Page 54 of Last Ticket to Paradise

“Postcard?”

“Jean-Claude’s postcard, the one I gave you in the water.”

“If it’s still in one piece.” Jake zipped open his pocket and pulled out the folded postcard. “It’s damp, but the card stock is heavy, so it’s still viable. Don’t know what you hope to get from it, though.”

She held out her hand for the card, and Jake dropped it in her palm. “I just thought it was curious that it’s the same postcard as the last one Jamie sent home to Mom. There are tons of postcards in the shop. Why this one for both my sister and Jean-Claude?”

Jake shrugged and hung his shorts over his shoulder. “I’m going to get us a couple of bottles of water, and then I’m going to your room to get your stuff. Don’t take a shower without me. I want to make sure every inch of your body is clean.”

Georgette’s face warmed, and she squeezed her thighs together. It was silly how Jake’s words could cause a flood of tingles coursing through her body. Of course, it could be the words in combination with that magnificent naked male body in front of her, Jake’s cock, even now, semi-erect.

Before he left for her room, Jake wrapped her in a silky kimono that carried a sweet scent that she didn’t dare question and instructed her to secure the top lock behind him.

She locked the door, grabbed her bottle of water, and sat cross-legged on the bed. She picked open the postcard and flattened it on the bedspread—yep, same one as Jamie’s, the one that had been stolen from her room.

She gently turned the card over. The water had blurred the ink, but Jean-Claude had written something on the back.

Squinting, Georgette read aloud, “Dear..., Palumba is... Wish I...”

Georgette sighed and flicked the card with her fingertip. She couldn’t make out enough of the letters to make any sense of the words.

A gentle knock on the door launched her from the bed, and she peered through the peephole. Jake stood back, her carry-on bag in hand.

She unlocked the door and swung it open. “Find everything?”

“The essentials, although why I’m bringing you clothes is beyond me. I kind of like you without ’em.”

“Do you say that to all the girls?” She tipped her head to one side, the glibness of his flirtations—and the kimono—causing a ripple of her old self-doubt to squirm through her body.Oldself-doubt? She still held on to it like a shield, and thirty minutes of frolicking in a hot tub with a hot man couldn’t banish it that easily.

“That smarmy, huh?” He held out her bag. “Clothes and toiletries. If you need anything else, send me back.”

“I’m sure what you brought is fine. I’m not staying in your room forever.”

He jerked his head up and dropped her bag. “Sorry. Where do you want it...for now?”

Had he expected her to move in here? For how long? The duration of her trip? There could be nothing beyond that.

“Oh, just put it on the floor by the bathroom door.” She waved her hand toward the cavernous bathroom. “I looked at Jean-Claude’s postcard, but nothing jumped out at me except that it’s the same as the last one Jamie sent our mother.”

“Does it have writing that you can actually read?”

“He wrote on the back, and I can make out some of the blurred words, but not a lot.” She swept the card from the bed and held it out to him, pinched between two fingers.

He snatched it from her, and she dropped to her knees in front of her suitcase and pulled out her toiletry bag. “I’m going to brush my teeth and then hit the shower. D-do you still want to join me?”

Without looking up from the postcard, he said, “Of course.”

Georgette bit her bottom lip. He sounded less enthusiastic now. Had he been offended when she’d mentioned she wouldn’t be in his room forever? Why would he be? He didn’t want her in his room forever. Wouldn’t want her in his life forever.

She’d posed a challenge to him—the uptight, bookish, schoolmarm type. He must be amused now, and a little disappointed at how quickly she’d capitulated to his charms.

“What about these numbers?”

Georgette clasped her toiletry bag to her chest. “Numbers?”

“Yeah, four random numbers in the lower corner of the postcard.”

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