Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (15 page)

G
ABE
FOLLOWED
Elizabeth into the office, trying to keep his eyes on the extremely plain crown molding on the walls. This wasn't an easy task. Watching Zach hug Elizabeth had wound him up, and her clothes were making things worse.

Their crazy fall weather had delivered a sunny, but chilly morning. Why was Elizabeth wearing a floaty dress? Okay, maybe floaty wasn't the right word. Frothy? Whatever it was, it clung to her curves and fluttered around her knees in a very distracting manner.

Her hair was held up with an ugly plastic clip so he couldn't get a good look at it, but the long beautiful legs that had been covered in pants when he'd last seen her were now clad in skin-tight black hose and tall leather boots.

The hose and boots were killing him.

She stopped at the threshold of the office, and he narrowly avoided crashing into her. For one glorious second he found himself flush against her tight, warm body. Then she hurried into the office, heels clicking on the wood floors. Her skirt hiked around her knees as she walked, and he could see a tiny little patch of skin through a hole in her hose. That little patch of skin hypnotized him.
 

Lord, he was acting like a lust-struck teenager.
 

He looked around the room, trying to distract himself. The office was small with traditional decor. Large photos of houses sold by the agency lined the walls, and a familiar Second Empire façade held pride of place in the display.
 

"I see you put up the PRoVE building. That building cost me a pretty penny. It must be the most expensive property in Banshee Creek."

Well, except for the Hagen House, but he really didn't want to mention that place.

"Yes," she replied sharply. "And if you look closely, you'll notice it's the only listing on that wall with a Sold sticker."

He checked the listing date on an attractive Queen Anne Victorian. Yikes, three years old. The old bookstore was also for sale, and that listing was two years old. And the Hagen House listing? Eighteen months.

No wonder Elizabeth was concerned.

But the real estate market's woes weren't universal. A small table near the door held cheery brochures for local businesses. He spied Banshee Creek Bakery's ubiquitous pink-and-orange menu next to a pile of Pepe's Pizza bumper stickers. A small stack of plain vellum business cards sat on a tray. He leaned closer. They read
Yolanda's Hair Salon and Botánica. We'll Wash Those Spirits Right Out of Your Hair...And House.
 

See? Even the local hair stylist was branching out into the supernatural. Yolanda was the shrewdest businesswoman in town. If she thought the ghosts and spirits were good for business, you could pretty much take that to the bank.

But, he had to admit, Banshee Creek Realty didn't look like it was doing much business. Well, at least they'd get a fat commission from his new house in Middleburg.
 

The office space at the end of the hall looked empty. No papers on the desk, no magazines on the tables. A couple of unhappy plants sat on the floor. Even the most organized office had a small amount of chaos and debris. This one, however, didn't look organized.
 

It looked deserted.

"Have you tried advertising?" Gabe asked, concerned. "Or social media?"

"Discoverability is not our problem," Elizabeth said curtly. "Thanks to you and your friends, the whole world knows where we are. Unfortunately, they also think we're right on top of a multidimensional rift."

She seemed distracted, walking around the office, checking on things. Yesterday, she'd practically torn his clothes off, and today she appeared to be completely uninterested in him. Was it Zach's flirting? Was that all it took to turn her head?
 

Alpha Centauri princesses seemed to be very fickle.

"Well, yes," he said. "Caine does have a physics PhD, and he did a good job in that video. That video animation was quite effective." Gabe wasn't sure what she was checking up on. The tables were mostly empty. Maybe she was looking for dust?
 

No.
 

"You know," she said, picking up a picture frame and looking at it thoughtfully. "The world would be a much better place if people used their superpowers for good."

He glanced at the photo surreptitiously, making out a boyish figure wearing a
The
X-files
T-shirt.

Cole.

He watched as she walked over to a dresser and opened a drawer. She placed the picture inside carefully, and he realized she must be hiding it from Mary.

Gabe tried to focus on the tenderness of the scene, but the sight of Elizabeth on her knees made him feel anything but tender. He swallowed as she leaned forward to place the box back on the shelf. The view was entirely too exciting.
 

He cleared his throat. "You seem nervous," he said, making small talk as he tried to come up with a distraction. "Is this really your mom's first day back at work?" His gaze settled on a wisp of green trailing from a flowerpot. What was that? A fossilized plant?

"Yes, and it's very good news. She needs to get out of the house." She sat back on her heels and looked around the office. "But first, I need to get this place ready. It looks so..." Her voice trailed off.
 

"So much like a well-appointed funeral home?"
 

She glared at him. Mission accomplished. Angry Elizabeth he could handle. Sad Elizabeth was making his heart hurt.
 

"Well." He pointed to a blue-and-white ceramic planter with a sad-looking vine. "You can start with the plants then. They're dying."

"Welcome to the plebeian life, Gabe. There's no staff to water the plants." She pushed herself off the floor. He forced himself not to pull her up as she stood, unsteady on her high heels. He didn't trust himself to touch her. If he did, he might draw her close and hug her and try to comfort her, which he was sure would end badly.
 

He wished that weren't the case. He wished he had the ability to make people feel better. Cole would have come up with a cockamamie plan to make her feel better, but...what?
 

He had no idea.

He couldn't stop the project even if he wanted to. PRoVE had gone viral—no, not just viral, the Banshee Creek videos were practically pandemic at this point.
 

Elizabeth looked at the planters glumly. "Okay, so maybe I missed a day. They'll be fine."

"We'll see," Gabe said doubtfully as he walked to the tiny kitchenette and filled a cup in the sink. "Philodendron is practically indestructible, but you may have pushed your luck here. I think these guys gave up the ghost."

She reached for the cup. "I'll take that. Maybe I can join PRoVE and make up the lost commission income by marketing my ghost flora."

Ouch. Time to change the subject.

"Is that your plan for the day?" he asked, ignoring her outstretched hand. "Finding a buyer for your phantom philodendron?"
 

He turned to look at her and instantly regretted it. She was bending over a file cabinet. Maybe the Historical Preservation Committee should ban bending. That would be a better use of their time.

He focused on watering the plants. Could he spend an hour resuscitating the triffids? The water dribbled out of the glass slowly, so the answer was no. Stupid gravity and its ridiculous 9.8 meters per second obsession.
 

"What will you be doing all day?" he asked, remembering Zach's offer earlier.

"Updating our website. You know, the one that gets most of its hits as PRoVE referrals?"

"Well, you're getting hits. That's good."

At least she wasn't looking for a house for him. She'd probably stick him with a colonial fixer-upper built on Indian burial grounds, or worse, one of the manor houses that served as Civil War hospitals.
 

She snorted indelicately.

"Yep, hits from crazy ghost hunters and spam from professional exorcists." She shook her head. "I didn't even know there was exorcist spam."

Gabe tried to come up with a witty comeback, but he couldn't think of anything. How do you beat exorcist spam?

"And after I'm done with the website," Elizabeth continued, "I'm going to celebrate. It's my mom's first day back at work, and that deserves a glass of
sangría
. Or maybe a whole pitcher."

Celebrate?
Sangría
? That sounded ominous.
 

"You're not going to take up Zach on his offer, are you?" he asked, turning to face her.

She was standing, but her skirt had hiked over her thighs. Not too high, but high enough that he could see the tempting patch of skin again.
 

At least she wasn't bending anymore.

She eyed him suspiciously. "Why shouldn't I have lunch with Zach?" Her eyes widened. "Wait, you think Zach's off limits?" she choked out. "Are you kidding me? Zach Franco's
never
off limits. To anyone."

He set the cup on the table a little too hard. "You don't want to get involved with him."
 

"Of course I don't," she said between giggles. "Nobody gets involved with Zach. That's why he's Zach. That doesn't mean I can't have a good time, though."
 

The mischievous smile was back, and he decided he didn't like it so much anymore.
 

"I'm told your brother is an educational experience."
 

Her voice lingered over the word "educational," deepening his anger. He didn't doubt Zach's technique, but his baby brother wasn't going to get to educate Elizabeth.

Ever.

"You need to start minding your own business, Gabe."
 

Well, he didn't feel like minding his own business. Not this time. He stepped forward until he could look straight into her hazel eyes. Her smile faltered and she looked nervous again. It was a different kind of nervous, though.

The good kind.

But she didn't back down. She looked straight into his eyes, with only a slight quiver of an eyebrow to indicate her nervousness. It made him smile. This was a big improvement on Sad Elizabeth and the Seven Dead Houseplants.

"You're not going to lunch with Zach." He leaned forward, and her chin tilted up in defiance. "And I don't need to mind my own business."
 

She held her ground, which made him smile. This was more like it. There were a million reasons why he shouldn't do this, but he was going to do it anyway.
 

"I need
this
," he whispered.
 

And then he kissed her.

He felt her freeze, her body stiff all over, but it lasted only a second. She softened immediately, her hip leaning into his leg, her lips turning soft and pliant, just like she had in the library parking lot and in the Hagen House. But one thing was missing.
 

He undid the hairclip and let her golden tresses fall to her back.

There, that was much better.

He slowly licked her upper lip, tracing the cupid's bow that had driven him crazy since the Town Meeting. He felt her breath catch, but she didn't pull away. Then he sucked on her lip gently. She tasted sweet and spicy, an intoxicating blend of the exotic and the familiar.
 

She shivered, and something tight loosened in his chest when she draped her arms around his shoulders. His muscles tensed under her touch. It felt good. It felt right.

He deepened the kiss and her hand tightened on the back of his neck. That was a
very
sensitive spot. How did she know to do that? And how did she know to graze her fingers along his neck slowly, so he felt every single millimeter of the caress?
 

Minx.
 

He gave her lower lip a nip, a small one. Just to teach her what's what. In response, she leaned into him and deepened the kiss. The frothy shirt was very thin, and he could feel her breasts pressed against his chest. The not-so-innocent touch made the blood rush through his body.

It affected her too. She stopped kissing him and looked into his eyes. Her eyes looked lost, like she was drowning.

She dragged her hands down his shoulders slowly, and her touch burned his skin under the shirt. He wanted her to keep going, but she didn't. Instead, she tightened her arms around his neck and placed her lips on his collarbone. She inhaled as if breathing him in.

Then her lips opened and her tongue tasted his skin.
 

Now he was the one shivering.

She clearly liked that, and her lips followed a lazy path along his collarbone. Too slow, too lazy. He needed her to go faster.
 

He was going to make her go faster.

His hand settled on the small of her back when he heard the lock in the door start to turn.

Damn.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

T
HE
KEY
turned in the lock with a sharp click.

It was an ominous noise, the sound of discovery. A sound that announced an impending lecture about leaving one's
The
Duchess of Malfi
props where the neighbors could see them, or about using up all the aluminum foil on one's Caliban costume.
 

A sound that could mean only one thing.

Her mom was here.

She jumped back as if burned. The door opened, and Mary Hunt walked in the room. Elizabeth hurriedly pulled back her hair, trying to look less like a girl who'd just licked her way through Gabe's delectable body. Where had her hairclip ended up? It was nowhere to be found. She finger-combed her hair; that would have to do.

She glanced at Gabe. His face was expressionless, but he still looked scrumptious and all she wanted to do was walk toward him, unbutton the rest of the shirt, and kiss his chest all the way to his belt. She'd start right at the top, near his delicious collarbone where, she noted with dismay, the skin was red—not pink, not even blush-colored—
red
.

She'd given him a hickey, an honest-to-goodness hickey. How had that happened?