AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Really?” I say, grinning. “You think so?”
“Definitely. A worthy sequel to your last book.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry I made you read it now, on this winding road.”
He chuckles. “I offered.”
“Are you seeing this? The view?”
“Yes.” He reaches over and takes my hand. “It’s stunning.”
“I can’t believe we’re really here.”
“I can,” he says and smiles crookedly. “What I can’t believe is that you’ve come up with an entire plot for your next book with all the craziness of the past few weeks.”
I shrug. “Me either. Maybe that’s why, though? My brain needed an escape from the party planning and seating arrangements?”
“And it went straight to a murder,” he says, but there’s only amusement in his voice. I’ve fully converted him into a true crime junkie. He was half of one already, as I’d once pointed out to him. Documentaries about real-life whodunnits and assassinations fall squarely into the same camp. In turn, he’s opened my eyes to a whole new world of documentaries regarding historical crime—or even crazier, financial crime. It’s just as interesting.
Now, he’s officially the legal consultant on my stories. He madeThe Sunshine Murderleagues better than any of my previous books, just by letting me pick his brain.
Sure, sometimes the suggestions are unhelpful.Why would his jaw be tensing so much when he looks at her?he’d asked once, lowering my manuscript and frowning.
Because it shows he’s secretly pining for her!
He hadn’t bought it, but there are some things you just have to be a romance reader to appreciate.
The taxi driver pulls to a stop in front of the resort. It’s a vision of white, lime-washed walls with hints of blue and terracotta. Two giant, knotted olive trees flank the wooden door that marks the entrance to the Winter Corporation’s new five-star location on the Greek island.
“How does it look old,” I say, “when it opened half a year ago?”
“Excellent architects,” he responds.
Inside, the lobby has the kind of understated minimalism that signals true luxury. The air smells like lavender, and the front desk is made out of a single block of weathered wood. Under our feet, the marble is shining. I bet it was quarried locally.
An attendant arrives to take our bags, and I slip my arm through Phillip's. His linen shirt is soft beneath my fingers. “I can't believe this is real.”
He presses a kiss to my temple. “Staying in a Winter Resort isn't a once-in-a-lifetime thing anymore,” he says, and he sounds just the tiniest bit smug.
Our room needs another hour to be ready, the attendant explains with a wide, serviceable smile, but would we like to enjoy a late lunch on the terrace?
“Definitely,” I say.
The receptionist steps around the beautiful counter to escort us there. “It’s right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Meyer.”
Phillip presses another kiss to my temple. “That’s right,” he murmurs. “You’re all mine now.”
My hand tightens around his arm. “And you’re all mine.”
The terrace overlooks the deep-blue Aegean Sea that stretches as far as the horizon. A few seagulls lazily glide overhead on currents of warm air. Next to the terrace is the hotel pool, surrounded by outdoor chaise lounges with shade umbrellas and tall olive trees in terracotta pots, providing much-needed relief from the scorching sun.
“Pinch me,” I whisper. “Right now.”
“Absolutely not,” he says. “That would be very un-husbandly.”
We are escorted to a table right at the edge of the terrace, overlooking the steep drop down to the adjacent white houses.
“After lunch, we’ll be more than happy to show you to your suite,” says our guide and gives us another beaming smile. “Nikos will be right out to take your order.”
