Page 7 of Last Ticket to Paradise

A pink tinge stole into her creamy cheeks. He hoped she wasn’t planning on exposing that beautiful skin to the harsh Palumba sun for a week.

She gnawed on her lip again. “I guess it sounds kind of silly when I verbalize it. I was watching the divers, and I felt a hand press against my back. Then someone told me to go home. By the time I turned around, he or she was gone.”

He blew out a breath. Just one of the local boys stirring up trouble. Georgette was an obvious tourist, an easy target. “She? You think it could’ve been a woman?”

She folded her hands on the table, entwining her long, tapered fingers. “I don’t know. The warning was whispered, but the hand felt strong.”

He waved over one of the waitresses. “Shala, could you please bring Georgette a drink from the bar?”

“Sure, what’ll you have?”

“Just a lemonade, please.”

Jake eyed her disheveled hair and leg kicking back and forth. “Bring her an island punch, Shala.”

Her leg stopped kicking. “Is that an alcoholic drink?”

Grinning, he nodded. “It’s a special of the Palumba Falls. Do you not drink?”

“I-I don’t drink alcohol before dinner, and I only drink wine.”

He placed a hand on her knee, careful not to let his touch turn into a caress against her smooth skin. “Just drink half. It’ll take the edge off. It may have been a silly incident, but it wasn’t a very pleasant introduction to my island.”

She jerked her chin up. “Yourisland?”

He laughed. “I feel that way sometimes.”

Drawing her arched brows together, she said, “Jake Kincaid?”

He folded his arms across his chest. Here it came. The comparison to his famous father. The dismissal of his achievements. The judgmental sneer.

She nodded. “Oh yeah, I read about you in the travel book—the man who single-handedly brought tourism to Palumba.” She recited, “‘The Palumba Falls Resort was the first hotel on the island, attracting an exclusive, jet-setting clientele. Word of its exquisite location, superb service, and friendly, laid-back atmosphere soon spread, giving rise to imitations across the island. But the Palumba Falls Resort remains the shiniest gem on the island.’”

He raised his brows. Not one word about his father. And only a tiny sneer. “I’m impressed.”

That delicate rose shimmered across her face again as she ducked her head. “I read up on the island before I came out here.”

Shala returned, placing a coral drink, sporting a straw and a blue umbrella, in front of Georgette. The drink matched her toenails.

Georgette puckered her lips around the straw, the gesture making him hard as a rock.

He shifted in his seat. “Well?”

She swallowed and wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t taste like alcohol. It’s sweet.”

He dropped his head in his hands. She was a baby. He’d have to get Nigel to look after her...when he wasn’t around himself.

She slurped another sip. He raised his head and slid the glass to the side of the table, leaving her straw hanging in the air as droplets of coral liquid dribbled onto the table.

The straw dropped out of her mouth. “Hey!”

“Slow down. The sweetness is what makes the drink dangerous. Suck down enough of these, and you’ll wind up flat on your...back.”

She licked her lips. “I see your point. What made you develop on Palumba?”

He leaned back and stretched out his legs. “Some buddies and I were diving off the islands and stumbled across this one. I was hooked. I came back several times after that and recognized the possibilities.”

“Did your buddies invest in the project, too? It must’ve cost a lot of money.”

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