Chapter 15 Home Stretch （Margot） #3
“Margot, Margot,” he grinds my name under his breath, warning me this stalemate can’t last, and he’s going to make me pay dearly if I make him lose it first.
That makes two of us.
I love the way he looks at me—all heavy eyes and parted mouth and sharp, staccato breaths.
Like no one else has ever made him feel this incredible.
Like I’m sexier than any woman he’s ever known.
“I’m close,” he warns, stilling me. “Fuck, where are you?”
Deliriously close.
Determined, too.
And I rock my hips—just a little more friction as his fingers reach up and work my clit.
My pussy grips him, needy and insane as our breath goes mad.
Oh, shit, shit, shit!
My head falls loosely as I press on his chest.
He moves like a human earthquake under my hands.
His hand on my hip guides me in slow, rocking, rolling motions, grinding myself on him.
No more, no more.
There’s no holding back when that wave crests and hits me like a tsunami on fire.
Coming!
I think I cry out.
Maybe I say his name, maybe I try, or maybe it’s just a sputtering string of expletives.
But I feel his fingers digging into my hip as he pushes into me one final time with a throat-ripping roar.
The wave takes us, thrashing and ravenous and deranged.
We come together like water slapping the rocky shore, and his hot come fills me, sending me to a new high.
We blow our sanity to confetti and go down in a whirlwind of color.
Later, I’m the first one to move, untangling myself and curling under his arm.
I’m lighter than air but my limbs weigh a ton.
Another contradiction.
And there’s zero talk of him going back to his room or either of us pretending we want to do anything besides sleep next to each other tonight and then wake up for another round of ecstasy with the sun.
Oh, this is bad.
So stupid and predictable.
Warning lights flash in my head.
Every sensible part of me protests giving myself to a man who has to ghost me, and I know it’s coming.
But Kane, he’s not Kelso.
Our heaven has a time limit for reasons beyond our own selfish desires, and it makes me more jealous. I want him, every bit of him, for as long as I can get it.
“You good?” he asks gently, tucking me firmly against him. I fit so well against the curve and crook of his body.
“So good,” I whisper back with a lazy yawn. He tugs the duvet up over our naked bodies. “Night, Kane. And thank you for everything today.”
“No choice—and no regrets either. Sleep well, duchess.”
I do, and his voice follows me into my dreams.
My phone goes off on the counter beside me after I shuffle downstairs to put a pot of coffee on.
Sleeping with Kane has side effects.
I’m not getting a ton of sleep and I wake up weirdly early, so I’m still groggy, trying to find the will to grab my phone.
When I finally have the wits to put it to my ear, I suppress a yawn.
“Yes, hello?”
“Is this Miss Blackthorn?”
“That’s right. Who’s this?”
“Ma’am, I’m Detective Peter Albright from down in Bar Harbor. I’m helping the Sully Bay police out with their investigations.”
“Oh, okay.” I slide into a chair, instantly more awake. “Did they have a chance to visit Mr. and Mrs. Babin yesterday?”
“That’s what I’m calling about, yes.”
I scrub the last gritty sleep from my eyes.
Kane’s still upstairs, half-asleep and showering after a lazy bout of morning sex. I can hear Dan starting his drumming practice upstairs, and Sophie’s probably reading. Either way, the kitchen is empty and I’m alone.
“What did they say?”
“Sheriff paid them a visit, and I spoke with them over the phone to corroborate,” Detective Albright says. “We also checked their shoes against the prints we took. I’m sorry to say they didn’t match. The Babins also have a rock-solid alibi for the time in question.”
“What?” I suck in a breath. “What alibi?”
“Turns out they were delivering blueberries to a local pie shop one town over,” he says. “We talked to the owner, and everything checks out.”
Yikes.
I was so sure.
I never considered the possibility it might be someone else.
And if it is, who?
“I see,” I say slowly. “So, no other leads?”
“Not at this time, ma’am. We’ll follow up on a couple other theft reports in the area to see if we’ve got a connection.”
“Sounds good. Thanks for letting me know,” I say weakly.
“We’ll keep looking, don’t you worry. And if anything useful turns up, you’ll be the first to know. If you have any questions or new information, please don’t hesitate.”
“Right. I won’t. Thank you.” I force a smile into my voice, but my stomach flips upside down before I end the call.
Last night, Kane did such an amazing job helping me forget. But it’s impossible not to remember now.
Stumbling into the house and finding that broken plate, the pretty ceramic shards thrown everywhere like violent art.
That was hatred, plain and simple.
But if the Babins didn’t do it…
That begs another question.
We sent the police to the Babins’ house, having accused them, and if they weren’t behind this, should we apologize?
Ugh! Awkward.
My vision spins.
A quick look through the new camera app says there were no new disturbances last night, either. We were safe, nothing captured outside besides a deer moving around the edge of the property.
A shiver arcs down my back.
It’s just confusing and none of this makes me feel safe.
But there are footsteps on the stairs, so I grab a mug and pour him some coffee.
I won’t tell him. Not yet.
Poor Kane, he’s already worried sick for the kids—and I don’t want to make it worse. He won’t like the uncertainty, the creeping danger in not knowing.
Later, of course he’ll find out, after I’ve had time to process the shock.
He steps into the room a minute later, his hair hanging wet and a burgundy sweater painted on across his broad shoulders.
His eyes heat like green lamps when he sees me.
“Coffee already? Must be my lucky morning.”
“We both need it after last night. Especially you, Mr. Saint, at your age.” I giggle.
“Smartass, don’t think I’m above tanning your ass in this kitchen.” He kisses my cheek as he passes by.
I push the stressful call away.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
“I like when you call me Mr. Saint,” he growls.
“You’re insatiable.”
“For you, hell yes.” He takes the chair beside mine and grabs my hand, bringing the mug to his lips. “Being around you without touching violates the laws of physics.”
“Then this must be how you get arrested by the cosmic police.” I say it without thinking.
We both stop and stare, thinking what else gets people arrested.
His hand travels up and down my back, tender and soothing.
“I already checked the cameras. Nothing new last night,” he says between sips.
“I saw.”
“Then you know we’re okay.” His hand stops at the small of my back, and he brings me closer for another kiss. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Margot. I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah? I want you to trust me.” He leans back to look me in the eyes.
Really, I do.
I trust him to protect me as long as we’re both sharing this house. The trouble comes if that changes and I decide to stick around a little longer, but I won’t dwell on that for now.
“After breakfast, I want to check out the garden. Looks like decent weather today for another run at Gramps’ mystery,” I tell him, getting started on some waffles. “Not sure I’ll find anything, but I should at least check.”
Plus, focusing on our mystery will give me something to do besides worry about more burglars.
“Sounds good. I’ll give you a hand. I also promised the kids some time on the lake, and you’re welcome to join us,” Kane says.
“No, you guys go ahead.” I shake my head gently.
He doesn’t say it either, but we’re both thinking the same thing: distraction.
Before this day ends, I wonder if I’ll need them by the bushel.
I’m shocked and sad.
The garden is just as large as I remember, but way more overgrown, abandoned since PopPop’s death and left to go wild.
The only building is the old storage shed, and that’s where I head after breakfast.
Inside, it’s dark and dusty, the air stale with cobwebs splayed between windows.
When I was little, Gramps had people keeping this place nice and tidy, but like everything else, it’s been derelict for years.
There are ghostly gaps in the dust where Kane stepped, where he’s taken out tools and replaced them.
Weird.
For all his money, Gramps was pretty handy when he was younger. He could patch up the fence or hang pictures or paint, and he’d always come in here for his tools. Sometimes we’d catch him on lazy evenings pruning trees or weeding.
Having Kane show up with his money and fame with the same willingness to swing a hammer feels like a strange coincidence across time.
Like maybe this old house still attracts a certain kind of person.
Yeah, I need to get out of here before I go all sentimental.
One last scan to make sure there’s nothing out of place, and I shut the door, glancing at the lake.
Kane and the kids are out on the canoe, a distant shape far from shore.
It’s the kind of lazy boat ride to nowhere we’d do all the time, and their shrieks of laughter carry across the still water.
They’ve been out there for a while. I think they’ll be coming back for lunch soon.
Smiling, I turn back toward the house.
That’s when I remember what Mrs. Griffith said. I can picture it tucked in the trees and overgrown grass.
Bigger, grander gardens. A flat piece of land, and on it—
The gazebo.
A chill zings down my spine.
The grass catches in my legs as I walk forward, a few scattered branches tripping me up, and then I’m at the old stone base half-covered in dirt.
When I look closely, there are still a few black marks from the fire.
Just like she said.
An occasional chunk of damp, rotted wood from the gazebo itself, but it’s mostly been burned to nothing.
But there, right in the middle of where the gazebo once stood, my foot scrapes the unexpected. A little dip in the grass that has me digging, pulling out clumps by hand. And then—
An overgrown door straight from a dream.