. She fell backwards, bursting through a bulging bag of discarded food products from a recent barbecue. “Gross,” she mumbled, flinging a leaf of wilted lettuce off of her elbow.
    “Someone’s coming,” Jake said. “I’ll take care of it. Just stay low and keep