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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

John

I shove the hurt down, not understanding why she wants to keep it quiet.

We’re adults after all and both single. It’s not like I’m going to say she asked me to fuck her, although I did—thoroughly I might add.

I lost count of her orgasms. But it was much more than a vacation hookup to me.

I just thought we would tell her brother we’re together so I could at least kiss her in public.

“I’ll use the outside shower. You take the real one.”

I can’t look her in the eye, not yet anyway, so I pick up the lamp, the bent-in shade and set it upright, before walking past her. I head to the bathroom, wrap a towel around my waist, then grab my shampoo and body wash.

On a deep inhale, I walk out. She's slipping on her silky robe, which clings to her thighs—no surprise that she’s sticky after what just transpired between us.

“It’s all yours,” I say, biting my lip.

Imagine an open-air shower surrounded by bamboo screens with flowers dotting the lush landscape, and smooth teakwood beneath my feet.

It would be romantic if she was in here with me, but I guess if she wants to keep our rendezvous a secret, taking a shower together outside of her villa isn’t a good idea.

I mumble to myself through the entire shower. “Secret, pff.” After I rinse the sand from all the crevices where sand doesn’t belong, I lather up my body. It only takes about three seconds for me to realize I haven’t rinsed everything off; every swipe of the washcloth is exfoliating my ass cheeks.

The rainfall-style shower-head trickles over my body when I wish it was stinging my skin. I turn off the water and rest my back against the back wall. I look up through the canopy of trees and tell myself to suck it up. She wants to keep us a secret, so what. I’ll take anything she’ll give me.

Slinging my towel around my hips, I step out of the shower and back onto the patio. I sit outside, pouring myself a glass of water from a full pitcher garnished with lemons. As I drink it, I wonder if that’s the noise I heard—the resort concierge setting out fresh water.

I open the glass door and hear the shower running, so I put on a nice pair of pants and a yellow button-up shirt.

Then I knock on the bathroom door. She’s singing a Toby Keith song, “I’m Just Talking About Tonight.

” I listen for a bit but then say, “Hey, I need to brush my teeth. Just making sure you’re decent. ”

“Brush away. It won’t take me long.”

“I’m meeting the guys for a beer before dinner at the Sandbar, or do you want me to wait for you?”

She quiets. “Oh, um… no, go ahead.”

“I’ll wait if you want me to.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t want to wait. I know you’re not used to sitting still.”

I brush my teeth, removing any trace of Becca’s arousal from my mouth and stare into the mirror for a second. I run my fingers through my hair and tell her, “I’m leaving. I’ll walk so you can use the golf cart.”

She rubs a circle on the shower door, but I still can’t see her through the textured glass. “Thank you.”

I spot Becca glowing from across the dining room, wearing a floral one-shoulder dress as tonight’s master of ceremonies asks us to take a seat.

Since it’s Logan and Harper’s anniversary, the Stallion crew that all roomed together in college are celebrating at a soccer game, leaving about half of us to be detectives tonight: Corbin, Oakley, Bryce, Emmaline, and two of the single guys who were freshman when Corbin was a senior, Austin and Julic.

“Welcome to Fatal Waves: A Tropical Whodunnit Murder Mystery. We’re celebrating a new novel by Tonya Kappes, but as the sky blackens and the moon appears, one guest is found dead, and everyone is a suspect.

During the cocktail hour, you’ll go into a private soundproof room where you will find out the part you will play tonight.

Do you want to use your real names or use character names? ”

Austin points to his head. “Our names. I don’t have the best memory.”

“One too many hits,” Corbin says with a laugh bordering on a hiccup.

Becca raises her hand. “Will we be handed clues, or will we just have to figure it out?”

“If that’s the case, you’ll probably win. You’re the queen of analytics.” Corbin bumps his shoulder against his sister.

“Great question, madame. Clues may be hidden, or another person may reveal a clue by their backstory, not knowing it’s a clue, or maybe through performers outside of you.”

Becca claps her hands in excitement, and nothing can move my focus from the woman I just ravaged, except the waiter who serves watermelon shots. I take two.

Becca goes into the room and comes out a few minutes later with an ear-splitting grin.

God, she’s gorgeous. Her hair shines with short bouncy waves, and she wears basic makeup except for a full deep-red lip.

Less than four hours ago, those lips skimmed my cock.

I’m getting hard thinking about it. I reach for her hand, spinning her toward me, and she flashes a bashful smile .

“So, you like your character?” I ask.

“Yes. This will be so much fun. Go in and get yours.”

My fingers linger on her wrist as I swipe the sensitive skin with my thumb. She blushes again. If I could only have one photo of Becca to keep forever, it wouldn’t be a sexy boudoir shot or a photo in a bikini. It would be a portrait of her blushing.

I leave the soundproof room just as thrilled. The world may be aligning for the next chapter of life. I play a world-renowned chef with a temper. Pretty sure this mystery was made for me.

As we all sit down to dinner, everyone introduces themselves to each other’s characters. Becca is the personal assistant of Emmaline, a social media influencer who graces the covers of magazines.

Oakley crosses her arms, sneering at Emmaline. “Looks like you’re the big cheese, but don’t forget you’re where you are because of me. If it weren’t for my money and paying people to follow, share, and comment, you would be just another pretty face.”

Well, I guess the murder mystery has begun.

Emmaline takes her role seriously, but Bryce doesn’t seem to have gotten into character when he kisses her cheek and rubs her back, caring for her as he would in real life.

The waiters present the main course and suddenly, it’s my turn. Corbin leans forward. “This looks delicious, John. Didn’t know you could cook.”

I slam my hand against the linen-covered table. “Cook? Cook? I own five Michelin-rated restaurants across the world. It’s Chef John to you.”

Corbin’s head jolts backward. I lose my temper sometimes but not like this and not at him. I’m just playing the part. The table is silent as they cut into the beef Wellington paired with a side of au gratin potatoes.

It doesn’t taste right. Someone has sabotaged my dish, and I’m ready to find out who. But I have to be sneaky. I saw Corbin, the resort manager, exchanging a vial in the wine cellar last night.

It’s obvious, there’s more going on than meets the eye. As the evening progresses, the characters reveal the secrets or gossip, not knowing they’re advancing the mystery.

It’s more complicated than I originally thought a murder mystery would be. As dinner ends, dessert is served in various locations. Each one of us is told to go to a different place and when we come back together in the ballroom, we realize Emmaline is gone.

The host drops hints and asks us to scour the grounds. Bryce yells when we get to the pool, “Emmaline. Emmaline.” He jumps in the pool and carries her out, laying her on the blue tiles. He crouches down beside her. “Who did this to her?”

Emmaline plays a dead person as well as any opossum in Texas.

Becca runs to her side. “No, it can’t be Emmaline. Her star burns too bright to be offed in a pool.” She looks around. “Corbin, did you do this? I saw you in her room before dinner, removing something from her desk.”

All hell breaks loose with everyone blaming each other.

“She got drunk and drowned. End of story.” I roll my eyes.

“Oh really?” Becca stands, folding her arms over her waist. “Why is your handkerchief the same material as Emmaline’s dress? Did you have a struggle?”

Becca is one hundred percent invested in this game, taking on the role of trusted assistant to Emmaline.

The group’s eyes follow the banter back and forth until Oakley says, “There’s foam coming from her mouth. What the hell? Emmaline, are you alive?”

Bryce walks around the pool deck lit with only soft lights strung from the trees, finding a crumpled-up piece of paper. He opens and reads it aloud, “Pay what you owe me, or the world will know your secret. ”

A collective sigh seeps into the night. Was this meant for Emmaline, or was she giving it to one of the other guests?

The host asks us to search for clues. I go in the same direction as Becca. We weave through the cobblestone pathways, as shadows dance across the manicured lawn. “I don’t see anything, do you?” Becca asks.

“No, but maybe the clues are well hidden and not in plain sight, unlike the one Bryce found. Who could Emmaline owe money too?”

“Umm, me? She always says I pay for your travel and food. Why do you need a paycheck? Sometimes she throws me a few hundred. Honestly, she’s not as good of a person as her followers think. She’s a media whore.”

“Ummm, I think you may be the prime suspect.” I open the ornate French doors and immediately find a closet and shove her inside.

“What are you doing?”

“Searching you for clues.”

“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.