Page 110 of Festive in Death

“Damn straight. It took considerable champagne consumption, but I held up my end.”

He gave her ass a light pat. “Beautifully.”

She held up her end, if she said so herself, through the leave-taking where entirely too many people insisted on hugging her. Because they were slightly more than half lit, and it was simple, Summerset poured Peabody and McNab into one of the guest rooms he’d prepped, and that was fine with her.

As she expected, Baxter and the blonde left together, and with twin gleams in their eyes.

When the last straggler was out the door, Eve hobbled to the bedroom, pried her abused feet out of the shoes, winced her way into the bathroom to use the gunk Trina had left her to take off the gunk Trina put on her.

She stripped off the jewelry, remembered the hair thing, fought it out, dragged and raked her fingers through her hair until it felt normal. She stripped off the dress, the thong, grabbed a long, baggy T-shirt and fell into bed.

“What time is it? No, don’t tell me. Yes, tell me.”

“It’s about half three.”

“God.”

The cat walked up the bed, jingling, sniffed at her, climbed over her, and made himself a nest in the small of her back.

Roarke slid in, kissed her between the eyebrows.

“Did my part,” she said, words slurring. “Not so bad.”

And dropped away to sleep like the dead.

•••

She woke alone, which was no surprise—and even less of one when she checked the time. After ten? Ten?

She sat up, rubbed her hands over her face. Needed coffee, needed to move. After crawling out of bed, she hit the AutoChef, primed herself with caffeine.

She’d take a swim, she decided. A few hard laps would clear her head, shake out the post-party dregs. Then she could order Peabody out of bed—her own fault she drank too much to get out of range the night before—and they could work on the case for a couple hours.

She turned toward the elevator, then considered it was the middle of the damn morning. Somebody could just walk in on her down in the pool. She dug out a black, tank-style suit, pulled it on, pulled the sleep shirt over it.

She debated tagging Roarke, telling him to come join her. But he’d very likely get ideas once they were both wet—and there were people in the house, probably lots of people clearing out the party debris in the ballroom.

Best to keep the swim solo.

She stepped out of the elevator, into the lushness of tropical plants. She heard the music, a low, quiet hum, and thought Roarke had beaten her to it.

So maybe she wouldn’t mind if he got ideas as long as—

“God!”

She slapped her hands over her face, but the image of Peabody and McNab groping each other in the pool remained burned on her retinas. “Why? Why aren’t I blind? Why is there no mercy?”

“Sorry!” Peabody sang it out. “We’re not naked or anything. Roarke said we could use the pool, and there were suits in the dressing room. We’re both wearing suits. Promise!”

Eve spread her fingers, risked peeking through them.

They were half naked, McNab standing in waist-high water, bony chest bare and gleaming wet, but standard black trunks below the waterline. Peabody wore bright blue that showed off plenty of cleavage. Hardly a wonder McNab’s hands had been full of Peabody’s girls.

She wasn’t going to deny herself a swim, refused to give in to the cowardly urge to turn around and go back upstairs.

“This half is mine.” She cut a hand through the air. “That half’s yours. Stay on your side.”

“Thanks for letting us stay,” McNab said when she yanked off the shirt. “Nothing like a good night’s sleep after an aces party, and the bonus round of a swim.”

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