Page 46 of Last Ticket to Paradise

After straightening his desk, he sat behind the computer and brought up the info about Jean-Claude’s room at the resort. He was in one of thefareson stilts over the water.

The police hadn’t requested access to Jean-Claude’s room yet. They wouldn’t if they figured his plunge into the pool had been an accident caused by too much alcohol. So, he had a chance to get in there before they did.

He unlocked his desk drawer and took out a master keycard.

He picked up the phone and called the hospital. Jean-Claude was still alive but on a ventilator. Things didn’t sound good for the poor bastard. What had he wanted to tell Georgette?

When he ended the call to the island’s lone hospital, he called the hotel kitchen.

Florenceanswered on the first ring. “What can we get you, boss?”

“Steak, fries, and a salad with vinaigrette. I’ll take it in my room.”

“Nice bottle of Cab with that?”

“Sounds good, Flo, but I have work to do.”

He gathered some papers and tucked them into a briefcase. He crossed the pool deck where a few guests still lingered, nursing drinks while waiting for their tables in the restaurant. Jean-Claude’s unfortunate dip in the pool hadn’t put the brakes on anyone’s holiday plans. And why should it? As far as most of these tourists knew, an inebriated man had fallen into the pool.

But after Georgette had found the note from Jean-Claude in her pocket, that story seemed unlikely.

On the way to his room, he swung by the kitchen to add a loaf of the island’s French bread to his order.

Florence patted his arm. “We’ve got you covered, boss. I wouldn’t send a meal up to your room without some bread to go with it.”

“You know me too well, Flo.” He waved toPhillipe, the chef he’d lured from a top restaurant in Paris. “Busy night, Chef?”

“As always.” Phillipe jerked a thumb over his shoulder as he scurried past him.

Jake grabbed a bottle of water from the staff fridge and then ducked down to peek through a small window that looked out on the main dining room.

His pulse ticked up a notch or two when he spotted the leggy brunette laughing it up with a large table of bronzed tourists. The men seemed to hang on every word uttered from Georgette’s luscious lips. One lucky dude had the pleasure of feeding Georgette a succulent scallop and then had the audacity to dab his fingertip against her chin, presumably to nab a drop of butter on her face.

She hadn’t given up on her ridiculous...and dangerous...plan to tempt the Palarosa gods, or whoever the hell was playing these games.

He gulped down some water and then twisted the cap back on the bottle.

He couldn’t stop her from taking this course of action, but if one of these guys tried to follow through with the flirtation, he’d... What would he do? He had no claims on her—yet.

He said good night to the kitchen staff and left the restaurant through the back door. He tromped down a path that bordered the beach and headed back toward a group of buildings that housed his suite. He kept the entire third floor of this building for his private quarters. The life suited him.

When he entered the suite, he crossed the living room and threw open the French doors to the balcony. He stepped outside into the warm evening and rested his forearms against the railing. He gazed at the calm sea, a deep indigo except for the whitecaps that drew horizontal lines across the glassy surface of the water.

This had been his life for ten years, but a restlessness stirred in his gut...or maybe that restlessness was stirring lower than that.

Had he been mistaking his animal attraction to Georgette for some deeper longing for hearth and home? He’d had plenty of beautiful women come and go in his life and some great sex.

The ache he felt for Georgette had more to it than just his throbbing cock every time he saw her. He felt some echo in his heart, definitely in his brain.

He pushed away from the balcony. She had a home and a life in North Dakota—books and art and conversation with people at the university. Hell, he’d never even finished college—dropped out of Yale despite—or maybe because of—his father’s protestations.

He didn’t have much to offer Georgette except for a perpetual playground—oiled bodies, tropical drinks, fun in the sun. As soon as she found out what happened to her flaky sister, she’d be out of here and back in the real world.

The knock on the door jerkedhimback to the real world, and he stepped into the room. He swung open the door for Zander, who wheeled in a cart laden with more food than he’d ordered, including a bottle of wine.

As Zander began to whip the covers off the plates, Jake held out a hand. “That’s all right, Zander. I’ll take it from here.”

He slipped the young man almost as much cash as the meal was worth and waved him off.

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