"You win the Best Dressed, babe," Paige said, smoothing her hand over his suit. "Let Shane get Most Well Behaved."
"I don't know," Taylor said slowly. "That might make for a boring weekend." She glanced sideways at Shane as she left the room.
Goddamn, she was not playing.
He watched her walk away, that fucking dress swaying with her hips. He wanted to make her bend over, revealing just the slightest bit of her ass. Those few inches where cheeks met thigh and curved upward. What if she weren’t wearing panties? He followed the group down the hallway, trying to ignore the rhythmic pulsing in his cock.
They gathered in the drawing room around Lars, who was holding a small stack of folders in his hands. "All right, friends," their host said in an almost mystical voice. "This weekend, we will be solving the murder of Wetherford Carruthers: oil baron, womanizer, mobster, and an all-around, greedy, and bad dude. Each of you is someone he knew intimately while he was still a part of the world of the living.
“You will be given these character sketches that detail parts of your personal life as well as information on your relationship with Wetherford. One of you is the murderer. It is your job to solve the mystery. You can work independently or as a team; that is up to you. You will also be given the police file that contains information on the murder scene.
"Also, there are clues hidden throughout the house that will help you solve the mystery." Lars's voice returned to normal as he said sternly, "Now, the clues are hidden. However, you will not have to break anything to find them. If it seems too hard to get to or too easy to break, then there's no clue there. Most of the furnishings and decorations on the main floor are like a hundred years old, so be reasonable when deciding where to look.
“For example." Lars picked up a wooden cigar box from an end table and opened the lid. "A reasonable place to look for a clue." He set the box down and pointed to three porcelain vases on the top of the mantel. "A dumb place to look for a clue. People have been disrespectful toward the antiques in the Caraway in the past, and it's not cool. My bosses are gone this weekend, so please don't break shit on my watch."
He passed out folders to the group. "Your first clue is in this room. You should try to find it tonight. Let the games begin!
“I'll be around cleaning up the dining room if you need help. However, I will warn you. I've never done this before. Usually, the boss lady handles these things. So she set everything up before she left, so I may be, like, only moderately useful. She usually doesn't give hints because you forfeit the prize if you get a hint." He paused for a moment, and when no one spoke, he waved gleefully and walked out of the drawing room, calling out behind him, "Have fun!"
"I was his maid," said Taylor. "That means I probably got to slink around the house, collecting all kinds of dirt on him because the help is always invisible."
"Mistress," said Paige. "Maybe I got some important info through my sexual wiles," she added, flipping through the pages in her folder.
"Enforcer," said Shane.
"I was his butler," said Carson. "At least I'm dressed for the part." He pretended to hold a tray and take a bow.
"I'm thinking out of the four of us, the mistress would be the most cliché answer to the mystery," Taylor said as her eyes wandered around the room. "I'm more curious to find these clues. I think pieces of the puzzle are in our bios, but the hidden clue must be the important one."
"I'm almost too nervous to touch anything after Lars's speech," Carson said. "I'm surprised that he could really lay down the law."
"Me too." Paige wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at her boyfriend.
"Well," Shane said. "You could look in places where something could be hidden but you don't have to touch anything to find it, like under furniture or behind books or on the top shelf."
"I don't know. This whole house is so neat and orderly. I think it would be left out in the open.”
"Like in an out-of-place book just lying on the shelf?" Paige asked, waving around a copy of The Iliad. A yellowed piece of paper fell from between its pages and hit the floor. "Well, that was too easy," she said, bending over and picking it up.
"Is it even a clue?" Shane asked skeptically.
“I had everything.
I had it all.
You tried to destroy me.
You caused my downfall.
Now it’s time to set things right.
Right now, I have eight.
Soon four more
will fall for my bait.
Twelve innocents for a grave.
I will end all of my fun
only when you
bring me the last one
that got away.
She was mine,
just like the rest.
You can’t save her.
You tried your best.
The clock is ticking…”
Taylor took a deep breath. "That got real fucked up, real fast.”
"Yeah. Let’s read our bios, and see if we can decipher what any of that actually means," Carson said. "Because we know there aren’t eight bodies, so maybe it's a metaphor for something else."
"Maybe there are actually eight bodies?" Taylor whispered dramatically. "The plot thickens."
A series of crashes echoed in the house directly above their heads, making them all jump.
“And they all just came tumbling out of a closet,” Taylor said, laughing.
Shane shook his head. “It was probably just Lars.”
CHAPTER FIVE
______________
TAYLOR
"What does the police report say, Shane?" Taylor asked, looking up at the ceiling. What the hell could Lars possibly be doing upstairs that made that much noise?
She was perched on an ottoman with her own file spread across her lap. It contained a brief biography—she was an Irish immigrant from the slums of New York who worked her way to one of the best positions of the city—and description of her whereabouts the day of the murder. She was fiercely loyal to Mrs. Carruthers, hated by the staff for being a snitch—so possibly a suck-up rather than loyal—and sent most of her earnings back to her family in Dublin.
There were random sentences peppered throughout her dossier that made no sense. Like, "Bridget abhors coffee, but sometimes coffee grounds are the only thing that would get out a stain." This one stuck out to her because she doubted a lady's maid would have to do laundry, so perhaps it hinted to the fact that Bridget had to take care of a bloodstain after murdering her employer?
"He was in a locked room,” Shane said. “It doesn't say where, though—just wanted to point that out. So it might not be in the house. Blah, blah, blah, the body had maggots in soft tissues and mouth… Purpled lips… but I think if the body were old enough to have flies lay eggs, hatch, and turn from larvae to maggots, then all of the blood would have pooled to the back of his body, and his lips wouldn't be purple anymore."
"Larvae and maggots are essentially interchangeable," Taylor responded. "However, there are inconsistencies; if larvae are present, the body is at least twenty-four hours old, and if the lips are blue, then the body wouldn't be more than an hour old. Assuming it's on its back. Could the whole face be discolored? That would indicate it had been on its stomach until it was discovered."
"I don't know, man," Carson said. "It seems to me that if the state of the body makes that little sense, then maybe it doesn't matter? Or you could approach it like a normal fucking human? I would think that the maggots mean the body is old, and the blue lips mean he was poisoned."
"Seriously?" Shane asked.
Carson nodded.
“Well, what other clues do we have? Other than the creepy death poem?” Taylor asked.
"I think I'd rather just deal with this in the morning," Paige said, standing up.
"Good idea," Taylor agreed. They gathered their papers and left them in a pile on the table.
"I’m going to take the poem with me,” Shane said as he picked up the small slip of paper.
&n
bsp; Taylor shivered. "The more I look at the scrawling chicken scratch, the more it feels like it was written by an actual psycho. Do you think it came with the game like that? Or did our dear Lars channel all of his inner demons into those lines?"
Shane raised an eyebrow. “Do you think Lars has any inner demons?”
"Let's ask him!" Paige said. "Though I'm hoping it just came with the game like this."
She rushed out of the room while the others put pillows and books back where they’d found them at the beginning of the evening.
Taylor took the paper from Shane and examined it, flipping it over in her hand.
Paige returned shortly. "He said the owner hid all of the clues, but he’s never seen a poem before."
"It's handwritten, not printed by a machine—you can see the depression of the pen's tip in the paper." She handed it back to Shane. "Have fun sleeping with the Nightmare Poem." She headed toward the stairs.
"Wait for me," Paige called out. "Do you want one of my bottles of wine?" she asked as they climbed the stairs.
"For sure, as long as I'm not drinking it alone," Taylor answered.
"Take a princess bath, and I'll bring it up in a bit after my shower," Paige said as they walked down the second-floor hallway.
"Sounds good." Taylor left her friend and continued up the next set of stairs to her suite.
She turned on the hot water tap, allowing it to come to temperature before leaning in to place a plug in the drain, then few drops of bath oil the inn had left next to the standard toiletries. She kicked off her heels as she plodded over to the fireplace and started a fire. She could get used to vacations. Hell, she had a bath and a fireplace in her own home. Maybe she should just start turning her bungalow into her own princess suite.
She walked back to the tub to check on the bath and stripped off her dress, laying it over one of the chairs. The sky was dark beyond her bay windows, and she made a note to try to catch at least one sunset over the lake before the end of their trip.
She slipped off her panties, climbed into the tub, placed a rolled-up towel behind her neck, and nudged the taps off with her toes. She closed her eyes and literally melted into the warm water. In one long exhale, whatever tension may have been clinging to her shoulders and neck seeped from her muscles and evaporated in rose-scented steam. Four stars to whoever designed the tub deep enough for the water to cover her entire chest and long enough for her to stretch a bit. She might just wait here for Paige to bring her a glass of wine.
As if on cue, gentle rapping sounded against her door.
"Yup," she said without opening her eyes.
"Taylor?" It was a quiet, almost tentative whisper, in a male voice.
She shot up and pressed her chest against the tub's wall, holding tightly to the edge, trying to cover as much of her body as possible. "Shane? What are you doing? I thought it was Paige!"
He held up a bottle of wine and two glasses. "She handed me these and told me to take them up. Then Carson dragged her back into their room."
"Her wine. Just. Leave it there. Thank you."
Shane took a step forward. "Let me at least open it and pour you a glass."
He stood in the semidarkness, and the glow from the fireplace bathed him in warm light as he walked toward her slowly. He stopped a few feet from the tub, waiting for her answer. She paused. His touch had set her on fire all evening.
Make a damned decision. But when she stopped to think about his intentions for this weekend, she felt so much anxiety about what he expected from her. She couldn't give him a relationship—she didn't have time for that. That’s what she’d thought years ago, and she’d regretted it. Only after half a bottle of tequila. She could give him this weekend. She wanted to share these few days with him. But she couldn't bear hurting him again. According to Paige, he'd been waiting years for her.
"Please, Taylor," he whispered.
She shook her head. "I can't be what you want me to be."
"You don't even know what I want." His voice was low and ragged, and he covered the distance between them in two steps.
"You have always thought you know what's best."
He set the glasses down on the bath cart and pulled a corkscrew out of his back pocket. "But you don't even know what you’re missing, what you've passed up. Because you’re so closed off." He popped the cork and filled a glass with the rich red wine. "Give me tonight. Give me this weekend."
He towered over her, and his voice was rough and demanding. She almost felt like it didn't matter what her answer was; he would still take her tonight. She clenched her thighs together, her core pulsed with excitement. "Just this weekend?" she asked.
"We'll start there," he answered as he bent his legs and held out the glass of wine.
She took the glass as she reached past him to grab a towel.
"No. Stay there. Relax."
She opened her mouth to protest, but his eyes darkened.
"You said I could have the weekend." He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back to the tub, guiding her back to the rolled-up towel she'd placed on the edge at the beginning of her bath. He knelt behind her, his hands still on her shoulders. His fingertips were rough and calloused, and he slid them down her shoulders, raking them along her clavicles.
Her heart raced, and her breasts rose and fell with her uncontrolled breaths. This was happening. Shane was happening. She was completely on display for him. Her partner, her friend. She bent her knees to her chest in a moment of modesty.
He lowered his mouth to her ear. "You're beautiful. I want to see you. Open your knees."
She hesitated, distracted by his hands that were trailing below the surface of the water toward her nipples. He palmed both her breasts at once, trapping her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. She moaned as he pinched them and said again, "Open them."
She melted into the tub, ignoring his command and relishing in the sensations of his calloused hands on her breasts. He nipped her earlobe and growled through a mouthful of her flesh, "Open them. Now."
Fire surged through her veins, and she let her knees fall to the sides. He released one of her breasts, shifted to the side of the tub, and wrapped his fingers around her jaw. He turned her head slowly. "If this weekend is mine, you will do things the first time I tell you to. Do you want me to leave?"
She held his gaze, trying to focus, to make a decision. But his finger was pressing into a soft spot at the base of her skull, and his fingers were still rolling and pinching her nipple, and it was all so much. So many sensations, a dull ache, a slow burn. She shook her head. She did not want him to leave.
He leaned forward and claimed her mouth, pressing his lips against hers, his tongue demanding entry. His fingers squeezed her jaw, and her mouth fell open as she gasped at the sudden pain, but she stopped short when she felt his hand leave her nipple and slide down her stomach.
CHAPTER SIX
______________
SHANE
He'd figured out that the only way he would get Taylor to let him in was if he made her. She was a Type A through and through. If he'd left it up to her, she would have never tumbled into bed with him. She would have weighed the positives and the negatives, obsessed over the outcomes, and probably decided that the risks weren’t worth the benefits. Or been frozen with analysis paralysis. Or told him that she didn't have the space in her life for a relationship.
He needed her to let him in. There were flirtatious cracks in her exterior. If he could wedge himself in and bury himself deep inside her, she would realize how empty she felt without him. Paige had served up Taylor on a golden platter. She'd known exactly what she was doing when she handed him the bottle of wine and glasses. Sometimes sisters were a fucking blessing.
But Taylor had hesitated. In that brief pause, he’d felt the whole plan crashing down around him. He couldn't lose her that easily. This was his last chance. If he could get Taylor to give herself to him for two days, he knew he could win her for a lifetime.<
br />
It was a shot in the dark, demanding that she relinquish her control. But even the most driven and controlling people needed a place to let down their walls. If that was the one thing Taylor needed, Shane could definitely be that for her.
He liked having this fierce woman obey his every word.
He liked the power.
He liked watching her body's responses to his hands—whether it was a gentle graze of his thumb against her nipple or the squeeze of his fingers around her jaw. Every time he caused her pain, her body tensed, and her breath quickened. Her chest rose and fell in a rapid rhythm, sending ripples throughout the bathtub.
He needed to touch her. He needed to know if her pussy was responding to his roughness too. He knew that the damned bathwater was hiding her arousal, but that didn't quell his need to feel her. He wanted to see her shake with pleasure too.
He covered her lips with his as he slid his hand down her stomach. He forced his way into her mouth—it was clear he would need to fight for everything with her. But now that he was in, her tongue swept across his hungrily. The red wine left her tasting like sweet and subtle fruit. He'd fantasized for years what she would taste like. What her lips would feel like. He was not disappointed. He was elated to finally have her.
His hand passed by her belly button and slid over her hip bone, stopping when he reached her pussy. He felt like he was about to finally claim a prize that he'd been chasing for years. Although the true prize would come when Taylor walked out of this house eager to see him again.
She shifted her heels and tilted her hips, opening herself further. Shane laughed wickedly against her lips. She fucking wanted him. Her body was pleading for his touch.
He let go of her. "Stand up," he said.
He reached for a towel as she complied and rose to her feet in the middle of the tub. Water rolled off her body in a cascade of droplets that traveled along her curves back down into the bath.
He wrapped the towel behind her back but couldn't bring himself to cover her entirely. His cock throbbed against his trousers. He'd been aching for her all night, and now he was the one forcing himself to wait just a little bit longer to feel her. He bent his head and flicked one of her nipples, lapping up a bead of water that had gathered on the tip. She shuddered at his touch and wove her hands through his hair, holding his mouth to her breast. Tightening his embrace, he skimmed the tip of his tongue over her pebbled skin before whipping his tongue around the hard peak, pulling a low moan from her mouth.
Hot Pursuit- the Complete Collection Page 3