“Wait a minute,” I said, looking up into his dark eyes, the lids half lowered with desire. “If you’re Johnny, does that mean I’m Melanie?”
“Yes,” he murmured, his lips traveling down my throat.
“But Melanie is a total idiot.”
“She isn’t.” Now his mouth was burning hotly against the bare skin of my chest. “To quote Kirkus, she’s the ‘epitome of femininity, at once beautiful and strong’ … like you.”
It was hard to think properly with so much hard muscle pressing against me, but I managed to say, “I’m pretty sure the epitome of femininity isn’t—”
But I never got to finish, because his lips returned to mine, effectively wiping all rational thought from my brain.
At least until the sound of a door being opened somewhere nearby caused me to pull my mouth from his and look past his shoulder. Then I saw someone I never expected in a million years come strolling into the courtyard.
“Lauren!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Lauren, still dressed in her sequined top and miniskirt from the party, froze, her eyes looking ridiculously large behind her horn-rimmed glasses. She had a pizza box in one hand and an empty champagne bottle in the other.
Will and I had leaped away from each other at the sight of her, but she was the one who seemed the most surprised.
“Oh, hi, Ms. Wright,” she cried. “And Mr. Price! How are you?”
“Um.” I stepped quickly in front of Will so Lauren wouldn’t see the bulge our kissing had created in the front of his trousers, which was truly impressive and which I had every intention of exploring at a later time. “We’re fine. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Great, actually! Would you happen to know where the recycling is?” She waved the bottle and pizza box in the air.
With my brain not quite functioning properly yet due to the fact that my body was still tingling all over from Will’s kiss, I pointed limply toward the tiki bar. “Over there.”
“Oh, thanks!” Lauren trotted to the recycling bin. She was wearing platform heels on which she appeared to be having trouble balancing. She looked a bit like a toddler wearing her mother’s high heels. It wasn’t until I saw her go a few more steps that I realized it was because she was drunk.
I glanced at the open doorway through which Lauren had appeared. It was on the first floor.
A male figure filled it, peering out into the courtyard. Because his back was to the light inside the room, it was difficult to see who he was.
Difficult, but not impossible.
Before I could even figure out what was happening, Will was racing across the courtyard.
“Garrett,” he said. “Get out here.”
I saw the figure in the doorway jump—Will’s voice, coming from the darkness, must have sounded to him like a gunshot—and try to close the door.
But Will was too quick for him. He reached room 102 in a flash, and thrust his foot inside the door just as Garrett was closing it. I have no idea what the soles of Will’s shoes were made of, but it must have been sturdy stuff, because it kept Garrett from shutting the door on us.
“Don’t even try it, Newcombe,” Will growled as he pressed his shoulder against the door. “Did you know the entire Little Bridge Coast Guard was out there searching for you? There are probably still little kids sitting on that dock, waiting for you to rematerialize. And you’re tucked up safe back here in your hotel room with a girl? Get out here and face me like a man!”
“I—I—I’m not feeling too well,” I heard Garrett cry. “I think I caught a chill. I’ll see you tomorrow at the event—”
“No chance.” Will was shoving against the door as hard as Garrett, inside his room, was pressing against it to keep him out. “I’m going to take that sodding cape of yours and wring your neck with it.”
“Mr. Price?” Lauren came tripping over from the recycling bin just as I, too, reached room 102. She looked curious, but also a little scared. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”
I had other things on my mind besides the fact that Garrett had been found alive and—for now, anyway—well.
“Have you been in there with Garrett all night?” I asked Lauren.
“Well, not all night.” Lauren wobbled a little on her platform heels. “He and I caught a rideshare over from the marina. He’s been helping me with my manuscript.”
Of all the things I’d expected her to say, this was not one of them. “Your manuscript?”
“Yes.” Lauren’s eyes lit up behind the lenses of her glasses. “It’s a modern retelling of The Great Gatsby, only with a female bisexual Gatsby, and set during the heady cocaine era of the 1980s. Mr. Newcombe thinks he can get his agent to represent me!”
I blinked, only this time, it wasn’t because I felt like crying. Well, actually I did, but for different reasons than before. “I’ll bet he does,” I said, sending a baleful look in Garrett’s direction. He’d given up trying to close his door on Will and finally come out of his room—but only when Will, having also heard Lauren mention her manuscript, lowered his fists.
“It’s not what you think.” Garrett was wearing his hotel bathrobe over a pair of swim trunks and the bright yellow complimentary Little Bridge Island Book Festival T-shirt we’d all been given in our swag bags. He had both his hands up in a defensive gesture, as if he were afraid that Will might still jump him—a valid concern. “I’m just helping her with her book.”
“Her book?” I don’t think Will was capable of speech, he was still so angry, so I had to do all the talking.
“Of course he was just helping me with my book.” Lauren seemed more bewildered than ever. “What else would we have been doing?”
“And the champagne? Lauren’s underage, you know.”
Garrett flung a startled look in Lauren’s direction, but she parried quickly with, “No, I’m not. I keep telling you, I’m nineteen! And the legal drinking age in Manitoba, where I come from, is eighteen.”
“Yes, well, here it’s twenty-one.” I narrowed my eyes at Garrett. “Something Mr. Newcombe, who is twice your age, knows perfectly well.”
“I’m not twice her age,” Garrett began to protest, but he shut up pretty quickly when he noticed Will’s expression, which was as dark as a thundercloud. “Well, okay. Almost twice her age. But I wasn’t going to try anything, I swear! You see, I consider myself something of a mentor—”
“I think what we need here is a little less explaining and a little more apologizing,” Will said. He was leaning against the doorframe to room 102, looking as threatening as a panther about to pounce. “Come on, get to it, Newcombe. You owe me fifty grand for that search, and you’re going to bloody well pay up. Get your checkbook out.”
Garrett let out a bark of nervous laughter. “What? You can’t be serious.”
“Would you prefer I call the sheriff’s department?” Will reached into his trouser pocket for his cell phone. “I’m sure they’d be very interested to know where you are … and who you’re here with.”