“Do you have an appointment?”
I didn’t even bother glancing to my right. “No, but Ihave a smoking hot archaeologist who has some opinions about how he’s fucking up the Eastshore Lighthouse.”
Jocelyn gasped and smacked my arm. “Brakkor!” she hissed, “don’t upset him!”
But the reedy voice on the other side of the speaker hummed. “Well, let me check Mr. Frapp’s busy schedule.Dressing, feeding the cats, cucumber sandwiches—good news, we’re available right now, assuming you like tea.”
“I love tea!” Jocelyn called loudly from my side.
I deadpanned into the speaker, “We love tea, apparently.”
Another reedy chuckle. “I like her already.” And then, with a beep, the gate opened.
“We?” Jocelyn whispered as I parked on the manicured gravel in front of the house. “Do you think that was Mr. Frapp?”
I merely shrugged—I’dnever met the guy, after all—and held open her door for her. My truck was too big for her, and I made a mental note to install a step on the passenger’s side.
Why the fuck would you do that? She’s on vacation, remember? Probably not even staying on the island tonight.
The thought of not being able to repeat last night’s experience—not just listening to her screaming orgasms, but the way having her in my arms made myKteerpurr—had my chest clenching. As she skipped up the steps to ring Mr. Frapp’s bell, I pulled out my phone.
Order the part. I’ll pay for it, even if she decides to scrap the car.
I’ll buy it for scrap if that’s the case.
I likedhow Cairo also didn’t see any need for niceties. With a nod, I slid the phone back into my pocket and looked up as the door opened.
“Hello, hello! You’re just in time for tea!”
The old male had the same reedy voice as over the speaker—Guess it wasn’t just audio distortion—and was even shorter than Jocelyn. He was reed-thin, with bushy hair and prominent eyes among his laugh-lines. Was that eyeliner?
“Hello, sir, I’m Joceyln Dupont.”
When he lifted his arms to Jocelyn, the sleeves of his bright-red kimono robe fell almost to the floor. “You must be the tea-lover, my dear. I’m Augustus Frapp.”
He pronounced it with a “goo” sound in the middle of his name, and without giving Jocelyn time to answer, he pulled her in to kiss the air on either side of her cheeks, apparently completely oblivious to the way my chest was growling jealously.
In fact, he swung toward me and tucked one of Jocelyn’s hands through his elbow when he made a show of looking me up and down. Unless I missed my guess, there was an appreciative gleam in his eye. “Andyoumust be the smoking hot archeologist. I’ve never seen anacademic with that many tattoos.” He winked at Jocelyn. “I see why you agreed to carry his tools around, my dear.”
That was apparently too much because Jocelyn burst into giggles. “I’mthe archaeologist—or at least, I have my degree in it. Brakkor is my—my friend.”
“Oh dear, you’re both taken?” The old male heaved a sigh that didn’t sound terribly heartbroken. “Youmustjoin us for tea, and you can tell me how I’m fucking up the lighthouse project. It’s been my family’s property for—oh, goodness, two hundred years now?”
He pulled Jocelyn into the house as they exchanged introductions, and I took the time to glance around. Look, I’m not going to claim I know shit about interior design, but even I could tell that Mr. Frapp—sorry,Augoooostus—had what Korrad would call aneclecticstyle.
Jocelyn pulled the old male to a stop with a gasp, staring at one of the framed paintings. “Is this a Rembrandt?”
“Good eye, my dear. It’s Flink, one of his early protégés,” Frapp announced proudly, then pointed to the next painting over. “Butthisis a genuine Pollock. I’ve always loved how sensual the blue splatters feel against the purple.”
As Jocelyn made appropriately impressed noises, I frowned at the painting, which looked exactly like something Jay had done when he was four years old. Was this considered art?
“And this one?” Jocelyn had eagerly pulled our host to the next frame. “Is this another Jackson Pollock?”
“Oh no, my dear, don’t be ridiculous. This is something my granddaughter made when she was four years old.She called itStampy the Unicorn and the Fate of the World. I like the squiggles.” He grinned at her. “Hanging art on your wall should be about how it makesyoufeel, not the artist’s name.”
Jocelyn grinned back. “I like your ideas very much, Mr. Frapp, and I’d like to subscribe to your newsletter.”
He burst into laughter, reminded her to call him Augustus, and pulled her toward the center of the space—was that a genuine conversation pit? I knew enough about architecture to know those things hadn’t been popular in fifty years, but the old geezer had his filled with large pillows and a low-to-the-ground table, set up for an Asian-style tea, complete with a steaming kettle.
