Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2)

by Gonzalez, Ani

  Joining Elizabeth in the bathroom was a very tempting idea.

  Too tempting.

  He glanced at the sofa as he sorted through his papers. Good thing he was buying a house. He wouldn't be able to stay in this room again without looking at that sofa and remembering Elizabeth's nakedness and bound hands. Or her long legs in torn black hose. Or her writhing body.

  He avoided the sofa, sat on an armchair, and balanced the laptop on his knees. He couldn't use the desk because it was covered with tea stuff. There was tea paraphernalia everywhere, all of it reminding him of the naked woman in the bathroom.

  And the trying-to-work thing? A complete failure. He'd come up with an idea that would get the ghost tours and the rest of PRoVE's paranormal agenda approved by the Town Council, but it still needed some work. He had to figure out a strategy. Unfortunately, he couldn't focus.

  He leaned back and closed his eyes. He always managed to focus on work. Always. Then again, he'd never had a naked Elizabeth Hunt taking a bath while he was trying to work. He didn't know what was wrong with him. They'd only had sex. He should be satisfied. Hell, he'd had naked women in his room before.

  Just not Elizabeth.

  His body didn't want to look through slides while Elizabeth Hunt took a leisurely bath a mere five feet away. No, his ramped-up nervous system wanted Elizabeth's long legs wrapped around his hips. Now.

  But he couldn't have that. This had been a one-time thing, just to get it out of his system, their systems. No way could he do that again, not with Elizabeth. Not with Cole's sister. No way. Although it wasn't about her being Cole's sister anymore. He liked being around Elizabeth too much. It wasn't the great sex that made him nervous though. It was the insane, yet strangely amusing, house hunt, the insightful comments, and the way she outmaneuvered him at every turn.

  The way he felt when he was with her, like the world was an adventure waiting to happen. The thought made him queasy. Adrenaline was surging through his body, the way it did when he analyzed the data for a really good deal. It was the feeling he got whenever he saw a particularly good investment. His gut was telling him to jump in.

  But he didn't need a relationship right now and he definitely didn't need Elizabeth's brand of crazy in his life. He also didn't want to know how the craziness would mutate once she found out his plans for the Banshee Creek makeover.

  Oh yes, he definitely didn't want to picture that.

  He needed a distraction, so he focused on the one thing that was irritating him right now: the stupid tea service. It had taken over every flat surface in the suite. The small dining table he'd been working on now had a lace tablecloth and a vase with pink flowers. Hell, white tablecloths with green-and-pink embroidery covered everything. Porcelain plates and teacups were piled next to the vase. A small basket held napkin-wrapped cutlery. The napkins were green-and-pink plaid napkins. A large silver tray with two teapots and various other small containers (sugar? cream? cyanide?) sat on the coffee table. Little towers with sandwiches and cakes sat on the desk, surrounded by small bowls with more flowers. There was a lot of green-and-pink frosting. The extravaganza that sat in the middle of the display, however, had pure white frosting sitting cloud-like over dark red cake.

  The Middleburg Inn didn't just serve afternoon tea, it provided an afternoon tea experience.

  He was beginning to agree with Elizabeth. Middleburg was too much.

  But all he had to do was wait a couple of minutes. In a couple of minutes, she'd get out of the bath, put on the clothes from the spa, eat her cakes and drink her tea, and go home. He focused on the clothes part. He could handle Elizabeth in sweats. He'd sit here with the laptop on his lap, the way God intended, and watch Elizabeth eat her own body weight in red velvet cake. Once she ate, he'd march her through the hotel and into the car, in sweats. Then he'd take her home, still in sweats.

  The door to the bedroom opened, and Elizabeth stepped out of the bedroom.

  She wasn't wearing sweats.

  Gabe stared at the computer on his lap. He tried to focus on work, although he sorely wanted to untie the belt of Elizabeth's robe and strangle her with it.

  "Is that the cake?" She clapped her hands in excitement. She clapped her hands, like a little kid. Who the hell did that? Elizabeth, that was who.

  "Of course it's the cake, Elizabeth. Along with the rest of their kitchen." His cranky tone did nothing to dissuade her. She approached the cake, and he stared, hypnotized, as she ran her finger through the frosting and licked it.

  "Really?" She held up an empty plate. "Then where are the curry puffs? They promised there would be some."

  He heard her fiddle with plates and such and tried to focus on the screen. He'd die before admitting that he'd eaten all the curry puffs. Elizabeth sauntered over to the leather sofa with her cake and sat down daintily. She put a plate with a large slice of cake on a side table and crossed her legs. The robe parted and he could see her thigh peeking out. He counted to ten, backward, in Spanish, then Portuguese.

  "Finish your cake," he growled, still staring at the screen. "Get dressed and I'll drive you home."

  She rolled her eyes. "Are you always this moody after sex?"

  "I have stitches in my head, a bruise on my left shoulder, and a cut on my right shoulder. Excuse me for not being in a jovial mood. Now, how about you finish your cake so we can leave before you cause me more bodily damage."

  "You weren't feeling those bruises ten minutes ago," she said with a smirk.

  "More like thirty. Your bath took so long, I'm surprised you didn't grow gills."

  Elizabeth leaned back and smiled. The top of the robe parted, giving him a front-row view of her cleavage. "You, my friend, have a serious case of post-coital grouchiness." Elizabeth licked icing off her finger. "Let me guess." More icing. "The hormones die down, the brain wakes up and you start thinking. You think too much, Gabe." She waved a sticky finger at him. "That's your problem."

  "And you don't think enough, Elizabeth, and that's your problem." That was true. If she had a working brain cell, she wouldn't be sitting across from him flashing skin. "Now scarf down your cake and get dressed. It's getting late."

  "Oh, no, my friend," she drawled. "One does not scarf down the Middleburg Inn's red velvet cake."

  Well, Elizabeth certainly didn't. She was happily eating dainty bites of cakes, occasionally picking up stray bits of frosting and licking them greedily, and in general, taking her own sweet time enjoying her treat.

  "This stuff is amazing," she continued. "I don't understand why Patricia's giving up on red velvet. Those stupid candy corn cannoli just don't compare."

  "She's giving up Banshee Creek Bakery?"

  "No." Elizabeth frowned at a piece of stray frosting on her pink-and-green napkin. "But she's giving the bakery a paranormal makeover. It's going to be called Out-of-this-World Cakes, and it's going to have a ghost logo. Well, it will if the Historical Preservation Committee lets her get away with it." She shook her head sadly. "Our town is going to hell in a hand basket." She popped the dollop of frosting into her mouth. "Anyway, I don't want to go home yet."

  "What game are you playing, Elizabeth?"

  She smiled. There was a bit of white frosting on her upper lip, and he dearly wanted to lick it off. She looked clean and sweet and not at all like the sexy hellcat who'd ordered him to pleasure her. Ms. Hellcat was still in there somewhere, though. He wondered if her nipples were hard. He couldn't tell under the bulky robe.

  And he really, really wanted to know.

  She got up from the sofa and untied her belt. Her robe swung open as she sauntered toward him, exposing tempting bits of flesh. She handed him the belt.

  He may have still resisted, but a hint of vulnerability crept into her eyes and something inside him unwound, gently, softly, in slow motion.

  He gave up the struggle when she leaned forward for a kiss. He tilted her chin so he could catch her upper lip between his teeth and lick off the sweet frosting. He then slipped his hand un
der her robe. Yes, her nipple was hard, and she moaned against his lips as he caressed her breasts. Her soft whimpers were sweeter than the frosting dissolving on his lips.

  He could smell his shampoo in her hair. Not the generic hotel shampoo, his shampoo—the sharp, citrusy one the personal stylist had convinced him to buy. She'd used his shampoo, and the thought made him hard. His hands fell to her waist and he broke the kiss gently. He was already growing possessive.

  Somehow she ended up sitting on his lap, her head buried in his chest.

  "What game are you playing, Elizabeth?" he repeated. He tightened his fingers on her nipple as he spoke. The slight pain made her gasp.

  "No game," she whispered. "I just don't want to go home. I want you to take that belt and tie me to the bed. I want you to make me beg. Then I want you to make me come." Ms. Hellcat took his hand and guided it between her legs. "I want you to make me come until I pass out." She grabbed his hand and pressed it against herself. She was wet already. So wet his flesh glided smoothly over the sensitive nub. Her hips jerked as she used his finger to stroke herself. Her eyes closed as another spasm shuddered through her body, and he watched her intently, wanting to see her come. He felt the telltale jerk of her hips. Her hand trembled, then stopped. Her eyes opened, bright and slightly unfocused. He knew the sight of Elizabeth's body, taut with frustrated desire, would be etched into his memory.

  "Do you think..." she whispered.

  He interrupted her by pressing his fingers into her body. Her eyes widened, and he felt a surge of wetness hit his pants.

  Elizabeth was murder on his clothes.

  And he didn't care.

  Her fingers clenched around his hand and her legs tightened. The little minx was trying to keep herself from coming. Too bad. He found the tiny spot inside that he'd discovered just a few hours ago. Her thighs shook and her voice came out low and ragged.

  "Do you think—" she took a shaky breath. "Think you can do that?"

  Oh, yes. Yes, indeed.

  She closed her eyes and bit her lip. Her hand tightened around his wrist. She was close, very close.

  Then the chorus to "Born to be Wild" rang out, and Gabe bit back a curse.

  Elizabeth's eyes fluttered, but it was too late. He felt her muscles tighten around him as the orgasm overtook her.

  The phone kept ringing.

  He held her, feeling the aftershocks run through her body. Finally, she lay still.

  "Your phone," she gasped.

  "That's Zach's ringtone. He can wait."

  He was content to sit there with Elizabeth on his lap, but another shrill whistle rang out. Elizabeth straightened.

  "That's my phone." She tried to wriggle out of his lap, but he held on.

  "Let it ring."

  "I can't." She pushed his arms away, climbed out of his lap, and dug around her purse. "It's probably the seller's agent calling to complain about the broken lock." She found the phone. "Hello?" Her eyes narrowed. "Zach? What the hell?" She didn't look happy. "No, I can't come pick you up."

  Gabe leaned back and watched as Elizabeth paced around the suite, robe billowing. His body really didn't want to sit and watch, but he forced himself to conjugate Latin verbs and wait. He had a feeling the phrase "deferred gratification" was firmly planted in his immediate future.

  Maybe it was all for the best.

  "I don't care if you didn't know she was still married." Elizabeth's voice rose in outrage. "Oh, her husband showed up, did he? Why do I care? And why would I help you, traitor? Call one of your PRoVE friends. They're good at midnight emergencies."

  She tapped her foot as she listened to Zach's excuses. Big mistake. The best way to deal with Zach's "emergencies" was to hang up immediately.

  "I don't care if you left your pants," she said in a more subdued tone. He could tell Zach was winning because she crossed her arms defensively. "I know it's raining." She sighed. "Yes, I know it's cold. Zach." She closed her eyes in resignation.

  Gabe stepped forward and took the phone from her hand. "Call someone else, Zach." He really didn't want to drive off and bail Zach out.

  "I don't have anyone else. I'm freezing here, Gabe. I can't walk home."

  "Call Mom."

  "Are you crazy? I'm not calling Mom. No way."

  "Fine, I'll call her then."

  "No, Gabe, wait..."

  Gabe ended the call and turned to Elizabeth. Her eyes sparkled in merriment. "Don't you dare laugh," he told her. "We should leave him to freeze. It would be a public service."

  "We can't do that," she said with a sigh. "My mom would kill us. Your mom would kill us. Zach's harem would kill us." She took the phone from him and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I'm going to clean up and get dressed."

  He watched her walk away. He should take her home after they rescued his feckless brother. Then come back to the hotel and take an ice-cold shower. That should be the plan. Unfortunately, it didn't sound like a really good plan, at least not right now.

  Elizabeth paused in the doorway and looked back at him.

  "But don't worry, Gabe. You still owe me." The mischievous smile was back. "And I plan to collect."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ELIZABETH WAS back in the passenger seat of the Ferrari, trying to enjoy the ride. In a few minutes they would pick up Zach and she'd have to fold herself into the back seat. Well, origami herself would be more like it. The car's minuscule back seat was built to accommodate golf clubs and briefcases, not human beings. She'd have to twist herself into a pretzel to fit, her neck would start hurting, and her legs would go numb.

  But right now she wished her ears would go numb. Gabe had spent the past ten minutes complaining about Zach. They'd left the Middleburg Inn and crossed the town, and Gabe had complained about Zach. They'd left the town and headed north, and Gabe had complained about Zach. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of Zach's various scrapes and close shaves. He could probably spend the next ten hours complaining about Zach.

  It was going to be a long ride.

  "Why the hell is he stranded, during a storm, in the middle of fucking nowhere?" Gabe snarled. The car was accelerating. The more upset Gabe became, the more he accelerated, the car springing dangerously down the country roads. "I'm sure it's a girl," he continued. "It's always a girl with Zach."

  "Zach tends to exaggerate," she replied in a soothing tone. "Maybe it's not that bad."

  This was Zach they were talking about, so probably not, but hope springs eternal and so forth. She had no reason to defend the guy who'd spoiled her dream evening with Gabe. But she knew that when it came to Zach Franco, it was hard to stay mad.

  Although Gabe seemed to have no trouble doing so.

  "You know her. It's the girl he dated in high school. Whatsername? Mary?" He made a sharp turn into a private drive, and Elizabeth's hands tightened on the seat

  "Maureen Sands?" She couldn't keep the distaste from her voice. "Zach's still seeing Maureen the Menace?"

  Maureen and Zach had been an item throughout high school. They'd skipped class together, attended the prom together and, rumor had it, had done a short stint in juvie together. Then Zach had decided to go to Berklee College of Music, over his girlfriend's strenuous objections. Maureen liked nice shoes and expensive handbags and wasn't made to be a working musician's wife.

  "But she's married." She struggled to remember old gossip. "She met someone in college, a business school student or something." The marriage news had been surprising because, while Zach was a merry prankster, Maureen was, well, a psycho. Who would marry a psycho?

  "Yep, someone wealthy and not too smart married Maureen." He'd slowed down and seemed to be looking for the house numbers.

  "So is Zach in love?"

  "Of course he's not," Gabe scoffed. "She just knows how to push his buttons. When her husband ignores her, she calls Zach and spins him a sad story." He squinted at a tiny sign perched on a tree. "Lately, she's been telling him she's separated from her husband." He drove toward the next
house.

  "Is that true?"

  "Not as far as anyone can tell. But it may explain why Zach finally buckled."

  "Oh, no." She winced in sympathy. "Poor Zach."

  He snorted. "More like idiot Zach."

  "You could be a bit more sympathetic."

  "Why are you defending him? I thought you were mad at him?"

  "Well, yes. I should be furious. He knifed me in the back with the pizzeria remodel." She reconsidered. "Although, I think machete'd would be a better term."

  "Have you been inside?" he asked in a carefully modulated tone.

  "Not yet. The big reveal is tonight, isn't it? Why isn't he supervising?"

  "That's a good question. I guess Maureen can be very persuasive." He checked the clock. "Great, it's almost time for the pizzeria opening. We have to get Zach there pronto." He pressed the accelerator and the car jerked forward.

  "Now you're worried." She rolled her eyes. "What am I saying? Of course you're worried. You probably funded the remodel."

  "No. He wouldn't take my money. Anyway, it's his business. He can do whatever he wants with it."

  "Not if the Historical Preservation Committee has anything to say about it."

  And they would have plenty to say about it, several pages of new regulations extending their jurisdiction to interior remodels, to start.

  "The Committee has to stop interfering," Gabe said firmly. "They're killing the local economy."

  She frowned at that. She'd been trying to neutralize Gabe's anger toward his brother, but it appeared she'd done too good a job. She didn't want Gabe defending the paranormalization of their town. "Do you really want to see the town turned into a theme park?"

  "It's not a theme park, Elizabeth." His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "It's just businesses taking advantage of a favorable commercial environment. The paranormal stuff is in. People have a right to cash in on it."