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.”
“Right. Your side, my side,” she repeated, and dived in.
She put them out of her mind, concentrated on the movement, on cutting through the water, pushing off, cutting through again. Her body loosened; her brain cleared.
Twenty-five laps later, she felt human—wanted more coffee. She let herself sink down, rise up.
And saw Peabody and McNab, still there, floating side by side. To her surprise, she saw Roarke, sitting at one of the little tables, drinking coffee.
She sank again, pushed off again, swam underwater to the far end. She got out, dripping, reached for his coffee first, then a towel.
“Good morning,” Roarke said.
“It’s a better one now. I guess you’ve been dealing with the after-party breakdown.”
“Actually I had some other business. Summerset’s on that. How about some breakfast? I could do with some. I waited for you.”
“Sure, yeah.” When he merely arched his eyebrows at her, she turned around. “Breakfast, fifteen minutes, my office.”
Peabody flopped over, treading water. “That’d be sweet. It’s okay?”
“I just said so. Fifteen,” she repeated, and headed into the lush plants. “I used up my limited supply of gracious last night.”
“I don’t think Peabody or McNab require it. You’ll want some time to work with her. There’s no point in anyone going hungry while you do, is there?”
“I guess not. They were, you know—starting in on it when I came down. Her tits were half out of the suit.”
“Sorry I missed it.”
“You would be. Pervert.”