Page 68 of Five

The five of them.

I think I moan a little, and his grin stretches before he steps back, breaking the moment. I shake myself, laughing reluctantly at my own reaction.

“Well, there’s that,” I say. I try to switch gears as he returns to his side of the island. “Want to hear something funny?”

He tips his chin up, lifting an eyebrow. “Always.”

“There was a moment, when we were on the way over to the island, that I suspected that Oscar was the kidnapper, and he was bringing me here to hold me hostage. And maybe all of you were criminals and serial killers.”

There’s a prolonged silence. “Crap, I’m so sorry! Did I offend—“

“Well, I’ve never murdered someone, but I could go that route if you keep cutting the mushrooms that small.”

The unexpected joke, uttered in a dry tone, shocks a laugh out of me.

“Seriously, though. You’re good now, right?”

I nod. “One hundred percent.” We lapse into silence as we finish the prep work, occasionally glancing up to share a smile.

All too quickly, it’s time for me to go take a shower and spend a little time with Jamie Fraser. The poor cat is probably furious that I’ve left him alone so long in a strange place. I wipe my hands on a towel and turn to Remi. “I’m going to go love on Jamie Fraser for a little while,” I tell him. “Get ready for dinner.”

He clasps his hand over his heart. “So jealous of a cat.” Leaning in, he presses a light kiss on my mouth. “I’ll see you in a bit, then.” He pauses, the moment expectant. “And I’ll try not to unalive anyone in your absence.”

Seventeen

Neve

Mood:Really-hope-I-don’t-puke-on-anyone.

It’s falling dusk when I leave my suite and make my way to the terrace. I took my time in my room, spending the afternoon lazing around and watching TV with my fingers tangled in Jamie Fraser’s fur, determined to relax.

I talked briefly to Caroline earlier in the day, telling her that Jesse—‘the one who hates me’—had something planned for the evening, but I wasn’t sure what it was going to be.

“Well…” she sounded distracted, and a pang of guilt hit me for bothering her at work before I pushed it aside. She wanted me to call her, so I’m calling her. “Have they given you serial killer or whack job vibes?”

I groaned. “Can we please not go there? Too close for comfort.”

“But if the shoe fits—“

“No. The shoe does not fit. I’m pretty sure they’re all practically normal human beings.”

“Then just stop waffling and have a good time. Bring out Wild Neve, the one who flashed her tits at all of Hooters in college.”

I groaned again. “I was drunk, damn it.” I had worked at a competing bar/restaurant during my Chandler U days, one where the waitresses dressed in skimpy outfits and one which, to my thinking, served far superior food.

“Bzzzz!” She bleats in my ear. “Did you bring your swear jar?”

“Shut up. And I’ve already brought out Wild Neve. I had sex with Oscar and Oliver last night.”

“What! Why didn’t you lead with that? Like one-on-one, or both of them…?”

“Nunya.”

I hung up on her, but her advice echoed while I bathed, and lotioned, and primped, and dressed myself in a pretty little sundress.

Maybe Wild Neve needed to come out to play again.

And here she was, hovering uncertainly in the doorway as I try to psyche myself up.