Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 163802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 819(@200wpm)___ 655(@250wpm)___ 546(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 819(@200wpm)___ 655(@250wpm)___ 546(@300wpm)
My phone buzzed. Balancing the tray on my arm, I stuck my hand in my pocket and fished it out.
Alex: I want you so fucking bad.
I almost dropped the tray.
Snapping up, I latched on to Alex, who still had his nose in his book, but for some reason, had started tapping the pages.
Alex: I want you in my mouth, baby—sweet, dripping, and wet. I want every drop of you on my tongue until there’s nothing left for anyone else.
My knees knocked together as my lower belly contracted painfully. A grown-ass woman, and my panties were dampening like a horny teenager.
Alex: And when you think I’m done— When you think you’re done and you’ve got nothing else to give, I’m going to lay you out and devour you, eating you out until I’m fat and blissed on your sweet, tasty cookies.
What?
The next text dropped on the screen.
Alex: And I’ll get on that as soon as this woman brings in the tray.
“You rat bastard!”
Alex burst out laughing. Giving up all pretense, the book he wasn’t reading fell to the floor, then he tumbled after it—curled up on his side and wheezing until he couldn’t breathe.
Lily and Mr. C stared at the two of us nonplussed.
“Are you okay, Mommy?”
I sniffed. “I’m perfect, sweet girl. I brought you a snack. Want to take it and your horrible daddy into the living room?” Alex laughed louder. “Have an hour of screen time before you start your homework.”
“Okay!” Jumping up, she actually went over to Alex, gave him her hand, and then led the winking bastard out the door with the cookies and lemonade.
I just shook my head at his back. It was hard to know where I stood with Alex most days. His hostility toward me vanished after Omma was killed—pity tends to soften the heart. But he wasn’t anywhere near as casually affectionate, or as horny, toward me as Micah and Rhodes.
He was basically as light and teasing as a friend would be, which was definitely better than it was before, but still...
I forced myself to look away and focus on Layton. His back was to me as he put away their sheet music and closed the piano.
“Mr. Layton—”
“Charles, please.” He shone a bright smile on me. “Is this about Lily’s assignments this week? Because I told Mr. Montgomery that she doesn’t have to worry about turning those in. She just lost her grandmother. Allowances can be made.”
“It’s not about that, but thank you.” I stepped inside, gesturing for him to sit in Alex’s vacated chair. “It’s about the party.”
The smile melted away. “Oh.”
“You were one of the ten who went upstairs during the time... it happened,” I got out. “Did you see anything strange when you did?”
“Strange?”
I got straight to the point. “Someone killed my mother, and it wasn’t Courtney. Did you see someone or something that might not have raised the alarm at the time, but looking back seems odd now?”
He was shaking his head before I finished. “I didn’t see anything or anyone. If I did, I would’ve told the police.”
“Why did you go upstairs?”
Charles winced. “Honestly, and no offense, Sue, but the party was a little rowdier than I was expecting. Half the guests were trashed in an hour. The other half were throwing themselves at me in an hour and one.
“I don’t like telling people about the family business, because the second I do, they’re wheeling out every young, single member of their family for me. It gets pretty old constantly being used for your money.” He blew out a long-suffering sigh. “Anyway, I left the party and snuck upstairs to the library. I was there until a cop burst into the room and said all the guests had to gather downstairs to be accounted for because... you know.”
I just nodded, my brain processing while my phone did the active listening.
“But, excuse me for asking this, but why does it matter where I was?” he asked. “I saw all that stuff on the news—claiming the police did a shitty job and arrested the wrong woman, but you don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Of course I believe it,” I said, crossing to the window. “I was right there in the video screaming that they did a shitty job and arrested the wrong woman.”
“Oh.” I sensed his presence at my side. “So, you don’t think it’s over? You think the police are going to come back, interview us all again, and search the manor?”
“I’m pretty sure a search would be pointless at this point,” I confessed. “The cops stopped searching bags and rooms when they found the knife in Courtney’s. Then, they sent everyone home—allowing the real killer to slip away with the bloody clothes. Unless the killer’s an idiot, and they’ve proved so far they’re not, they’ve already burned the clothes and tossed the ashes in the sea.