Gone but not checked out? The bartender probably didn’t know that. “Did she hook up with someone special? A group? A man?”
The bartender dropped his eyes and pushed back from the bar. “Look, Miss...”
She held up her hand. “It’s okay. It wouldn’t be unusual for her. I won’t be offended.”
His gaze slid to the right and to the left, and he hunched over the bar again. “Your sister hooked up with a lot of men while she was here. She attached herself to a large group of young international tourists, mostly French. Seemed very friendly with all the men in that group.”
And probably didn’t distinguish the married ones from the single ones. “Could she have gone off with one of them?”
The bartender plucked another drink order from the waitress’ hand. “Yes, that’s probably what happened.”
Georgette scanned the pool crowd. French tourists? Maybe one would know if one of their members took off with Jamie.
She slipped off the barstool and sauntered over to a group lounging on the steps of the pool, her eyes avoiding all the gleaming, golden, bare flesh. She asked them in French if they knew her sister. They didn’t. She talked with a few more of the guests and came up empty each time. Perhaps that whole group had already left, and Jamie had joined them on the next island.
Okay, that was enough work for the day. Georgette kicked off her flip-flops and dug her feet into the dry sand on her way to the ocean and its gentle waves. When she reached the water line, she sank down at the edge of the packed sand and wrapped her arms around her legs, propping her chin on her knees. The glassy blue water rushed up to the shore, its small waves tumbling over the sand.
A couple holding hands strolled by, and Georgette sighed. What a waste to be sitting alone in such a romantic spot. Not that she could ever imagine Brice here, with his pressed slacks, Oxford shirt, loafers, and tweed jacket with the elbow patches. He’d be so contemptuous of that crowd at the pool with their oiled bodies and umbrella drinks.
She ground her teeth together. She didn’t want him anyway. Even when he’d come groveling back to her, she’d looked down at him—which had been easy because he was only five nine and she’d been wearing low heels—and told him it was over.
She raked her fingers through the wet sand, packed balls of it in her fists, and chucked them out to sea.
“It’s no use. It’ll just keep coming back.”
She craned her neck around to see a tall figure standing behind her, blocking the sun. He dropped down beside her. The man from the airplane.
He had on a different pair of shorts and a freshly pressed white shirt rolled up at the sleeves to reveal strong forearms. He’d lost the scruffy sandals somewhere along the way. His wet hair curled at the ends, and Georgette inhaled the same fruity scent from her own complimentary shower products.
She dropped the next projectile and brushed her hands together. “Are you staying at the Palumba Falls, too?”
He dug his toes into the sand next to hers. “Yeah. How do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful. The architecture blends right in with the landscape. It’s not intrusive at all.” Did that pass for witty flirtation?
He pointed to one of the hotel rooms on stilts. “Are you staying in one of the fares?”
She peered at the little thatch-roofed structures. “Is that what they’re called? No, I’m staying in a room across from the beach.”
“You’ll catch some beautiful sunsets.”
Georgette drew in a long breath and leaned away from the man’s overpowering presence. A man like this probably emitted some primeval masculine scent to lure the female species. It was working.
He tilted his head, his sun-streaked hair falling over one eye. “Are you traveling alone?”
She bit her lip. Was this some kind of scam? Knowing she was a single woman traveling by herself, would he try to take advantage of her? She should be so lucky. If he wasn’t her type, she was damn sure she wasn’t his. Once he got a load of those naked women by the pool, he’d forget all about her.
His blue eyes sparkled like the ocean in front of them. Oh God, he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Flashing his white teeth, he said, “If you are, be careful when you leave the resort.”
He was the second person to warn her since her arrival. Maybe the travel books were wrong and Palumba wasn’t so safe after all. “I thought Palumba was safe.”
He drilled the horizon with his gaze. “All the tourist areas are safe. Just don’t wander off the beaten path.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Jake!”
They both swiveled around toward the resort. A young man waved his arms over his head. “Jake!”
He hoisted himself up from the sand. “Looks like I’m needed. By the way, I’m Jake.”
She took his outstretched hand, and he pulled her up. “Georgette.”
He squeezed her hand in a firm grip, sending spikes of pure lust into her belly. “Enjoy your stay, Georgette.”
He turned and jogged down the beach, kicking up sand in his wake before veering onto the hotel grounds. He worked here. That explained the suntan, the bleached hair, and the rough hands. She smoothed her palm across her cheek.
He had his pick of the women at the hotel. Probably had notches on his bedpost. Linda had instructed her to get drunk one night and have a fling...Jake was definitely flingable.
Georgette spun away from the resort and skipped through the bubbling waves, kicking up sprays of water that sparkled in the sun. People dotted the sand, and a few kids shrieked at the water’s edge.
She strolled past the other hotels on the beach until she came to an outcropping of rocks that rose to two points over the ocean. People clambered over the rocks to reach the point on the right, and a crowd stood on the edge facing the point on the left.
Shielding her eyes, Georgette peered up at the spot where young men executed high dives into the water below. The curve of rocks on the beach obscured their landings, so Georgette joined the stream of tourists ascending to the lookout point.
She jostled the edges of the crowd until she gained a clear view of the divers. Their slim bodies arched gracefully before slicing through the blue water. Each time one of the divers landed between two jagged rocks jutting out from the ocean, the tourists on the rock gasped and leaned forward in unison.
The water swirling below was different from the smooth, glassy water fronting the Palumba Falls Resort. This water churned and rolled, shooting up sprays that almost reached the gawking tourists.
Georgette hung over the railing, her heart jumping each time a diver hit the water. They had little room for error. The crowd pressed forward, squeezing her against the bars of the railing.
She shifted her gaze from the divers to the water below the lookout point. If the divers had little room for error, there was even less room for error for their audience. Cruel rocks zigzagged out of the water like teeth, ready to snag some unlucky tourist.
Georgette tried to turn, but was wedged against the railing, the bars pressing hard against her rib cage. One of the divers flipped forward before piercing the water, and the crowd cried out its approval.
A hand slapped against Georgette’s back, pushing her farther over the railing until she stared down at the wicked teeth below. The bar of the railing cut off her breath, and she felt her feet lift from the rock beneath her. Her toes scrambled to gain purchase on the gritty surface as she gripped the railing.
Then warm breath, smelling of garlic, hissed in her ear, “Go home.”
Chapter Two
The hand shoved her again. Georgette gasped as the metal bar dug into her skin. Her scrambling feet finally found solid ground, and she straightened, trying to turn amid the bodies pressing against her. She wrenched around and threw out her hands, using the other people as leverage.
With her back to the divers and the water, she scanned the people on the rock craning their necks to get a better view. Nobody met h
er eye. Nobody scurried away. It could’ve been any one of them. Garlic. What could she do, sniff everyone’s breath? And how many people ate garlic for lunch on this island noted for its spicy food?
She plowed through the crowd on shaky legs. Tourists eager to watch the fantastic divers merged into the space behind her. She scrambled down the rocks, her knees trembling. She could’ve gone over. She jumped off the last rock and landed on the hard, wet sand. Glancing over her shoulder, she jogged down the beach back toward the resort.
What was that all about? Did the locals here resent tourists? Maybe there was something to those warnings. And why had she been singled out? Perhaps she presented the easiest target as her tall frame had leaned over the railing.
She shivered despite the warm sun beating on her shoulders. The Palumba Falls Resort rose, shimmering out of the sand like a mirage. She rinsed off her feet in the beachside shower, slipped her flip-flops back on, and scuffed across the red tile floor to the bar.
Wedging against the barstool, she ordered another lemonade from her friend, Nigel the bartender, although she probably could’ve used something stronger.
He slid the sweating glass toward her. “Are you all right?”
She gulped half the glass before answering. “I just had a scare out by the two points watching the divers. Someone shoved me and told me to go home.”
Nigel stopped wiping the bar. “Was it one of the locals?”
Pressing the glass against her cheek, she said, “I don’t know. I couldn’t turn around fast enough, and then I didn’t see anyone. I thought I was going to go over the railing.”
He gripped the edge of the bar. “Someone tried to push you over?”
She formed a fist against her bouncing knee. “I don’t think so, but I was standing against the railing when he pushed me forward.”
Nigel topped off her lemonade. “You need to tell the boss about this.”
“What’s he going to do about it? I was thinking about calling the police, but it’s really kind of silly.”
He nodded and tapped the side of his nose. “The boss has a lot of power on this island, maybe more than the constable.”
Georgette smoothed the loosened strands of hair back from her face. Nigel obviously had a lot of confidence in The Boss. “Okay, I’ll tell your boss. Where is he?”
Nigel pointed to a tall man seated at a table, hunched over some papers. As if sensing the attention, the man lifted his head, a lock of sun-drenched hair falling over one eye.
***
Jake looked up and squinted toward the bar. There was that long cool drink of water from the airplane with legs up to there...Georgette. Hadn’t seemed quite so judgmental on the beach, but then, she seemed pissed off about something.
Nigel pointed to him, and Georgette sprang off the barstool and prowled toward him. She had the sinuous grace of a jungle cat.
He jumped up from his chair. “Hello again. Georgette, right?”
Her whiskey eyes narrowed, slanting up at the corners. “You’re the owner of Palumba Falls?”
From the ice crackling through her voice, it didn’t sound like she approved. The fact that he owned the most luxurious resort on the island acted like catnip on most women. She’d seemed to like the place when they talked on the beach.
He gestured to the chair opposite his. “Yes, I own Palumba Falls. I’m Jake Kincaid.”
She stood beside the chair, her shoulders back, her head high. Most tall women he knew slouched. This one owned her height—he liked it.
Her nostrils flared as she looked up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re the owner?”
He shrugged. “We didn’t get that far in the introductions. Have a seat. I saw you talking to Nigel. Can I help you with something?”
She chewed her full bottom lip before folding into the chair. She crossed her long legs, tanned golden from some tanning salon rather than brown from the sun. “Something weird happened to me while I was watching the divers at the two points. Nigel advised me to tell you about it.”
His pulse quickened. There shouldn’t be any trouble at the Devil’s Teeth. That was clogged with tourists, off-limits to island business. He cocked his head. “Trouble?”
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. “Your island?”
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.”
He crossed an ankle over his knee. She really had no idea
who his father was. “I had one big investor, and I’ve already paid him back. It’s all mine now.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Don’t the locals resent you for building in their paradise, for bringing all the problems tourism creates?”
He leaned forward, planting his chin in his hands. No empty-headed bimbo here, but then, he’d never thought she was. “Tourism might bring its problems, but it brings benefits as well. The money from tourism improved the infrastructure of the island, created jobs, raised the standard of living, and built more schools. Do you know that the literacy rate on the island has increased by thirty percent in the past ten years since I developed Palumba Falls?”
Holding his breath, he waited for the yawn, the suggestion that they drink up and jump in the pool.
A line creased her brow, and a slight smile curved her lips. “You sound defensive. Do you feel guilty?”
Ouch. Not such a baby after all. He was defensive, but not because he felt guilty about bringing tourism to Palumba. And he didn’t need this prissy teetotaler, as intriguing as she was, sitting in judgment over him.
He lounged back in his chair. “Drink up and take a dip in the pool. I’m going to finish this paperwork. I still have a lot of island left to decimate.”
Her fingers fumbled against the glass, and she finished off the rest of her island punch. “Sorry to disturb you.”
He looked up from his papers into her luminous eyes. Now he felt guilty. “You didn’t disturb me. I hope the remainder of your visit to Palumba is uneventful, and let me know if I can do anything to make your stay more comfortable.”
Like loosen the rest of your wild hair from that braid. Or rub sun tan oil across your smooth belly. Or take that luscious bottom lip between my teeth. Or...
Her chair scraped back. “Thank you.”
***
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. The man shows a spark of interest, talks passionately about a topic dear to him, and you shoot him down. Not every man is Brice—untrustworthy, deceitful, foolish.
Heading back to her room, she stumbled across the tile, her legs feeling numb. Jake wasn’t kidding about that island punch. It packed a punch. She giggled and then covered her mouth. Was she drunk?
Last Ticket to Paradise Page 2