A Death at Seascape House: A totally unputdownable British cozy mystery novel (A Jemima Jago Mystery Book 1) by Emma Jameson

Author:Emma Jameson [Jameson, Emma]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781800193994
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2021-04-26T16:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

Confrontation on Crescent Beach

“Stargazer,” Rhys whispered close to her ear.

His breath on her skin was electric. Not hot—she’d been lying on Crescent Beach too long to be warmed by mere breath. Every inch of her exposed skin was browned, even the tops of her toes. Autumn and school loomed, and yet lying on her red-striped blanket, cut-off jeans over her swimsuit and straw hat propped to cover half her face, Jem believed her perfect summer would never end.

“Jemmie.” This time Rhys’s lips touched her skin. The charge rippled through her, like seismic rumbles beneath the sea. Could he see it, lying beside her, the way her stomach fluttered when he got this close?

He flipped her hat aside. The breeze caught it, tumbling it along the sand to the first clump of seagrass.

“Cheek!” Jem roared, sitting up.

Rhys grinned. Such a good-looking boy might’ve been intimidating, if not for that big, all-in grin. Rhys’s laugh was even better. When something tickled him, he screwed up his eyes, threw back his head, pressed both hands to his chest, and gave himself up to pure joy. Most of the sixteen-year-olds she knew were all about the cynical laugh, the faint half-smile, the aura of world-weariness and boredom. Maybe a bloke had to look like Rhys to laugh that way, body and soul.

“Get my hat,” she demanded.

“Ask me nicely.”

“Get. My. Hat.” She punctuated the last word with a middle finger.

He caught her hand, kissed the offending finger, and pulled her to him. Somehow their first kiss was always a little disjointed—mouth to cheek, or lips to nose, or foreheads conking together. It was still new. Still meltingly terrifying to Jem when his tongue slid against hers, or when he pressed so, so close.

But no matter how clumsily it started, once they fell into a rhythm, every little piece of her awakened, right down to the spinning electrons. There was nowhere she wanted to be but here on Crescent Beach, knees in the cool white sand, arms around Rhys as he kissed her.

An air horn blatted, making her jump. Rhys, kissing her ever more hungrily, didn’t even react. He squeezed Jem tight against him as the air horn blatted a second time.

“Are you two deaf?” Mrs. Reddy bellowed.

Jem pulled her face away. Of course, she already knew that Big Orange had rolled up on Crescent Beach. The air horn was a dead giveaway. Apparently, Mrs. Reddy had overused the golf cart’s original horn until it expired prematurely. Rather than learn from this, she’d gone to the Marine and Bait Shop and purchased a considerably more intrusive replacement.

But even on its fat beach-enabled wheels, Big Orange couldn’t venture into the soft sand without potentially getting stuck there. As a result, Mrs. Reddy stuck to the upper portion of the beach where there was plenty of seagrass for traction. When something displeased her she honked at the offenders. If honking didn’t rectify the error to her satisfaction, she clambered down from her flaming chariot, ready to go to battle.

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