Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [180]
The Binkster, my pug, had cocked her head at me and slowly wagged her tail. I took this to mean I looked hot.
I’d forgotten to ask Marta what Jasper looked like. He was a Purcell and the Purcells were wealthy and notorious, so apparently that was supposed to be enough. I ordered a Sparkling Cyanide, my new favorite drink, an electric blue martini that draws envious eyes from the people who’ve ordered your basic rum and Cokes.
I was sipping away when a man in his mid-thirties strode onto the patio. He stopped short to look around. I nearly dropped my cocktail. I say nearly, because I’d paid a whopping eight bucks for it and I wasn’t going to lose one drop unless Mt. St. Helen’s erupted again and spewed ash and lava to rain down on Foster’s patio, sending us all diving for cover. Even then I might be able to balance it.
I felt my lips part. Marta must have guessed what my reaction would be when I clapped eyes on him. She probably was fighting back a huge hardy-har-har all the while we were on the phone. This guy was flat-out gorgeous. Women seated around me took notice: smoothing their hair, sitting up straighter, looking interested and attentive. His gaze settled on me. I gulped against a dry throat. He had it all. Movie-star good looks. Brilliant blue eyes and thick lashes. Chiseled jaw. Smooth, naturally dark skin and blinding white teeth. Strong physique, taut and muscular with that kind of sinewy grace that belongs to jungle cats. I should have known this was going to turn out badly. I should have heard the “too handsome” alarm clang in my brain. But, honestly, I just stared.
He flashed me a smile, then scraped back the chair opposite me. The sun’s rays sent a shaft of gold light over his left arm. His gray shirt was one of those suede-ish fabrics that moved like a second skin.
“Jane Kelly?” he asked.
Great voice. Warm and mellow. He smelled good, too. Musky and citrusy at the same time. And his dark hair had the faintest, and I mean faintest, of an auburn tint, the shade of color women pay big, big, HUGE, bucks for.
I nodded, wondering if I should check for drool on my chin. You can never be too careful.
“I’m Jasper Purcell.”
“Hello.”
“Thanks for meeting with me. I know I didn’t give you a lot of time.”
I cleared my throat. “No problem. Marta Cornell said you wanted to see me about your family. She wasn’t specific.”
“I wasn’t specific with her.” He hesitated, his eyes squinting a bit as if he were wrestling with confiding in me. After a moment, he said, “It’s about my grandmother, Orchid Purcell.”
I looked interested, waiting for him to continue.
“She named all her girls after flowers. But it’s the only crazy thing she’s done until now.”
Mental illness runs in the Purcell family… “What’s happened?” I asked cautiously, but Jasper Purcell didn’t answer me. He appeared to be lost to some inner world.
Eventually he surfaced, glancing around, seeming to notice his surroundings for the first time. “Nice place. I’ve never been here.”
Since Foster’s was a Lake Chinook institution I was kind of surprised. The Dunthorpe area—where the Purcell mansion had been for the last century—was just north of the lake. If Jasper Purcell grew up there, the restaurant seemed like a natural.
“How can I help you, Mr. Purcell?”
That seemed to jolt him back. “Sorry.” He leaned across the table