Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2)

by Gonzalez, Ani

  Oh yes, she was going to lie on the bed and give herself an amazing orgasm. Then, she was going to take a bath and give herself another one. Then she would go to sleep. There, a plan.

  She wouldn't do any thinking at all.

  And, hey, she wasn't selfish. Gabe Franco could go fuck himself, too.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  GABE RETURNED to his hotel suite and sighed with relief. The tea paraphernalia was gone and his suite was back to normal. His computer sat on the desk. The pillows on the sofa were artfully arranged. Everything was neat and organized.

  Just the way he liked it.

  There was no trace of Elizabeth left in the room. Nothing to indicate that she'd sat on that sofa, legs spread, begging him to touch her. Nothing to remind him that she'd climbed into his lap, naked under the bathrobe, and he'd fingered her to orgasm. Nothing to remind him of her breathy pleas and wicked lips.

  Nothing but the memories etched in his brain.

  It had taken every single ounce of self-control he possessed to walk away from her. To push her away and walk to the car.

  Every. Single. Ounce.

  He'd been fine at first, but Elizabeth was smart. She'd figured out his weak spots pretty quickly. He'd been turned on by her kisses, but he'd still been in control. By only a thread, but still in control.

  Then she'd begged him to pull her hair.

  That had almost broken him. He'd wanted her so badly, it scared him.

  He walked to the bedroom, opened a drawer, and took out the ridiculous silk pajamas the personal stylist had chosen for him. What would Elizabeth think of his ludicrously expensive sleepwear? He smiled. She'd probably laugh and run out and get him some sweatpants, maybe ones with ghost silhouettes.

  He walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth. The room was spotless. The towels were folded neatly. The little plastic bottles were perfectly lined. There was no sign that anyone had taken a bath here.

  Damn, he missed her.

  It was as if he'd been living in an enclosed room, dark and musty, and suddenly felt fresh air and sunlight coming in from an open window. Now, alone in his quiet, excruciatingly neat hotel suite, he felt like the window had been closed, leaving him alone in the dark. Okay, maybe that was a bit melodramatic. But still, he was definitely alone with a stack of hand towels folded in the shape of horseshoes.

  He missed her laughter and her teasing. He missed the crazy house hunting and the outlandish arguments. Hell, he even missed the stupid tea service from hell. Those curry puff things weren't bad at all.

  But leaving her was the right decision. She needed to think things through.

  And so did he. But not about Elizabeth. That decision was made. He was going to have her. Simple as that.

  And he was going to keep her.

  The phone rang, interrupting his musings. He glanced at the screen and saw Salvador's name. Yep, that was something else he had to handle.

  He accepted the call with a sigh of resignation. "Cell phone abuse causes cancer," he said into the phone. "I'm sure I read that somewhere."

  "Really?" Salvador replied, smooth as silk. "I hope it wasn't today, seeing how you're supposed to be busy figuring out how to get the ghost tours reapproved."

  "Done."

  "This is vitally important, and I can't believe—" He paused. "Wait, what did you say?"

  "It's done. I know how to get the Town Council on board."

  Silence. Gabe smiled. He'd managed to render Salvador Acosta speechless. This one was going on the record books.

  "Excellent," his business partner replied happily. "Send me the slides. I can set up a conference call..."

  "Not yet," he interrupted. "I still need to set it up."

  "But we can announce—"

  "No."

  Salvador gave an exasperated sigh. "It's the alien princess, isn't it?"

  He ignored the question. He was getting the ghost tours approved. That was all that Salvador should be worried about. "It'll take me a couple of days, but everything should be in place by next week. I'll be in touch."

  He hung up before Salvador could reply. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have right now, mostly because his business partner's suspicions were correct.

  It was Elizabeth.

  He'd figured out how to handle the Town Council but he still had no idea how to deal with his prickly alien princess. She wasn't going to be happy about the ghost tours and he had to find a way to finesse that. He wasn't sure how he was going to do it, but he'd find a way.

  Unfortunately, he couldn't concentrate right now. Not with images of a bathrobe-clad Elizabeth invading his thoughts.

  He entered the bathroom and headed for the shower, studiously avoiding the enormous bathtub in the middle of the room. Unfortunately, his imagination supplied the missing image—Elizabeth submerged in bubbles, hair piled up on her head, eyes closed in bliss.

  He turned on the water, choosing the coldest setting. Very unpleasant.

  But also very necessary.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  HER TRUSTY del Sol wheezed loudly as it climbed up the steep street, but finally made it up the hill and onto Casa Franco. Elizabeth put the car in first gear, turned the wheel, and leaned back against the seat. She'd made it to the house, and the chocolate cake her mother had made for Mrs. Franco was still in one piece. Mission accomplished.

  She took a deep breath. Now for the hard part.

  She stepped out of the car, balancing the cake precariously. She spied a couple of cars parked on the street. Zach's truck was parked under an oak tree next to Mrs. Franco's old station wagon, which still bore her sons' college decals, one from Berkelee School of Music and another one from Harvard University. But she didn't see a red Ferrari anywhere. She felt herself relax. Her early arrival had paid off.

  She'd enjoyed the interlude in Gabe's hotel suite. How could one not enjoy sitting in a gorgeous guy's room, in a robe and nothing else, eating red velvet cake? Gabe's eyes had been fixed on his computer, but every so often they would wander to her legs, her hair, her mouth. That had been fun.

  Until fun turned into something else. Until the moms saw her, disheveled in a pair of hotel sweats with his arm around her waist.

  And that hadn't even been the worst part.

  That had been when Gabe had taken her home in the soft-as-silk Middleburg sweats, holding a Middleburg Inn Spa bag with her wet clothes. He'd kissed her, and she'd looked into his eyes and seen something dark and smoldering and not fun.

  Okay, maybe dark, smoldering fun.

  But dark, smoldering fun with Gabe Franco no longer sounded like fun. It sounded dangerous. Mainly because she liked being caught by Gabe Franco, and she liked arguing about tacky houses with Gabe Franco and she liked feeling his arms around her. Liked it a bit too much. Which meant that this was no longer fun and games. This was no longer a harmless fantasy. This was real. The kind of real that involved falling in love, talking about the future, making plans. Dealing with their families. Meeting expectations.

  That was why she was taking no chances. She meant to deliver her mother's cake, kiss Mrs. Franco on the cheek, and drive away as far as her antiquated Honda could manage, hopefully before Gabe's Ferrari made it into the Franco driveway. Her mom could take care of the Grotto House paperwork all by herself. In a couple of days, Gabe would be gone. All she had to do was avoid him for, oh, forty-eight hours or so.

  She could manage forty-eight hours.

  Bearing the cake, Elizabeth finally reached the front porch and rang the doorbell. Relieved, she looked around appreciatively. Mrs. Franco's tidy farmhouse hadn't changed. It still looked pretty and neat, with yellow paint and white trim. The house had been a wreck when the Francos bought it, but Mr. Franco had fixed it up beautifully.

  No one answered the bell. It was a beautiful autumn day, mild and sunny. Everyone must be outside playing football. Having met the politeness requirement, she carefully steadied her cake carrier as she pushed open the heavy wood door.
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  The house was just as she remembered, full of books and freshly polished Queen Anne furniture. Mrs. Franco was a library volunteer as well as the pizzeria's bookkeeper. Her house was a cozy mix of hardcover books, chess trophies, and colorfully mismatched needlepoint pillows. It was miles away from the immaculate perfection of the Hunt house.

  And Elizabeth loved it.

  The foyer walls held family pictures and newspaper clippings. Zach's Battle of the Bands victories, Gabe's math awards, Sebastian's playbills and, holding pride of place, pictures of various local chess teams holding trophies. Mr. Franco's teams had won countless chess tournaments during his reign as Banshee Creek High's chess coach and, apparently, he'd framed every single one of them. A few of the photos featured a young Gabe holding an unwieldy trophy. He looked adorable. Elizabeth smiled as she headed toward the kitchen in the back of the house. The old wood floor squeaked under her feet.

  Her presence didn't go totally unremarked. Sato, a fat, famously flatulent dog that had basset hound somewhere in his ancestry and maybe a bit of Rottweiler, ambled over for a pat on the head, and she complied eagerly. Big dogs were irresistible. After an energetic greeting with much nuzzling and licking, the large mutt bumped his head against her knees and pushed her toward the back of the house.

  As she entered the kitchen, she saw Mrs. Franco come in through the sliding door to the patio, followed by Zach. The small, elegant woman with short, dark hair greeted her warmly, and Elizabeth found herself enveloped in a tight hug that was quite uncharacteristic for the reserved Mrs. Franco.

  Zach waved at Elizabeth absentmindedly and grabbed the cake box.

  Sato sniffed her curiously and drooled on her naked legs. The day was warm enough that she didn't have to wear tights, and she was grateful. She wanted to avoid hanky-panky with Gabe, and dark tights seemed to have an aphrodisiac effect on him. Having fulfilled his party host duties, Sato walked over to his dog bed and laid down.

  "It's so nice to see you, Elizabeth." Mrs. Franco hugged her tightly again. "Mary told me you're working with Gabe. That's wonderful."

  "Was working with Gabe," Elizabeth corrected. "Past tense. Gabe found a house." She couldn't conceal her relief. She didn't like the house Gabe had chosen, but at least the house hunt was done. Which meant their relationship could now enter the Avoid-Gabe-Like-the-Plague stage.

  "No."

  The word was a heat-seeking missile aimed at her carefully laid-out plans.

  "My grandchildren will not grow up in that skanky house." Mrs. Franco held her at arm's length, her face kind but serious.

  Wow. She wouldn't have guessed that Gabe's mom knew the word skanky.

  "Uh, Mrs. Franco," she started.

  "Call me Isabel," Mrs. Franco replied quickly.

  Elizabeth winced. She didn't want to call Mrs. Franco by her first name. That was a prospective daughter-in-law privilege she was determined to avoid. She cheered up when she saw Zach cutting fruit in the kitchen. Chopped fruit meant sangría, and she needed a drink, desperately.

  "Um, Mrs. Franco. He really liked the house. He's going to buy it."

  "No, he's not," Mrs. Franco said firmly as she opened a drawer, and Sato's head jerked up. He looked at her, eyes liquid, as if expecting a treat. She took some silverware out of the drawer, and the dog laid back on his pillow, disappointed.

  "C'mon, Mom," Zach interrupted. "It's just a house."

  "That is not a house. It's a monstrosity. I'm very disappointed, Elizabeth. Mary assured me that you'd find my son a home."

  She winced. She was beginning to understand how Gabe's mom had forced him to buy a house in Virginia. Mrs. Franco was tenacious. Well, he could deal with his mom all by himself. She was going to extricate herself from this conversation and head out the door as soon as possible. Politeness required that she stay for a while, but how long was the minimum stay? Fifteen minutes? Could she get away with ten?

  "Don't start a fight with Gabe, Mom," Zach interjected. "I'm already fighting with him about the pizzeria and it's really not fair to open a separate front."

  But Mrs. Franco kept her focus on Elizabeth. "How could you show him that...thing?"

  "It's the right size," she replied sheepishly. "And it's in the right neighborhood."

  "And those aren't the only things it gets right, ah, Elizabeth?" Zach smirked at her, and she glared back.

  Mrs. Franco shook her head. "That house has a history, Elizabeth."

  "A fun history," Zach said, earning a swat from his mother's wooden spoon.

  "My children had better not be familiar with the history of that house," Mrs. Franco warned.

  Zach tried to look innocent. He was very convincing. Elizabeth's acting teachers would have been very impressed.

  Mrs. Franco aimed a threatening glare at her son, then turned back to her. "Young lady." She enunciated the words carefully. "That house is not a family house. You haven't been around so you have no idea."

  Elizabeth disagreed. Her mother had shared plenty last night after she'd told her about Gabe's plans. Her mom hadn't been happy about the Grotto house either.

  "My son," Mrs. Franco continued, "will not live in that house." She turned toward the oven, waving the wooden spoon, and Elizabeth glanced beseechingly at Zach.

  "Mom," he said patiently. "Gabe is going to buy a house. You wanted him to buy a house. You guys fought for months about him buying a stupid house. You finally got his accountant to find a tax break, and he's buying a house. You won. Take your victory and be done with it. And be nice to Elizabeth. She brought chocolate cake. Thank you, Elizabeth. You've saved me."

  "You're welcome," she said, trying to change the subject. "But it looks like you have plenty of desserts to choose from." She could see a cheesecake dripping red syrup and a white-frosted cake. Were there tiny green flecks on the white frosting? They looked delicious. Of course, one couldn't judge a book by its cover, especially with Mrs. Franco's desserts.

  He made a face. "I hate guava." He glared at his mother. "I particularly hate guava recipes from that stupid Nuevo Latino cookbook you found in the library."

  "It's not guava. It's a pomegranate cardamom glaze," Mrs. Franco corrected.

  He shuddered. "That's even worse."

  "I think you should use it in the pizzeria," Mrs. Franco replied, unfazed. "You could call it—" she smiled broadly, "—the Screech Cheesecake."

  They stared at her, completely befuddled.

  "I think she means Scream, as in the movie," Zach said, sotto voce, to Elizabeth. "I don't need any desserts, Mom," he said in a louder voice. "Caine brings in his sister's icebox cakes." He leaned toward Elizabeth conspiratorially. "I tell everyone they're gelato."

  Mrs. Franco ignored her son, opened the fridge, and took out a bowl. "I also made the ginger-lime tres leches you like, Elizabeth." She presented the bowl with a flourish. "We could call this one..." She paused for dramatic effect. "The Slider Cake."

  "The what?" he asked, brows knotting in confusion.

  "Slider," she said firmly, opening a drawer. "The green ghost in the Bill Murray movie. You know, the one I like."

  "He's called Slimer, Mom," he replied. "And I'm not serving anything slime-related. We're going for kitschy fun, not grossness."

  "You're such a party pooper," Elizabeth interjected. "The ginger-lime tres leches is my favorite."

  "You have no pride, do you, Hunt?" Zach murmured.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Franco," she concluded, ignoring him. Tres leches cake was consistently immune to Mrs. Franco's culinary clumsiness, and her ginger-lime concoction was actually fabulous. Of course, there was no denying the fact that Mrs. Franco had slaved over a particularly difficult dessert in order to please her son's girlfriend.

  "Mary's chocolate cake, however, always turns out perfect," Zach told her. "At least I'll have something to eat." He lifted the cake from the carrier and placed it on a cake stand. He beamed at the cake. "For this, I'll sneak in another plain pork chop on the grill. Otherwise you'd be stuck eatin
g Mom's special pork chops."

  "Thanks, Zach," she whispered back.

  "You're stuck with the mashed potatoes, though."

  "I like mashed potatoes."

  "The mashed potatoes—" He smirked. "—are green."

  Mrs. Franco heard that and her face broke into a wide smile. "It's Monster Mash," she said brightly, and Zach groaned. Mrs. Franco rolled her eyes and, bowl and serving spoon firmly in hand, walked off to the patio.

  "Don't worry about the house," Zach said once his mom was out of earshot. "It's okay if it doesn't work out."

  She frowned in confusion. "I thought your mom wanted your brother to buy something."

  He chuckled. "You're such a slowpoke, Hunt. That's what she told Gabe, but she just wanted him to come home and go on a house hunt with you. You guys have been set up."

  "What?" she asked, although his words rang true. A wave of queasiness hit her. She should have trusted her instincts. This lunch was a trap.

  He gave her a mischievous glance. "I don't suppose you guys plan to announce an engagement today? It would make lunch much more pleasant."

  She glared. "Don't make me hurt you," she said, thinking fast. "Apologize to your mom for me. Tell her I got a client call, or a sudden stomach virus. Or both."

  Zach didn't answer. He was looking out a side window. Elizabeth followed his gaze. She saw a cloudless blue sky framed by trees laden with golden leaves. She saw her trusty del Sol and Zach's truck. She saw the driveway.

  And a red Ferrari rapidly approaching the house.

  She slumped in dismay, but Zach smiled broadly.

  "Too late, Hunt. Get ready to rumble."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  GABE PUSHED open the front door and carried two large paper bags into the house. He kicked the door and winced when it closed with an unfamiliar muffled thud. He avoided the foyer's squeaky floor adroitly and turned left into the den. He paused to listen. Was his mom in the kitchen? If so, he'd have to wait until she left to bring the bags in.