Page 72 of She Doesn't Have a Clue
“Come for me,” she said, before biting into his earlobe.
He shuddered and groaned, thrusting in hard and making a sound Kate could only describe as helpless. He thrust a few more times, long and deep, burying his face in her neck as he came hard and fast, panting her name over and over as her own orgasm hit and she clenched around him, making him shudder again.
“God, Kate,” he said, collapsing against her, heavy and boneless. “God.”
She smiled up at the ceiling as she raked her nails softly down his back, her tears nearly dry. She swore to keep it that way. “I like it when you call me that.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Several minutes passed—or hours, possibly days; time was a very loose construct after all that exertion—before Kate regained the capacity for speech. Even when rational thought returned, the words uncurled out of her like a soft, slurring purr. She had tucked herself into Jake’s side, one leg hitched high over his hip, her head on his chest and her arm wrapped around him and tucked under his ribs. They’d burrowed under the covers on the bed, which were surprisingly soft and normal, all things considered.
“You’re so warm,” Kate said, snuggling into all of his soft corners. “I want to cut you open like a tauntaun and crawl inside you like Han Solo.”
To his credit, Jake only tucked her in closer.
“Something is still bothering me.” Kate sighed, fighting against the heaviness of her body and the gritty feeling every time she blinked.
“Then I haven’t done my job properly,” Jake said with a grin.
“About the murder,” Kate said, pushing at his shoulder playfully. “And Cassidy. If she’d wanted a DNA test on Kennedy, why take the poisoned champagne glass? I mean, she could have just swabbed Kennedy as soon as she passed out. Why take the one piece of evidence that connects her to the crime? Unless she didn’tknowthe glass was poisoned.”
Jake propped himself up on one elbow to face her. “So now you’re thinking Cassidy wasn’t the murderer?”
“I mean, if she’d taken the glass as evidence—to hide it, or get rid of it—I’d be sure it was her. But she took it to swab it for Kennedy’s DNA. Which implies she didn’t realize that was how Kennedy had been poisoned.”
“So, what then? We’re back to Richie and Steven as our murderers?”
“They both certainly have motive,” Kate reasoned. “And I’m positive they’re the ones who have been sabotaging the house. Probably to tank Rebecca’s chances with the historical inspector. But their efforts have been rushed and poorly thought out. I mean, cutting the generator fuel line? They were just as likely to blow themselves up as anything else. And whoever planned Kennedy’s and Rebecca’s deaths really planned things out. I mean, they used my books as a blueprint, for pete’s sake. That kind of planning and foresight doesn’t exactly seem like Richie Hempstead’s forte.”
“That certainly knocks out Marcus Sheffield, then,” Jake said, rolling on his back and propping up his head with both hands. “Which puts us back at square one, doesn’t it?”
Kate huffed out a breath in annoyance. “After all these years of dreaming up Loretta, I thought I’d be better at solving a real-life murder mystery. It’s not nearly as fun as I imagined.”
“And yet it’s just as disastrous as I imagined, having read Loretta all these years. I was genuinely angry with you when the fourth book was delayed, although I obviously didn’t know why when I saw your Instagram update from Borneo.”
Kate didn’t want to think about Borneo right now, not when she finally had a naked Jake Hawkins wrapped between her thighs. She didn’t want to think of the heartbreak that would ensue when he inevitably left again.
“I need proper clothes,” she said, suddenly feeling shy. “You’ll have to get them for me, since I’m still a wanted woman. And because I’d rather parade around this house naked than ever put that dress back on.”
“Mmmm, I might make you get them yourself just to see that,” Jake said, grinning as he dipped his head toward the soft curve of her neck.
“There’s something I’m still missing,” Kate said, sighing and stretching her neck to afford him better access. “I can feel it. I just don’t know what. So, I’m going to need my suspect lists, too. Please.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here and convince meyouaren’t the murderer?” Jake said, shifting and pressing against her and making it clear how much he didn’t think she was a murderer.
“After,” Kate gasped, giving into his kiss. “Catch a killer, get off this absolutely cursed island, then this all over again. Several times, preferably.”
Jake sighed, pushing up off the bed. “I was out of condoms, anyway. Which is an oversight I’ll never make again.”
“Hurry back,” Kate said as he slipped out the door, attempting a sultry smile that was undercut by the yawn that erupted from her. She really ought to go over the evidence again, or find her way back to Kennedy and warn her that she was still in danger, or do something. But instead she relinquished herself to the blissful sleep that only a fantastic sexual encounter could bring, a sleep so deep it felt like only seconds later when the handle of the door rattled, dragging her back to the surface.
“That was fast.” She sat up, the covers slipping away as the door swung open, revealing not Jake, but—“Spencer?”
Spencer looked up from the door handle with a frown. “Kate? Why are you naked?”
“That is… a long story,” Kate said, pulling up the covers for some modesty. “What are you doing up here on the fourth floor?”
Spencer looked around in confusion. “Is this the fourth floor? What am I doing on the fourth floor?”