by London James
"Because you thought it was a hotel and I was just the overlooked child of a member of the staff or another guest?" I ask.
He laughs. "Because I kept an image of you in my mind all these years and didn't know if I wanted to break that image."
"And did you?" I ask.
"Yes," he says. I gasp, but he pulls me in tighter, his arms wrapping around my waist as he laughs. "Yes, you are different than what I had in my head. You are just as fun to tease and get ruffled up as you were, maybe even more. But you are fiery and stubborn, forceful and headstrong, aggravating beyond possible comprehension... and beautiful. Sexy, funny, and playful. You are not what I expected when I came here. And I am so glad for that."
Owen ducks his head down, and our mouths meet. It is gentle at first, then something between us ignites. His hands take hold of my ass and lift me up, so I’m straddling his hips. One hand leaves me long enough to take a blanket from the pack on his horse's side before grabbing me again. He carries me further into the meadow, and we drop to the ground.
The blanket is barely spread across the grass when we tumble onto it, kicking shoes off and pulling away at clothes. I don't care what my hands are doing except for revealing his soft, warm skin beneath the fabric I toss away. His weight presses me down into the ground, and I feel the full, thick length of him slide up my inner thigh. This might be my first time, but I know what I want. Nothing has ever felt so right as being here with him.
The touch of his cock against my tender skin makes my body shiver, and in seconds, I'm dripping with the need for him. One strong hand runs down my side, then glides over my belly to dip between my legs. His fingertips brush my throbbing clit, making my back arch and a cry burst from my lips.
Owen kisses his way down my neck and onto one breast, swirling his tongue around my nipple as he continues to play between my thighs, making my skin tingle and sweat begin to bead on my chest. When he pulls away, I feel cold and almost desperate for more of his attention.
Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a condom, and my mind spins. Knowing he had it tucked into his pocket, and that he not only thought about this moment when he got dressed this morning makes the anticipation unbearable.
He can't roll the condom into place fast enough. The moment it's in place, I let my thighs fall open to welcome him in. Owen presses on my knees to push them up, opening me even further and rises up over me. His eyes lock down on mine as he slowly lets his engorged erection slide between my folds in shallow, gentle thrusts.
One hard thrust of his hips buries him deep. Owen's mouth catches my cry as I feel a pinch of pain, and I wrap my arms around him, wanting every bit of his skin touching mine. It's more powerful, more intense than my dream, but this is no dream. This is Owen, slamming deeper and deeper inside me, claiming me with every stroke.
Feeling my need for even more of him, Owen pulls up on his knees and lifts my hips, so they rest on his thighs. The position plunges him into me at an angle that intensifies the sensations, creating waves of pleasure that roll through me until every inch of my body tingles. Nothing else exists around us. It is only our bodies in a transcendent space we create with every breath.
We crash into each other, both coming so hard that our bodies shake, sweat letting our skin glide over each other and falling in droplets onto each other's tongues. Owen collapses down beside me and rolls onto his back. Our hands meet, linking beside each other as our legs tangle, and the soft breeze starts to cool our skin. I know eventually I should probably tell him this was my first time, but for now, there's nothing but the fresh grass and blue sky and him.
Chapter Twenty
Owen
We've been at the summer palace for two weeks now, and I know eventually we're going to have to go back to Vidalia Isle. We can't just hide away here forever and let other people take over the rest of our lives. No matter how appealing that thought is. I slept in the guest room that first night and have been sharing my bed with Avery since. That's where she is now, resting on her belly with one knee bent beside her, so her beautiful naked body is on full display.
The sheet that was covering her is now over one thigh, and her hair is spread like a pool of ink across the white linens. I've been sleeping later in the mornings than I have in a long time, the deep relaxation and contentment that comes from having her here with me lulling me into deeper rest.
Of course, she doesn't let me get away with that. It delights her when she wakes up early and can tease me about being a lazy royal. Yesterday, I woke up to her having made the bed around me, so I was lying in the middle of the mattress with the sheets and comforter tucked tightly around me.
I'm not planning on giving her that satisfaction today; it’s my turn to surprise her. Ever since she confessed our first time together was her first time ever, I’ve been thinking of creative ways to draw out her pleasure each time we get tangled up in the sheets again. This morning my eyes popped open before the sun had even fully lit up the horizon, and I slipped out of bed. I'm ready to whip that bit of sheet away from her and wake her with one of the ice cubes I have in the glass in my hand.
But that delightful distraction is not to be.
My fingers dip down into the glass and take hold of one of the cubes, but before I can get it out and touch it to her skin, my phone rings. It's somewhere in the pile of clothes discarded on the floor last night, and I want to ignore it. It rings several more times before voicemail picks up.
Half a second later, Avery's phone starts ringing. She tossed it onto the vanity last night after turning off the sound of the ringer, which means its vibrations are causing it to skitter across the polished surface like a nervous bug. It rings a few times and then goes silent an instant before mine starts ringing again. Avery lets out a delicate groan and pushes herself up.
The tips of her breasts brush against the mattress, and her hair tumbles around her sleepy face. I have to fight with every ounce of self-control I have not to jump on the bed and bury my mouth between her thighs. The constant repeat of the ringing and buzzing stop me.
“What's going on?” she asks. “Who's calling?”
“I don't know,” I tell her, searching through the clothes for my phone.
By the time I find it, we’re on the next-person-ringing step of the rotation, so I stand and wait for hers to stop dancing on the vanity and mine to start ringing again. As soon as it does, my face twists in confusion.
“Who is it?” Avery asks, sitting up and pulling the sheet up over her lap.
I click the button to answer the call. “Cinnamon Buns, do you know what time it is?” I say.
“I swear to all that is holy, Candy Corn, don't ever put me through that again. I thought you two were dead,” Sebastian's voice comes from the other end of the line.
“Because we didn't answer the phone?” I ask.
“Is that Sebastian?” Avery asks. “What's wrong? Why is he calling this early?”
“I don't know,” I tell her. “I'm trying to find out.”
“You two haven't heard?” Seb asks incredulously.
“Haven't heard what?” I ask.
Avery grabs her sheet and scrambles to the end of the bed to get closer. She leans toward the phone, so I put it on speaker.
“Sebastian, what's wrong?” Avery asks. “What's going on? Is Skylar okay? Shawn and Leo?”
“All those people are fine,” he says. “You, on the other hand, might not be.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” she asks.
“The results came back from your blogger's autopsy. He didn't die of a heart attack. At least, not one his body did on purpose.”
“What?” I ask. “What are you talking about?”
“He was poisoned,” Sebastian says. “And now the police are calling it a suspicious death. I think that's a fairly foregone conclusion at this point. People don't usually spontaneously die of poisoning.”
Avery's hand claps over her mouth. "I told you," she hisses as she pulls it away slight
ly, then shoves it back in place.
“Did she just say 'I told you',” Sebastian asks. “Like I told you I was going to get caught? Did that bitch kill the GPS and not tell me?"
“I did not kill him,” Avery clarifies.
“Oh, good. Love you,” Seb says, his voice falling from dog-whistle territory back to sweet.
“Uh-huh. You just accused me of murder.”
“I'm not the only one,” he tells her.
"Wait; what? Who else is saying Avery murdered that guy?" I ask.
“Kind of everybody,” Seb says. “Well, not everybody. But a-lot-of-body.”
"Why would they say that?" Avery says.
"Well, you have been stressed out about his review of Hometown Bed And Breakfast since before he even got to Vidalia Isle," Seb points out.
"The only people who knew who he was are you, Skylar, and Owen," she says. "Remember, no one else knew who he was or what he was doing in Vidalia Isle."
“True,” he continues, “but it's not like it was a secret that he was one of the most genuinely unpleasant people any of us have ever encountered. Everybody on the island knew he was staying in your bed-and-breakfast.”
“So, having an unpleasant person utilizing your business is now a believable motive for murder?” Avery asks. “People better seriously hope no one ever walks out of a DMV and drops dead.”
“There's also that tiny detail you haven't mentioned yet," Seb says.
"What's that?" I ask.
"The caramel apple."
"Oh, shit, my apple," Avery says, flopping over forward to rest her head to her knees. "He was holding that fucking peanut apple. People think I poisoned the man with a caramel apple. That is going to put a serious dent in my custom orders."
"Seventy-five percent of the people who went to that festival bought apples from Avery. I know I told at least twenty people to get one," I say.
Avery lifts her head. "Aww, that's sweet. Thank you," she says weakly.
I stroke her cheek with my thumb. "Of course," I say.
"That's all well and good," Seb continues, "but no one else dropped dead in the middle of the festival after eating one of them. There were a few bites taken out of the one Mr. Mercer was holding."
"Didn't someone test the apple?" I ask.
Avery tips over to bury her head against my shoulder when I sit beside her and wrap an arm around her shoulders.
"Apparently Vidalia Isle has some learning to do when it comes to murder investigations. They sent the EMTs for the body, and someone tossed the apple. By the time they figured it out, the trash had already been dumped."
"Perfect," I mutter.
"I wasn't even at the table when he bought the apple," Avery says. "Remember? I was already with you. When we met up with Sebastian and Skylar, they said he had come and bought the apple from them. How could I possibly be the one to poison him if I didn't even know he was coming to buy an apple?"
"You put it aside for him," Seb says.
"What?" I ask.
"The caramel apple," he explains. "Didn't you?"
"No," Avery says. "Why would you say that?"
"After you left, Skylar noticed a couple of apples sitting under the table with a note that said GPS. She figured you knew he'd want one since he essentially lived off them for a few days there, so you set aside his favorite flavors to make sure they'd be there for him. You know, to earn some extra points."
Avery lifts her head and looks at me with widened eyes, her head shaking.
"I didn't do that," she says. "All the apples I brought with me were on the table, right from the very beginning. None of them were put aside, and I definitely didn't write a note. Besides, why would I risk the reputation of my apples? There are literally dozens of ways to get poisoned that aren’t food-related."
"Wait, Seb, you said a couple apples."
"Yeah," he confirms. "The peanut one he asked for and another one with sprinkles. Skylar wanted to give him the one with sprinkles because she said it looked special and she figured you did that on purpose, but he very firmly asked for a peanut one."
Avery's eyes narrow and her eyebrows knit together.
"Looked special?" she asks. Her face suddenly opens up, and she leans closer to the phone. "Seb, the apple with sprinkles. What kind of sprinkles did it have?"
"White," he answers. "It wasn't like any of the other ones you made."
"That's because I didn't make it," she says. "All the apples I made for the festival were made with autumn sprinkles. The ones with the orange and brown."
I nod. "The brown ones are chocolate," I say. "She told me that."
"That's right," she says. "There weren't any with white sprinkles. I didn't make that apple."
"What happened to it?" I ask.
"I don't know," Sebastian answers.
"What do you mean you don't know?" she asks.
"After we sold out of apples, Skylar and I decided we deserved a reward. I put the money box in my backpack, but we didn't think to do anything with the apple. We hadn't sold it because we thought you had specifically put it aside for him. When we got back, it was gone."
"I've got to get back there," Avery says. "There has to be some way we can clear all this up."
"No, Avery, you can't come back to Vidalia Isle," Sebastian insists.
"Why not?" she asks.
She's already off the bed and bouncing around, trying to pull her skinny jeans on over her hips. Still topless and with her hair now wild around her head, she stops with her hand on her hip and looks like she just wandered out of an 80s hard rock video.
"I told you," Sebastian says. "It's being considered a suspicious death, and you are grade-A suspicious right now. Jumping ship and heading off on your fairytale adventure didn't improve matters."
"You're the one who encouraged me to come," Avery argues.
"That's before I knew they were going to be accusing you of murder," Seb points out. "The truth is, the police want to bring you in, and they're going to as soon as you step foot in Vidalia Isle again.
Avery shakes against me, her body trembling as she tries to let the information sink in.
"What am I going to do?" she finally asks in a small, high voice.
"Don't worry," I tell her. "You're safe."
"I'm wanted for questioning on suspicion of killing somebody," she says.
"Yeah, if all slasher rules apply here, you'd be the one whose safety we should be more concerned about, Lemon Drop." Seb pointed out.
"Slasher rules do not apply," Avery tells him fiercely.
"No, what I mean is you're safe here," I tell her. "This island is owned by the King and Queen of Calidonia and has been annexed as a part of the nation. Technically, you are in a different country right now. And we don't extradite."
"So, as long as you stay on that island, they can't get to you," Seb says.
She pulls herself in tighter, wrapping her arms around her knees.
"Then I guess that means I'll be hanging out for a while."
"Just hang on, honey," he says. "Everything is going to be fine. They're going to figure it all out, and you'll be home before you know it."
Chapter Twenty-One
Avery
"Oh, fuck that," I say, stomping into the dining room.
Owen glances up at me from the tablet sitting on the table beside him and smiles. "Good morning, my delicate tea rose," he says.
"Seb just called me," I say, pacing angrily back and forth beside the table.
Platters of breakfast foods lined up in front of Owen call to me, but I'm too worked up to pause and eat.
"What's going on?" he asks.
"They canceled Halloween,” I tell him.
“Who canceled Halloween?”
“Vidalia Isle. Mayor Prescott and the Sheriff just had a press conference announcing it to the entirety of the village that all further Halloween or Halloween-adjacent activities are henceforth canceled because of safety concerns stemming up from not being able to find a p
otential killer.”
My blood is boiling, but tears are also stinging in my eyes. I don't know if I should focus more energy on my fury or my heartache. They're both pretty intense, and I'm struggling to decide which one warrants more attention right now. I figure if I just keep on pacing, one of them will eventually override the other and I'll know how to react.
“That escalated quickly,” Owen says. “He just told you they were even considering you a person of interest yesterday.”
“I know. Apparently because of the higher volume of tourists and the unbelievable amount of attention this particular incident has caused, there are people who are worried that celebrating Halloween in any way would just glorify the situation and make it look like Vidalia Isle is being disrespectful of a death. Evidently a few women's groups have risen up a ‘someone think of the children’ war cry, and a few others have started talking about the possibility of a copycat.”
“Did they say anything else about other information they might have or other people they’re looking at?” Owen asks. “Anything at all?”
“Nothing,” I say, flopping down into the chair beside him. “They've got their sights laser-focused right on me and aren't even considering that there might be another explanation.” The call of the bacon gets too much for me, and I reach for a crispy piece. “You know, this is what I've always said about myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how there's always one creepy neighbor in your area or that one big, scary house nobody wants to get anywhere near unless it's some sort of strange initiation or bizarre sex game or something?” I ask.
“Not particularly,” he says. “I can't really remember having anyone anything like that near me when I was growing up. Or now, come to think of it.”
“Yeah, me neither. And you know why?” I point at myself. “Because it's me. I'm the creepy neighbor nobody wants to get anywhere near. Hometown Bed And Breakfast is that big scary house. That's why they all want to blame me for this.”