Page 31 of Last Ticket to Paradise

She folded her long frame into the chair, crossing her endless legs. “I don’t need your permission.”

He grinned. “Find any interesting stores down the alleys?”

She ordered an iced tea from the waitress. “Yes. They’re a little more authentic than the ones on the square.”

Okay, she wasn’t going to tell him what she was doing. Why didn’t she trust him? At times, she seemed ready to confide in him, or at least succumb to his charms, and then she backed off, held him at bay. He wasn’t accustomed to women pushing him away. Her sister certainly hadn’t. “How much longer do you plan to stay on Palumba, Georgette?”

“I told you, until my sister shows up.” She buried her chin in her hands.

When the waiter showed up, Jake ordered the shrimp gumbo and tapped the menu she was perusing. “I recommend the gumbo.”

She gave up and ordered the same.

Jake leaned forward across the table. “Why don’t you relax for the rest of the week? I’ll add a couple of spa treatments to your package, free of charge. Then you can go back to North Dakota, refreshed and rejuvenated, and when Jamie returns, I’ll tell her to call you.”

Her lush lips formed a thin line. “I want to see Jamie for myself.”

And as long as she was here, she’d keep stirring up trouble and fueling anxieties. He shrugged. “That could be a while.”

“I’m prepared to wait.”

“The bookshop doesn’t need you?”

“My aunt’s helping my mother take care of things.”

He leaned back in his chair. “How is it you’re in charge of the bookshop in North Dakota, but your sister is gallivanting across several islands?”

Her whiskey eyes clouded, and her brows drew together. “When our father died, he left me the bookshop and some funds to keep it going, and he left Jamie a fat life insurance policy. Jamie never finished college, and he wanted to make sure he provided for her. He knew I could handle the bookshop and take care of our mother.”

So, her father had saddled Georgette with all the responsibility, giving Jamie free rein to enjoy herself. He tilted his head. “Must be great to know your father had so much confidence in you.”

She sucked in her lower lip. “I never thought of it that way. Your father must have confidence in you, too, to invest in your project.”

He snorted. “Chump change. A small price to pay to watch me fail.”

“Why would he want you to fail?” She drilled him with her gaze, her eyes glittering pools. A musky, smoky aroma clung to her hair.

Jake stared into her eyes, sensing untapped reserves of sensuality. Lucky man to plumb those depths.

The waiter shoved plates of steaming gumbo in front of them, and Jake shook his head. “Just to fulfill his expectations.”

Stabbing a plump, pink shrimp with her fork, she frowned. “I suppose a lot of us fulfill others’ expectations of us.” She waved her fork around. “But you didn’t fail. Your resort is a success. The tourists are flocking to Palumba.”

“And I want to keep it that way.” He dragged his eyes away from her lips, glistening with gumbo juice.

She swallowed and patted her mouth with her napkin. Damn, he would’ve been happy to kiss her spicy mouth.

“Is that why you want me to go away and stop making a fuss over Jamie’s disappearance?”

Did he want her to go away? If only she weren’t Jamie’s sister, he’d want to keep her here and peel away her layers of clothing, along with the tight reserve she wrapped around herself.

“Your sister went island-hopping with Jean-Claude. She’ll be back when she’s had enough of island-hopping or Jean-Claude.” Given what he’d found at the Palarosa sacrifice rock, he hoped to God that was the explanation.

After spearing and devouring a few more shrimp, Georgette pushed her plate away. “You seem to know Jamie well.”

“I know her type.” He gestured to her plate. “All done? You hardly did it justice.”

She hauled her bag from between her feet into her lap and rummaged through it. “How much do I owe for lunch?”

“It’s on me.” He folded his arms.

She compressed her lips. “That’s not necessary.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “I know it’s not necessary. I just want to do it.”

A small car careened into the square, spewing exhaust. It screeched to a halt in front of the fountain, and a man bounded out of the driver’s seat. “Where’s Clive? Where’s Clive?”

Jake pushed his chair back. He took two steps into the square, his heart thumping. “What’s wrong?”

The man swung around to face Jake, his eyes bulging. “Fiso LaCroix is dead.”

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