Killer Summer by Lynda Curnyn (e book reading free .txt) 📗

“You have pretty eyes, Francesca.”

She giggled again and I leaned in again, this time to kiss her.

Maybe it was the weed, but her mouth seemed a bit more tender beneath mine.

Nice, I thought, leaning back to look at her face. This was nice.

She smiled, looking almost shy. Then she giggled again. “The first time I got high was on the beach. Spring break in Fort Lau-derdale, freshman year. That was a crazy night.”

“Oh yeah?” I said, dumping out my pipe and pocketing it along with my weed. “I heard about those spring breaks down in Fort Lauderdale. Wet T-shirt contests and shit.”

She laughed again. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Yeah, well, if you did enter a wet T-shirt contest, I bet you would win.”

She looked at me in a way that made me wonder if she had.

“You miss school?” I asked, glad she was at least talking now. Maybe I might even learn something about her.

“Not yet,” she said, her eyes going wide.“I just graduated, silly.”

“So what are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

Her gaze became pensive, and she started fiddling with the tie on the front of her dress. “Daddy wants me to work with him at Luxe.”

“And you don’t want to?”

“Not really,” she said, looking up at me again. “I want to do something a little more fun. More exciting.”

“The music business is pretty exciting,” I said.“In fact, once we get the CD pressed, I might need some help with publicity. You know, hanging up posters around the city. Handing out promotional materials.”

She frowned. “I want to do more with my life than hang up posters, Nick.”

“Hey, you gotta start somewhere, right?”

She glanced at me, a playful look lighting up her eyes as she wrestled me to the ground, the skirt of her dress floating around her as she sat astride me. “Well, I want to start at the top,” she said, eyes gleaming.

“Is that right?” I said, tackling her until 1 rolled her easily beneath me.

She laughed, then pressed her mouth against me, immediately taking the advantage.

Yeah, this was nice, I thought, breaking off the kiss to lean my forehead against hers, gazing into her eyes.

She giggled. “You know you have three eyes.”

“And two heads,” 1 replied, pressing my erection into her.

Her gaze turned serious. “Make love to me, Nick.”

She didn’t have to ask me twice. In fact, it occurred to me, as I slid my hand beneath her dress, she never usually asked at all.

Not that it mattered, I thought, once my hands came into contact with her soft, soft skin.

I knew, even before I got her panties off, that she would be warm and wet.

That was another thing I liked about Francesca. She was always ready. I unbuttoned my jeans, glancing around at the dark and empty beach, taking a moment to relish the sound of the ocean, roaring in the background. And the fact that we were alone. Really alone. For the first time.

I slid out of my jeans and boxers, then into her, moving slowly, so slowly, it was torture.

The best kind of torture, I thought, watching the way her lips parted around her breaths, her eyes shuttered closed.

“Look at me,” I said. The words came out harsher than I intended, but I realized, once her blue gaze was on mine, that she never really did look at me when we made love. Or had sex. Whatever.

I began to move faster, staring into her eyes, searching for something—I don’t know what—exactly. Something beyond all the coolness in her blue gaze. But all I saw was her pupils widening like a cat’s and something else, I thought, leaning in closer, and realizing it was only my own reflection.

“Oh, man. Oh, Francesca,” I ground out moments later as I felt my climax shake through both of us as her eyes shuttered closed again, shutting me out once more. Burying my face against her neck, I savored the coolness of her body against my own heated skin. And when I finally had the courage to look up at her, she was smiling at me.

Kind of tender, you know?

And I felt something—I wasn’t sure what. Something that made me believe I could have it all.

Have it all with her.

Chapter Thirty-six

Zoe

Water, water everywhere and I’m about to sink.

By the time morning came, I had convinced myself that Donnie was the murderer I was looking for, even felt a desire to run my latest theory by Sage, if only to prove to her this trail I’d been following since Maggie died wasn’t just some attempt to annoy her. But when I opened my eyes to the sight of Sage’s bed still made—not to mention littered with every scrap of clothing she had brought with her this weekend—I realized my best friend hadn’t come home last night.

I just hoped she’d remembered to use a condom.

When I didn’t find Donnie on the beach, I headed to his house, which was just two doors down from Tom’s. The house wasn’t as lavish as Maggie’s Dream, but Donnie clearly wasn’t doing too badly as the head of Tom’s shipping department, I thought, eyeing the squarish modern structure that rose up out of the reeds. It was still pretty early, but since the front door of the house was open, I assumed it was okay to knock.

After all, I had decided that my new documentary would be kind of a Maggie Landon tribute, and since Donnie seemed to be full of stories about Maggie’s life last weekend, I figured he would be more than eager to make a statement for the cameras.

Stepping up to the screen door, I rapped on the wooden frame twice, wielding my brightest smile when Amanda Havens appeared.

“Zoe, hi, this is a pleasant surprise. Come on in.”

I stepped through the door she held open, and was immediately taken aback by the decor. Though the house was smaller than Tom’s, the layout was similar, with an airy kitchen and