Murder Takes the High Road(56)

My arms wrapped around him, I pressed closer, feeling the poke of his arousal through my now painfully constricted jeans. I shivered in sensory overload. Need was a hot, aching, desperate thing, and it seemed to take forever to get out of my clothes, even with John’s help—or possibly because of John’s help—I had to tear my mouth away and gulp a breath, almost lightheaded from lack of oxygen.

I managed to shove down my jeans and briefs without injuring myself, stepped out of them as John tripped over his towel and knocked us both to the nearest bed. I liked that he was laughing too, and that his hands were shaking, and I liked the flushed size of his cock nudging my own and the faint smell of soap and sex.

“Your hair smells like the sea breeze and your mouth tastes like honey,” he said, and that I didn’t laugh at because he sounded almost wondering.

His hands shoved under my buttocks as my hands fastened on his hips. We humped and heaved against each other. Awkward and ungraceful, and then miraculously working it out, falling into rhythm, hips rocking against each other, cocks banging painfully, pleasurably, rough and ready...give and take.

I gulped, “John. God, John... I think I—” but managed to swallow it. I think I might be falling in love with you. Not because it wasn’t true, but because it might be true and it was too soon to say so.

I didn’t know when he came. I was too lost in my own reactions. Release flooded through me. Sharp, intense, almost piercingly sweet. We lay slumped together for long, shuddering moments. John’s face was pressed into my throat, his arms still wrapped around me.

He moved his head a couple of times. It could have been in negation. I thought it was more disbelief—because I felt the same way.

Eventually, I said, “When I first booked the tour I would never have believed that this was how it would end up.”

John rolled onto his side facing me. He smiled faintly. “When I first booked the tour I would never have believed this was how it would end up.”

“I bet.” I liked the blunt handsomeness of his profile. Could imagine looking at—and liking—that profile for the next fifty years. “About being on rebound.”

He raised his gaze from my mouth to my eyes. “Mmm?”

“This isn’t a rebound thing for me.”

He said ruefully, “But you can’t know that yet, can you?”

“I think I can. For one thing Trevor and I have been over for ten months, nearly a year. My feelings for him died before we finished divvying up the CDs. What I told you earlier is the truth. What drove me to go on this trip was mostly ego. I wanted him to see he’d made a mistake.”

John didn’t say anything, but I had his full attention.

As hard as it was to admit, I needed to get this out. “But his leaving me wasn’t a mistake because we weren’t really happy. In the end, it’s the way he did it that made me so bitter, rather than the fact we split up.”

The gravity of John’s face relaxed into a startlingly affectionate smile. “See? If nothing else—” He broke off as the sound of a gong reverberated from below. “What the hell was that?”

“The dinner gong, you barbarian.”

“The dinner gong? That sounded like we just declared war.”

I sat up. “Hopefully not. I’m already going to be so late.”

He caught my hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. “But worth it?”

“Definitely worth it.” I jumped off the bed and headed for the bathroom.

“Do you want me to wait for you?” John rolled off the bed. He pulled on a fresh shirt, white with blue pinstripes, and began to do up the buttons.

“No. I’ll meet you down there.” I smiled at the marble bust he’d nearly throttled earlier, and then stopped in my tracks. “Oh. My. God.” I slapped my forehead. “Of course.”

I turned back to John, who looked alarmed at whatever he read in my face.

He rose and came toward me. “What’s the matter?”

Funny, how natural it felt to walk right into his arms. “I just figured it out.”

“You just figured what out?”

“All of it. This whole crazy setup. At least I think so.”

“O-kay,” he said in the tone of one humoring the patient.

“How the hell did I not realize when I found that key in the flower vase?”

“Uh...”

“That was right out of one of Vanessa’s books. Talk about obvious!”

John said, “I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

I could barely contain my excitement. “Don’t you see, John? All of it, I mean. This castle and Rose’s sudden death in the night and her missing journal and then Sally’s disappearance?”

John’s eyes narrowed, and I could see he was now on the same track. “You’re saying this is like one of Vanessa’s books?”

Okay, sort of on the same track.

“No,” I said. “Not remotely. It’s like one of those murder mystery dinners!”

“Uh...okay. Oh. I see.”

“Have you ever been to one?”

“Nope.”

“I have. A bunch of times. And that’s what this reminds me of: a super well done How to Host a Murder. They have tours and cruises and train rides too.”