Page 15 of Last Ticket to Paradise

The primeval beat of the drums reverberated in his belly. The pagans had it right. The drums’ rhythms awakened a sensual chord in his loins—or maybe that was the Georgette effect.

The breeze caught her hair, whipping a strand across her face. Her long, golden legs gleamed in the moonlight. One strap of her dress had fallen off her shoulder, revealing the swell of one perfect breast.

He pulled her to him, resting his chin on top of her head. His stubble caught her hair, and after disentangling himself, he tilted her chin up. She half closed her dewy eyes. He swept his tongue along the crease of her lips, tasting the sweet punch. Her mouth parted, and his lips caressed hers.

Ending the kiss, he glanced down at her feet, his gaze lingering on her lovely legs, and smiled. “You don’t even have to stand on your tiptoes.”

Georgette pulled away from him. Planting her hands against his chest, she shoved him. “Unlike my perfect, petite sister.”

She pivoted in the sand and started running up to the lights of the Costa Azul.

Jake’s mouth gaped open as he watched Georgette’s receding figure. What just happened? She’d been running hot and cold all night. He’d meant that comment as a compliment. They were a perfect fit.

Sister?

Was he supposed to know what that meant? Did he know her sister? He raked his hands through his hair. Georgette...damn, he didn’t even know her last name. He threw his head back and groaned. Did he have some wild fling with her sister back when he was still having wild flings?

He swore and marched back to the resort. He avoided the pool area by slipping through a side entrance to the lobby.

“Hello, boss. Do you need something?”

He shook his head at the desk clerk. “Just need to check something on the computer.”

He went into the back and dropped into a chair. He punched a few keys and accessed the guest search screen. He typed “Georgette” into the first name field and hit the return key. The guest registration screen appeared for Georgette Lawson.

He slumped back in his chair, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.Damn.

***

Why did Jamie have to ruin everything for her? Georgette sagged against the bathroom stall door, pulling toilet paper from the roll. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she tried to staunch their flow.

This evening could’ve been so perfect. Jakewasinterested in her. When he’d pulled her close, she’d felt his erection. Men couldn’t fake that. Could they?

Oh God. Maybe he knew she was Jamie’s sister, and that’s why he was attracted to her. Maybe Jamie dumped him, and he was using her to get back at Jamie. Maybe he just wanted to get close to her as a way of staying connected to Jamie.

She pounded her fist on the door. Jamie, Jamie. Why couldn’t she have this man all to herself? She liked Jake Kincaid. No. She hated Jake Kincaid.

How could he know she and Jamie were sisters? North Dakota? Jamie usually never got that deep in a conversation. She jumped fromhellotoyour place or mine?in a matter of minutes.

The hotel registration. She’d even told the desk clerk Jamie was her sister. So, he knew and was playing some kinky game.

A fresh wave of tears threatened to choke her. She sniffed and blew her nose. Get a grip. She hadn’t even cried this hard when she found a naked Jamie straddling an equally naked Brice in his bed...with his pipe clamped between her teeth.

She wouldn’t have Brice after that, and she won’t have Jake now. She almost succumbed, even knowing he’d been with Jamie. That kiss had been like paradise. She could almost forget. Almost.

She stumbled out of the stall and leaned against the vanity. She bent over the sink and splashed water on her face. Okay, Jake was off-limits. There were other men at the resort. She planned to enjoy herself while she waited for Jamie. When Jamie returned, they’d have a drink, Jamie would move on to the next island and the next man, and Georgette would go back to North Dakota. But not back to Brice.

She patted her face dry and reapplied her lipstick. The eyeliner was a lost cause.

She pushed out of the bathroom. Drawn to the drumbeat, she sidled up to the edge of the crowd watching the Palarosa ritual show. Men in loincloths, their oiled bodies gleaming in the firelight, undulated in front of a raised platform. A woman, giggling and shaking her hips to the beat, stood on the platform, her arms tied with colorful scarves to two bamboo poles. Women wearing sarongs shimmied around the platform.

The tempo picked up, and the men plucked small torches from the side of the stage and thrust them toward the woman on the platform. She squealed and wriggled, while her friends in the audience called out encouragement.

A big man commanded the front of the stage and raised his arms. The drums fell silent, as did the crowd. “Palarosa gods, we offer our sacrifice for the protection of our island.”

He dropped his arms, and the drums began a frenzied beat. The dancers bent forward at the waist and whipped their heads back, yelling and shrieking. The eyes of the “human sacrifice” grew wide, and her mouth formed a perfect O.

She disappeared from the platform, and the crowd gasped as the torches formed a pyramid where the hapless tourist once stood. Then she bobbed up from behind the stage, and with two of the half-naked dancers at her sides, took a bow. The crowd, along with Georgette, released a collective sigh and cheered.

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