Page 13 of Last Ticket to Paradise

She dug her high heels into the patio and leaned back, but he pulled her along with him. When they reached the bar, he hunched over the smooth mahogany. “Miguel, could you please get Georgette a glass of water?”

“Sure, boss.”

Georgette drew her brows together. “Why are you pulling me around?”

He put his hands on her shoulders just to touch her smooth skin. “I warned you about the island punch, and now I’m warning you about Gunther.”

She gulped down the water. “Gunther’s gay.”

He snorted. “Yeah, tell that to the last two women he screwed.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You mean he’s not gay?”

He got her a refill on the water and shoved it toward her. “He’s bi. He prefers men, but he likes to frolic with the ladies, too.”

She put the glass down. “Like you do?”

He raised his brows. She’d noticed? She cared? Was that why she’d sniped at him? “You mean those women in the pool?”

Her long dark lashes swept down over her eyes. “Yeah, those women in the pool. You certainly looked engrossed. I guess the job has certain perks.”

He laughed. Was this uptight woman just a little jealous? “Well, I do have to keep the guests happy.”

“Does that include sleeping with them?”

He held up his hands. “Whoa, what do you take me for, a gigolo? That’s when a man—”

“I know what a gigolo is,” she snapped.

He pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I call those women the Silicone Sisters. I think just about everything on them is fake.”

Her laugh bubbled up, and he grinned. He couldn’t make that comment to any other woman at the resort, since he could never be sure who had been injected or implanted with what around here. He was sure Georgette was one hundred percent natural.

His hand rested on her back, and a tremble rippled through her body. “Are you cold? You must be from an even warmer climate if you think this is cold.”

She shook her head, and her wild hair floated around her face. It was just the way he’d imagined it when he’d seen those wisps of curls escaping her braid this afternoon. On the plane, she’d had it straightened out and pulled into a ponytail.

“Actually, I’m from North Dakota. It’s still pretty cool there right now, but it gets warm in the summer months.”

“What does one do in North Dakota?”

She ran her fingertip along the rim of her glass. “I live in Grand Forks. That’s where the university is. My dad was a professor there, and he had a bookshop...has a bookshop. I mean, my dad passed away over a year ago, but my mom and I still have the bookshop. And that’s what I do. Run the bookshop.”

That fit. He could envision her among piles of books, glasses shoved down to the tip of her nose, thick chestnut hair escaping a severe braid, plaid skirt hiked up around her thighs. He cleared his throat. “And what brings a bookshop owner from North Dakota to Palumba?”

She turned her head and asked Miguel for another glass of water. “You’re right about that punch. I think one’s my limit.”

Why was she avoiding his question? He waited while she sipped her water. “Why Palumba?”

Her shoulders jerked up and down. “Why not Palumba? I work in a bookshop, remember? We have an extensive travel section. I read about Palumba and decided it would be a good place for a spring vacation.”

She was lying. Single female bookshop owners did not up and decide to come to Palumba. Was she chasing a man? Lucky guy. But why would any man run from her? Maybe she was escaping a man. He’d find out before she left.

“Do you want to slip off those heels and take a walk out to the water?”

She exhaled. “Sure.”

She hung her bag across her body and dangled her shoes from her fingertips. “Can I leave these here?”

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