Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2)

by Gonzalez, Ani

  "Lorelei Danvers is a sweetheart. She hardly ever manifests and, when she does, she just alphabetizes the medicine cabinets. Anyway, look at the house." She waved toward the porch. "It's beautiful."

  "It has its charm," he conceded grudgingly. "It's also old and outdated. And purple, it's very purple."

  Now that was unfair. The paint was so old it didn't even look purple anymore. It was more of a soft gray. But Gabe didn't seem in any hurry to get out of the car and look through the property. He sat placidly in the driver's seat, his right hand wrapped around the gearshift, as if ready to take off.

  "It's not old," she said in her most persuasive tone. "It's vintage, and vintage is charming. The purple paint can be painted over." She unbuckled herself and opened the car door. "You could paint it gray, or maybe beige."

  She got out of the car, congratulating herself on finally mastering the Ferrari seatbelt buckle. She felt optimistic. The beige comment would do the trick. Gabe was definitely a beige type of person.

  She pulled a quilted duffle bag out of the miniscule back seat and headed for the house. He stepped out of the car and followed her reluctantly. She could feel his eyes on her legs as she walked toward the hotel. He was trying to find out if she was really wearing garters. The thought made her smile. Well, he'll find out soon enough.

  "My understanding is that Ms. Danvers likes the purple paint," he was saying. "And what's with the bag? Do we need ghost protection equipment?"

  She ignored the question. The bag was her little secret. "Oh, c'mon. You grew up handling a tantrum-throwing telekinetic thingamajig. You're not going to let an elderly lady with a serious OCD problem intimidate you, are you?"

  "Ms. Danvers is very particular. I remember when your brother tried to plant pink azaleas. Ms. Danvers didn't like the color and she made her feelings known."

  "My brother, may he rest in peace, was prone to exaggeration. He just got a little muddy. And the purple clematis he ended up planting was lovely."

  She climbed the steps to the front porch, which looked very pretty with a white beadboard ceiling and green rocking chairs. She opened the door and stepped inside the house. Gabe followed, tapping skeptically at the stained-glass insert in the door.

  "Leave it alone. It's not going to break."

  The foyer was neat and tidy, with a worn wood floor and curving staircase topped by an intricately carved balustrade. Brightly colored globes hung from a curving light fixture affixed to the ceiling. One of the light bulbs had gone out and hadn't yet been replaced, so the chandelier cast a lopsided shadow on the floor.

  A large envelope with her name lay on a round table in the foyer. She opened it and took out the room key, then turned around to face her companion. He was examining the lock on the door. He looked up and tapped on the stained glass again. He didn't look pleased.

  "The security features leave something to be desired," he said drily.

  Elizabeth debated whether to defend the Rosemoor, but decided against. Ulterior motive, Elizabeth, focus on your ulterior motive. "The locks can be changed," she said as she jingled the keys enticingly. "Follow me."

  She headed up the stairs. Gabe followed her at a sedate pace, and Elizabeth hoped he was getting a good look at her hose-clad legs.

  "Are those room keys? I thought we were just going to look through it."

  "We will." She turned around. "Later."

  "Have you been here before?"

  "Of course. The Rosemoor is a local institution."

  She'd been here several times. Her most memorable visit had been a sleepover with her high school friends in the turret. It had been Mimi's quince, and they'd had a very disappointing Ouija board session. Apparently, Ms. Danver hated séances as much as she hated pink flowers. So instead of conjuring the dead, they'd talked about boys and making out. Well, mostly the theoretical aspects of boys and making out, as the Banshee Creek High Drama Club had little practical experience in the matter. But one of the girls had brought a pretty racy Japanese manga comic book, and it turned out to be an educational evening.

  She crossed the landing and headed down the hallway. "You haven't been here before?"

  "Yes, but I've never been inside. The owners used to order extra mushrooms though. Good tippers too." His fingers traced the flowered wallpaper on the walls. "It's a bit girly, isn't it?"

  "Oh yes." Her lips curved into a secretive smile. "Very girly."

  There was a small spiral staircase at the end of the hallway. She tested the handrail, made sure it didn't crumble to the ground, and climbed up.

  "It has charm and lots of rooms. I can see how you could turn it back into a residence, but—" he paused, "—do you really like it?"

  He didn't sound happy. And why was he asking for her opinion now? Talk about rotten timing. She liked the Rosemoor a lot, but it wasn't because of its potential as a single family home.

  "I like some of its, um, special features." She chose not to elaborate and kept on climbing.

  The spiral staircase led to a door. She tried to unlock it, but the key from the foyer table didn't seem to work.

  "What kind of special features?"

  "It has a turret." She pulled and twisted the knob. The door refused to budge. "This turret. If only—" she banged the wood "—I could get this thing to open."

  Nothing worked. The locks Gabe had mocked were actually pretty solid.

  He took the key from her hand, put it in the lock, jiggled it, and opened the door. He gave her back the key with a smile, and waved her into the room.

  "A turret?" he asked, sounding equal parts amused and alarmed.

  "Yes."

  She examined the room as she placed the duffle bag on the window seat and removed her jacket and scarf. It was exactly as she remembered it. Cream-colored wallpaper with purple hydrangeas, a queen-sized bed with a purple patchwork quilt, a white dresser, mint green drapes, and a metal trellis bolted to a wall. She threw her jacket on the bed and pulled on the trellis. It was bolted firmly.

  "Perfect," she said.

  "What's so perfect about a turret?" Gabe sounded unconvinced.

  Well, enlightenment was mere seconds away.

  She approached the bed and bent to retrieve something from the pocket of her jacket. She made sure her position gave Gabe a nice view of her skirt climbing up her butt. The tops of her garters would be quite clear now. She heard him clear his throat, a surprisingly pleasing sound. She was beginning to get the hang of this Sex Kitten persona. It was fun. She turned, pushing one leg forward to give him a better view.

  His eyes were riveted on her, and the intensity of his gaze made shivers run up her spine.

  She knew this feeling, half thrill, half fear. It felt a bit like doing the Cannibal Clones finale stunt where Princess Verdala jumped off a burning bridge into a fiery pit. Sure, she'd had a harness to hold her up and a giant air mattress to fall into, but it was still scary.

  She felt a sharp metallic edge in the pocket and took out a pair of handcuffs and a condom. Gabe's eye's widened almost imperceptibly, but he didn't react. Instead, he waited, his gaze focused on her hand, to see what she planned to do.

  She straightened, walked toward him, and handed him the items.

  "The perfect thing about a turret," she whispered, "is what you can do in it."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  GABE BARELY felt the cold metal of the handcuffs in his hand. His gaze was riveted on the thin strip of skin he could see under the hem of Elizabeth's skirt.

  Even the horror of the purple monstrosity she seemed to love couldn't distract him from her aroused body. He really should tear his eyes away and explain that he had no intention of living in a giant purple meringue, but she fingered the hem of her skirt invitingly, and a surge of desire ran through him. A streak of fear contaminated the rising arousal. Gabe relished mastery and discipline, and now he could feel his self-control slipping out of his grasp.

  "Don't," he said.

  His fingers caressed the sharp, cold edge
of the metal handcuffs as he said the words. He willed his hand into stillness. This was a fantasy come to life, even if it wasn't what he'd planned to do today. He'd wanted to have a leisurely day looking at houses, talking to Elizabeth, and figuring out how to allay her fears. He hadn't planned another bout of lovemaking, let alone a kinky makeout session in a house with an extremely prudish resident spook.

  Elizabeth, however, had other plans.

  "I'm really not sure about this," he said.

  The brain-killing smile bloomed. It was her same blinding smile she'd aimed at him in the library parking lot. It erased all thoughts from his mind. What was it that he wanted to talk about again? He'd forgotten.

  Elizabeth put her arms out, one wrist over the other. "I am," she whispered.

  All thoughts fled his brain, save for one. Time to show her who was in charge.

  He walked to the metal trellis, the one she'd admired so much when she'd entered the room. It was the ugliest thing he'd seen all week, and that was saying something, considering the houses Elizabeth had shown him so far. But her eyes followed him intently as he approached it. Her arms had fallen to her sides and her lips were parted. Oh, yes. She liked the trellis.

  She must have been thinking about it all day. As they'd walked through the ridiculously futuristic house she'd just shown him, she'd been picturing this room and this trellis. She'd been thinking about it for hours.

  And he hadn't known.

  When had she first visited this room? Years ago? Had she been fantasizing about the trellis for that long? Or had that silly movie in the grotto given her the idea? Still, this was no shallow impulse on her part. This had been brewing in her sexy, twisted mind for a while. He felt humbled. And scared. She was giving him something precious, and he wasn't very good at handling precious things.

  He traced the curves of the trellis with his fingers. She took a step forward. He held up his hand, and she stopped.

  He put the condom in his pocket, pressed the lever on the handcuffs, and opened them.

  She stared at the metal restraints and licked her lips.

  He hung the cuff on the trellis.

  Her eyes widened.

  He locked it with a sharp click. The sound echoed in the stillness of the room.

  She held her breath.

  "Not yet." He smiled. "You haven't earned it yet."

  He found a spindly chair next to the trellis. Good lord, everything in this place looked like it had been manufactured by elves. It would have to do, though. He turned the chair and sat on it, arms over the back.

  "You've been thinking about this all day, Elizabeth. You've been walking next to me all day, feeling the scrape of your naughty underwear, fingering the cuffs in your pocket. Am I right?"

  She nodded.

  "And you didn't tell me." He sighed. "Take off your panties."

  She started to pull on her skirt.

  "Not the skirt, just the panties," he said.

  She hesitated.

  "Do it, Elizabeth."

  He didn't intend for the order to sound quite so harsh, but he couldn't help it either. Elizabeth's head jerked up and she undid the garters clumsily, dragging the lacy strip of cloth down her legs. Her panties were beige, which surprised him. Did she not have black panties to go with the garters? Apparently not. The mismatched underwear excited him even more. She hadn't had time to go shopping. She'd wanted the fantasy so badly, she hadn't wanted to wait.

  But now that she had what she wanted, she seemed uncertain. She held the underwear gingerly.

  "Give them to me, Elizabeth."

  She walked toward him hesitantly. He waited impatiently until she dropped the scrap of cloth into his hand. The fabric was very wet, and he felt himself grow hard as he caressed the moisture.

  "Have you been wet all day?"

  She nodded.

  "You should have told me. I'm not happy with you. Not happy at all."

  She bit her lip uncertainly. "I wasn't sure you'd go along with it."

  "Really? What part of naked Elizabeth chained to a wall did you think I'd have problems with?"

  She gestured toward the wallpaper. "It's so flowery," she said uncertainly.

  She had a point there, not that he was going to admit it now.

  "Well, you'd better distract me from the flowers, then." His eyes fell on her wooly top. It was fluffy and dark and covered way too much. "Take off your sweater."

  She pulled the bottom of the sweater up, exposing a thin beige camisole. He stifled a groan. What was it with Elizabeth and camisoles? Couldn't she just wear a bra? Thankfully, the horrid thing was very thin. He could make out the outline of her breasts and her jutting nipples.

  Sensitive.

  Vulnerable.

  Beautiful.

  "How long, Elizabeth?"

  She looked confused.

  "How long have you been fantasizing about the trellis?"

  She stifled a nervous giggle. "A long time."

  "Always tied up?"

  She cleared her throat.

  "I asked a question."

  "Yes," she said in a low voice.

  "Do you touch yourself when you think about it?"

  "Yes." Her voice was a whisper now.

  "Show me."

  Her eyes widened. She stood still for an endless moment. She hadn't taken off that silly camisole, and her hand moved up, over the skimpy bit of cloth that barely covered her belly. He'd let her keep it for now. Eventually she'd grow too excited, the thin cloth would be too much of a barrier, and she'd tear it off. He wanted to see her naked body, but more than that, he wanted to see her tearing it off in desperate desire.

  He held his breath. Her fingers reached the underside of her breast and her eyelids dropped.

  "Open your eyes."

  Her hazel eyes were wide and dark.

  "Look at me while you touch yourself. See what it does to me."

  She touched her nipple softly, gently. It barely counted as a caress. She seemed to want to comply with his order, but reveal as little as possible. Whatever the trellis meant, she meant to keep it private. He should let her have her secret. He should let her keep her hidden place.

  Too bad he couldn't do that.

  "Harder."

  Her fingers tightened around her nipple. She frowned, trying to maintain control, but she was too excited. A whole day's worth of desire, or, who knew, maybe years, exploded. Her hips convulsed once, then again.

  He drank in the sight of her pleasure-wracked body, then drew a shaky breath and stood. She stepped away from him, but, disoriented, she stumbled and hit the trellis behind her. She held on to the metal for support, eyes closed. She looked beautiful against the metal trellis, so excited she could barely breathe. His eyes were drawn toward the dark patches on her hose. He followed the wetness up her tight, through the elastic lace and onto her bare skin.

  "So wet. So very, very wet." His fingers paused. "I want to feel it, love. Touch yourself again."

  She licked her lips. "You." Her hands were tight on the trellis. "I want you to touch me."

  He smiled. "Not yet." He pulled her right hand away from the trellis. He dragged it down her body and placed it between her legs. "But soon."

  He saw stubbornness and desire battling in her eyes. She wanted to defy him. He waited, holding her hand a breath away from her needy body. He circled her wrist with his wet thumb, wet with her come.

  Desire won out. She tore her hand away and started pleasuring herself. She didn't close her eyes, though. Her left hand pulled at the string of the camisole and uncovered her breast. She fingered herself, and there was no gentleness to her touch. She pinched and pulled at her nipple mercilessly. Her right hand moved quickly between her legs. Her breaths came faster and her face flushed.

  Gabe felt his body hardening. Her desperate self-pleasuring was addictive, and he held her hips and waited for the telltale tightening. He didn't have long to wait. He pulled her hands away and drew them over her head. She didn't struggle, and h
e locked the cuffs around her wrists, securing them to the trellis.

  Her hips were still bucking, begging for a resolution, but he stepped back to admire her still-unsated body. Breast exposed. Wet hose, rumpled garters. There was nothing left of the shy, geeky girl he knew. There was only a hungry, frustrated woman begging, no, demanding to be pleasured.

  He bent to kiss her, tasting her lips slowly. Her breath came in hungry little pants, and he smiled, savoring her frustration.

  Her legs wrapped around him, and she pushed against him frantically.

  "Please," she begged. "Please."

  He held on to the trellis as she worked her way to orgasm. She bucked against him, pleasuring herself with frantic motions, and every sweet stroke of her hungry body made him harder. His heart was racing. He felt her wetness stain his pants and his hands tightened into fists.

  One last lingering spasm and she went limp against the trellis, her legs loosening. Her ragged breathing was music to his ears, and he kissed her neck, feeling her pulse race against his lips. He undid the handcuffs, and her arms curled around his neck. Her touch should have been soothing, but it wasn't. His body was raging with need.

  He pulled out the condom wrapper. It took two tries because his hands were almost shaking with need, but he finally managed to rip it open. He pulled down his zipper, put on the condom, and positioned himself between her legs, a fierce urgency overtaking him. He wanted to prolong this, to tease her, but he couldn't.

  He pushed into her roughly, mindlessly. There was no sweetness, no caring left in him.

  There was only need.

  And lust.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  SHE FELT the arousal building. Again.

  Gabe's strokes pushed her roughly against the trellis, and the metal bars dug into her back. His wildness was more exciting than she could have imagined. And she'd done this to him. She'd made him lose control. She held on to his shoulders as her body tightened around him hungrily. Gabe was always measured and controlled. But the dam had broken and all his strength was now pouring over her.

  She felt him push into her in one fierce thrust, a powerful orgasm ripping through him. His breath was hot against her skin, as he held on to her tightly. He grew still and she buried her head in his chest. She could feel his heart beating.