Page 39

“Is that right? Are you a private investigator, Mr. Basilio?

Our eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness, yet my hand finds the back of her thigh, tracing mini circles on her skin. When I reach the curvature of her ass cheek, her flesh prickles, making her shiver.

I knead her muscular but soft ass, enjoying the friction as she pulls me into her. Control isn’t at the top of my wheelhouse and when it comes to Becca Shearer, I have none. Hungry to taste her again, our mouths slam together in a bruising kiss. Our tongues fight for more. I push her against the wall, my sight slowly returning.

Sliding one finger through her folds, she pants over and over again, “Yes.”

My mouth drops to her shoulder, biting it. I finger fuck her until she comes all over my hand. I pull my hand out slowly, and the sound of sloshing fills the small room. “Lick it off.”

She cleans one finger at a time, then I dive in for a secondround, hoping she’ll get on her knees. After the residue is gone from my hands, I cup her face, covering her mouth with mine. The taste of her arousal lingers on my tongue and damn, I wish I had hoisted her up and ate her for dessert instead of the cheesecake.

The door rattles and before we can break apart, her brother says, “What the fuck is this?”

I rub the scruff on my jaw as Becca straightens her dress.

“We’re just searching for clues.”

“In my sister’s mouth?”

“It’s a game, Corbin. Don’t get your panties in a wad. A one-off. Right, Becca?”

“My clue was to taste the chef’s secret ingredient.”

“Why?”

The host calls over the sound system for us to come back into the dining room, which temporarily stops the inquisition. When we file back into the room from all directions, Emmaline is standing beside him with her hands folded in front of her.

“According to our camera crew, we think someone solved the mystery. Each one of you tell me who you think murdered Emmaline.”

I say, “Julic.”

Julic thinks it’s Becca.

When it’s Becca’s turn, she says, “John Basilio did it.”

Austin and Bryce shake their heads. They believe it was Corbin.

“Why do you think it was John?” the host asks.

Becca smiles. “Well, I knew that Emmaline owed a lot of people money. I was aware that she owed both Corbin and John money. Then I saw John being handed a vial. My clue said to taste the secret ingredient. When I opened Emmaline’s mouth to give her fake CPR, I tasted ginger on her lips. Nothing we had for dinner had ginger in it. So, I pretended to be attracted to John so I could kiss him. When I did, I tasted ginger. It’s a distinct flavor.”

Pretended. Damn, she’s a good liar. I need to make a mental note of that because there’s no way on God’s tropical island that she was faking that kiss.

“Oh, you’re close, but it wasn’t John.”

Her eyes widen, thinking she won. None of us like to lose. “It has to be.”

“Things aren’t always as they appear, Becca. Let’s see, Oakley, who do you think the murderer is?”

Oakley squeals in delight as she pushes her long, blond hair behind her ears. “It’s Corbin.”

I attempt to hold in my smile.

“The fabric from her dress indicated there was a struggle, and John’s so-called handkerchief wasn’t in his pocket when he first arrived. So, at first, I thought it was him, but then I found those same fibers of Emmaline’s dress on Corbin. Before dinner, I noticed Corbin writing something at the credenza. Then after dinner, we went to get dessert. That’s when I saw Emmaline by the pool, and Corbin was lurking behind the palms as she read a letter. Then she crumpled it up and threw it. When I looked back at him, he was gone. Everyone went back to the dining room, and we realized Emmaline was gone. I knew from the look on Corbin’s face he was up to no good.”

She laughs. “I’ve seen that face. So, when we went looking for her, and she was in the pool, John seemed surprised. Bryce read the letter, then passed it around to all of us. I snuck away and went back to the antique credenza. Sure enough, the letter Emmaline received was from the same pad of paper.” She pulls it from her purse. “Now, all I had to do was find the murder weapon.” She sinks her hand into her purse, revealing a vial. “John’s secret ingredient—a concoction that causes asphyxia with ginger to mask the chemical flavor. I saw a little bulge in Corbin’s pocket—too little to be his…” She cackles. “Anyway, I distracted Corbin by kissing him and lifted it from his pocket. When John wouldn’t kill her, Corbin did it himself.”

The room echoes in gasps and playful accusations, throwing their hands up in disbelief.