If only Jamie would return. Why had Georgette come traipsing down here after her sister? Had Jamie written something in a postcard that worried her family?
Not that he minded Georgette traipsing down here. She was a refreshing change from most of the shallow, self-absorbed women who populated his resort. He’d felt fire when he kissed her and allowed his fingers to linger on her creamy skin. Did her obvious disdain for him fuel his passion?
He’d loved a challenge—the biggest waves to surf, the deepest caves to dive, the most women to bed. Then he’d turned his attention to developing the best resort on the islands. Maybe his next challenge was to release the pent-up emotions in one uptight woman and make her moan with pleasure.
As if on cue, that uptight woman emerged from one of the alleys off the main square, clutching her bag against her chest. When she hit the sidewalk, her gait quickened, and she swiveled her head from side to side.
Jake narrowed his eyes. What was she up to now? He half rose from his chair and waved an arm. “Georgette!”
She jerked her head in his direction, her eyes widening. He gestured her over to his table.
As she approached, he asked, “Doing some shopping?”
She gripped her straw bag like it was a lifesaver. “Some window-shopping.”
He spread his arms. “Nothing in our shops tempts you?”
“I’m more of a browser.” A beautiful pink tint touched her cheeks.
He nudged the chair across from him with his foot. “Have a seat. Join me for a late lunch.”
Georgette turned her head toward one of the green and yellow island-hopper vans pulling up to the fountain, spewing out more tourists eager to spend their money.
Jake stood up and pulled out the chair. “Those vans run all day long. I’m giving you permission to skip lunch at the resort and eat here.”
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.”
Chapter Seven
When Georgette jumped out of her chair, it clattered against the cobblestones. She grabbed her bag, smashing it to her chest as if the feathers and charcoal could protect her right now.
A crowd of locals formed around Jake and the man, now chattering and gesticulating. Georgette edged up behind Jake, peering around his broad back.
Jake held up his hands. “Slow down, Jimar. What happened?”
Jimar hacked and coughed, and someone handed him a glass of water from the restaurant. “I went to Fiso’s place to see if he wanted to help me with a job. Screen door was closed, but his door was open and the TV was on, so I walked in. He was sprawled in a chair. I thought he was sleeping, but he didn’t move.”
“Did you see any wounds or blood?”
“No, but...” His eyes darted around the crowd. “His pipe was on the floor.”
Jake swore and grabbed another man by the sleeve and gave him a shove. “Go find Clive.”
While others in the crowd peppered Jimar with questions, Georgette tapped Jake’s shoulder. She cleared her dry throat and wiped her clammy palms against the skirt of her dress. “What happened? What does it matter if Fiso’s pipe was on the floor?”
Jake studied her face, and then his eyes dropped to her hands now pleating folds into her skirt. “Jimar means Fiso’s crack pipe, but my guess is Fiso was smoking Crystal Delight.”
Georgette licked her lips. Maybe Fiso hadn’t been murdered
after all, which had been her first thought. “What’s Crystal Delight?”
“It’s a manufactured drug, a form of crystal meth. Since his wife...left, Fiso’s been smoking more and more of the stuff.”
Georgette blew out a breath. Had her visit reminded Fiso of his loss? He was already wasted when she’d gotten there, but had she made it worse?
Clive scuttled into the square and took Jimar by the arm, leading him away. A few minutes later, a yellow ambulance, its siren blaring, pulled out of the firehouse.
The crowd dispersed, and Jake turned to her. “You look a little green around the gills. You didn’t know the guy...did you?”
“Of course not, but we had a few drug overdoses in our town—college students. It’s tragic.”
Jake stared over her head. “Yeah, tragic.”
His eyes shifted to her face. “You look tense. I insist you accept a spa package on the house. I’ll take you back, and you can set something up for the early evening.”
She started to protest and then snapped her lips shut. Why not? She wasn’t doing Jamie any good standing around wringing her hands.
Jake left to talk to Clive and Jimar, and Georgette hopped on the van to return to the resort without Jake. She had one more stop to make before sinking into luxury at the spa.
When she got back to her room, Georgette closed the door and scraped the charcoal across the tile floor, creating a black line. With a smile twisting her lips, she rubbed the feathers over her body but ignored the garlic. She’d had enough of that in the gumbo.
She then tucked the leather bag with the Palarosa icons into her suitcase in the closet and scheduled her spa appointment. On her way back down, she lounged near the breezeway where Jamie’s room was located.
A housekeeping cart trundled around the corner, its wheels bumping over the red tile floor. It stopped in front of one of the rooms. The maid opened the door and pulled some towels from the cart.
Georgette approached her. “Excuse me. I ran down to the pool for a minute and forgot my key. Can you let me in?”
The maid smiled. “Which room?”
Georgette gestured down the hall. “This one, three doors down.”
Georgette held her breath behind her smile as she led the maid to Jamie’s room. The maid slipped the card in the door and pushed it open. “Do you need fresh towels?”
Georgette gripped the door handle. “No, thanks.”
She snapped the door closed behind her, leaning her forehead against it, breathing heavily. The squelch of the maid’s soft-soled shoes retreated.
Georgette spun around. Shadows crouched in the corners of the dark room. She crept forward and whispered, “Jamie?”
Neat piles of folded clothing sat on the made-up bed and on a few chairs. Staff must’ve done that. Jamie was a slob who dropped her clothes where she stood. Georgette fingered the garments, and Jamie’s sweet, cloying scent wafted from their folds.
She flicked on the bedside lamp. Stacks of fashion and gossip magazines towered on the desk, and the lone ashtray glittered with discarded jewelry. Would Jamie have left jewelry out in the open like this?
Georgette picked through the pieces. No topaz and diamond necklace.
No purse or cell phone. She and Mom had already tried calling Jamie’s cell, and it had gone straight to voice mail.
Biting her lip, Georgette flung open the closet doors. Rows of short dresses and slinky tops swayed on their hangers. She tripped to the dresser and yanked open the drawers. An array of silky panties and push-up bras lay in a colorful jumble. Georgette clawed through the mess and then backed up to the bed and dropped to the edge.
If Jamie went island-hopping with Jean-Claude, why didn’t she take her clothes? Why did she leave expensive jewelry in plain sight?
Georgette took a deep breath and pinned her hands between her knees. Jamie had tons of clothes. Just because there were a lot left here in the room, didn’t mean she didn’t pack a bag. Jean-Claude was rich. Jamie probably expected him to buy her clothes and jewelry on their jaunt. He probably bought her that topaz necklace, and she took it with her.
Georgette searched the rest of the room. Nothing unusual except for a stack of blank postcards on the table. Unsent missives to Mom.
She sighed and scooped up the jewelry in the ashtray. The hotel staff must be very trustworthy, or Jake ran a tight ship, but no sense in tempting anyone.
As she turned to go, she noticed the leg of a pair of pantyhose hanging from a dresser drawer. Georgette wrinkled her nose. Pantyhose? Jamie hadn’t worn hose in years, and she certainly wouldn’t wear them in a climate like this one.
She yanked open the drawer and tugged on the stocking. Something clunked against the inside of the drawer, preventing her from pulling the pantyhose out.
With her heart skipping beats, Georgette reached into the drawer and grabbed a handful of the pantyhose. Her fingers curled around a hard, square object stuffed into one end.
She dropped it on top of the dresser and peeled back the stocking. Brown paper covered the item, and she ripped through it, revealing a white substance wrapped in plastic.
“Drugs.” She ran her thumb across the plastic, and the hard crystals within changed shape under the pressure of her touch. Jamie didn’t use drugs. Did someone plant these in her room to explain her disappearance?
She wasn’t about to leave them here for someone to find. She stuffed the block of drugs and the jewelry in her bag and tiptoed out of the room.
After securing Jamie’s jewelry in the hotel safe, Georgette returned to her own room. She dropped her bag on the floor and rushed into the bathroom. With a towel in her hands, she lifted the lid on the tank of the toilet, wiped her prints from the bag of drugs and dropped it inside the tank. If anyone found them, she’d claim ignorance.
She pulled the door of her hotel room closed behind her and sauntered down to the spa. She could use the relaxation after the morning and afternoon she’d had.
Smooth jazz and vanilla-scented candles greeted her when she entered the reception area of the spa.
The beautiful woman behind the counter looked up and smiled. “You must be Georgette. I have you down for the four o’clock appointment for the Luxury Island Special of manicure, pedicure, facial, and massage.”
Georgette nodded. She’d never had a facial or massage before. Jamie used to scold her for spending too much time on her brain and not enough on her body. Jamie did just the opposite.
The woman pointed to a door. “Go ahead and undress and shower. We have a terry cloth robe for your use, and you can take it with you after the appointment.”
Georgette showered and slipped the soft robe over her tingling skin. Getting pampered felt good. She reclined in a deep chair while one woman gave her a manicure and another gave her a pedicure. She declined a cocktail, but accepted a refreshing glass of guava juice.
When her nails were done, Georgette lay down on a cot for her facial. The aesthetician glided into the room and aimed a steamer at Georgette’s face. After several minutes, she massaged Georgette’s face as she cleansed it. “You have beautiful skin.”
Georgette closed her eyes and smiled. She felt beautiful. Maybe Jamie was right when she’d said, “Gigi, you’re so pretty, but you hide behind your shapeless, conservative clothes, your glasses, your sensible shoes, and your superior attitude.”
Was Jamie so dense she didn’t realize Georgette hid because she’d been taught not to compete with her frail twin sister? Their mother always drilled into Georgette that she had to be the strong twin, the sensible twin, the plain twin. Maybe she didn’t have to play that role anymore.
When the facial was over, Georgette was directed into a dimly lit room with a black lacquer cot low to the floor. “Remove your robe, lie on your stomach, and drape the sheet over yourself. Raoul will be right with you.”
Georgette gulped. Raoul? A man was giving her a massage? She shrugged out of the robe. Everyone here was professional.
She lay facedow
n and arranged the sheet over her body. Scented candles—gardenia, this time—filled the air with their sweet perfume. Soothing New Age instrumental music hummed from the speakers.
The door whisked open, and a man’s voice greeted her in accented English. “Good evening, Georgette. I’m Raoul.”
“Mmmm.” She didn’t bother to turn around.
Raoul flicked the sheet down her back with a whisper, arranging it around her hips. His strong hands kneaded her neck, working around to her shoulders. “You have much tension here.”
Yeah, no kidding. She exhaled.
Raoul’s magic fingers pressed the flesh of her back, coaxing the stress from her tight muscles. He moved to her feet and ankles, skimming the sheet up her legs to bare her thighs. His strong hands reminded her of Jake’s. What would it feel like to have Jake kneading her, touching her?
Someone tapped on the door. A cool breeze caressed her legs as Raoul opened the door. He murmured a question and another male voice answered—a familiar male voice.
The door snapped shut. “Georgette, I need to tell you something.”
She cranked her head around and gazed at Jake through heavy-lidded eyes. She must’ve conjured him up with her daydreams. She couldn’t let this opportunity slip through her fingers. “I’m here to relax. I want my massage.”
Turning around, she hitched the sheet up her thighs. She couldn’t deny that she wanted Jake. Could he deny this invitation?
“Georgette...”
“My massage, please.”
“We need to talk.”
“Later.”
Jake sighed and rubbed his thumbs against the backs of her knees, his hands reaching up her legs. His fingers trailed along her inner thighs, sending shivers up her back. She let her legs fall open a little more, and his long fingers rubbed circles on her flesh, closing in on her derriere.
Georgette felt a rush of hot pleasure seep between her legs. Oh my God. You weren’t supposed to get aroused from a massage. Were you? Of course, that depended on the massage therapist.
Last Ticket to Paradise Page 8