Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (21 page)

Definitely her worst house showing ever. Even worse than when that flock of crows landed on the roof of the Italianate duplex she was showing and scared her client away. Or was it a
murder
of crows? Whatever. They'd pooped all over her car, too.

Even worse than that. Well, this was it, the final straw.

She was giving up.

Her brilliant plan had failed. Gabe hadn't run away from the gaudy Middleburg house. He'd loved it. Well, he could keep the ridiculous eyesore for all she cared. She was wet, she was tired, and she was ready to quit and go home.
 

She shivered in the cold air. Gabe took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. The jacket was wet, but not as wet as her clothes, and she shrugged into it gratefully. It was a little disturbing. She was getting used to wearing Gabe's jacket.

That wasn't good. A bit of mutually satisfying aerobic activity with Gabe Franco would be great. Getting used to having a handy jacket to warm up with wouldn't be so fine. After all, the jacket, and its owner, wouldn't always be there.
 

But she couldn't help pulling the jacket tightly around her shoulders, and her shivers stilled under its warmth.
Ah, consistency, thy name is Elizabeth.
Or, as Holly would say,
Trust issues, thy name is Elizabeth.

"We need to get you out of here," Gabe said. "It's too cold."
 

She didn't disagree. Visiting the grotto hadn't been a good idea and she couldn't wait to leave.
 

She walked to the gate and pulled the handle.
 

Nothing happened.
 

She tried it again. Nothing.
 

She felt Gabe at her back. "It's locked."
 
Her voice sounded whiny, even to her ears, but she couldn't help it. She was freezing and wanted to go home. "I can't believe it," she continued. "The listing agent said she'd disabled the security system this morning. Maybe the water messed up the lock?"

"Let me try." He tried to open the gate. Same result. He looked up at the lock. "Do you have the code?"
 

"No, the owner didn't want to give it out. That's why the listing agent had to come and disable it."

 
Gabe dragged his fingers slowly around the perimeter of the gate. He seemed to be looking for weaknesses. He had strong hands with lovely, long fingers.
 

She shook her head to clear it. This was not time to obsess over a man's hands. She looked around the grotto and her gaze landed on the terra cotta statue. Was the lumpy, curvy goddess smiling at her?

Gabe let his hand fall and cursed under his breath. He was cursing in his native Spanish. Gabe cursing in Spanish was never a good sign. He focused on the lock. The thing jiggled as he tried to open the case.

More cursing.

"It's broken," he concluded grimly.
 

He finally opened the lock and paused, examining the keypad. He punched a couple of numbers, but nothing happened. He lifted the cover easily, too easily, and started fiddling with the mechanism.
 

She pulled Gabe's jacket tightly across her shoulders and took a deep breath. The stiff, thick fabric of the jacket brushed her breasts lightly, making impure thoughts race through her head. She tried not to think about being locked in a nefarious water feature with Gabe Franco.

It was really hard not to think about it. Especially with the forbidden object standing barely two inches away.

Gabe fiddled with the lock some more. He seemed to be making progress. She tried not to watch as Gabe's fingers swept over the lock. His careful handling of the mechanism was too much like a caress. Only a longish drive and she'd be home, safe and dry.
 

It would be fine.

The blue light turned off, and Elizabeth jerked with surprise. Soft music filled the grotto. The loading sign on the television screen flickered out. Oh heck, the thing must have been on delayed play. She started to turn toward the control panel, but stopped as images flickered on the screen.

A well-endowed woman in a skimpy black negligee was chained to a stone wall. The camera lingered over her body as she struggled theatrically. There was much heavy breathing and chest heaving.

This was not fine.

C
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T
WENTY
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G
ABE
BARELY
noticed the movie. He was keenly aware that Elizabeth was soaking wet and the grotto was very chilly. A porno movie wouldn't put her in the hospital, but pneumonia would.
 

Fortunately, the lock was designed for privacy, not security. Unfortunately, it was huge, probably weighed a ton, and was placed on the upper right corner of the door. To make matters worse, Elizabeth's drenched body was a few inches away, making it hard to concentrate.
 

His jacket covered her breasts, but her wet skirt was now stuck to her legs, leaving nothing to the imagination. He could see the imprint of her underwear, which appeared to have a lace band on top. His eyes instinctively traveled north to check if there was a matching bra, but he stopped his ocular wanderings and tried to focus on the lock.
 

He had to get her out of the grotto and into a warm place before something fell on them. The roof of the grotto looked solid, but he wasn't taking any chances. He already knew that gravity didn't work as expected around Elizabeth. Hell, given her track record, an explosion wasn't out of the question.

He got the case open and squinted at the mechanism. This would be easier if he had a sharp tool, a hairpin, an earring, anything at all. He turned to ask Elizabeth if she had anything sharp on her.
 

Then he froze.

Her gaze was riveted on the screen. He looked at the television and saw a buxom girl chained to a wall and a gloved hand wielding a vibrating wand in a threatening manner. There was a lot of writhing and moaning.
 

The movie wasn't that interesting. Elizabeth, however, seemed mesmerized.
 

Now that was pretty darn fascinating.

Elizabeth's eyes dark with lust, her mouth slightly open, her hands clutching his jacket tightly, that was very, very interesting. He watched as her tongue swept across her lips once, then twice.
 

He stared at her, hypnotized. He felt that quick caress in places he shouldn't be feeling anything. At least not anything that was related to Elizabeth. Especially not now, when he had to get them out of the grotto.

He turned back to the lock but immediately realized he was being an idiot. This had to be the area's most notorious den of iniquity, and he knew someone who would, almost certainly, be intimately familiar with it.
 

He took out his phone, scrolled through his contact list, and pressed a number. The phone rang for what seemed like a lifetime, but it was finally picked up.

"Zach," he said into the phone. "I need the security code to the Howrey hot tub slash orgy cave slash porn movie theatre. Do you know it?"
 

Silence. "Why would I know it?" Zach asked after a long pause. "And can I call you back? I'm a little busy right now."
 

"I don't care." Gabe heard throaty giggles in the background so he could guess what was keeping Zach so busy. "The door to the cave locked on us." He frowned as Zach's laughter hit his ear. Apparently, his brother wasn't so busy he couldn't take a minute to laugh at Gabe's expense. "Are you done? Now help me out here. Do you know the code?"
 

"Why would I know the code?" Zach asked in an artificially disingenuous tone. "I barely knew the owners."

"Don't play innocent with me, Zach. I can tell when you're lying. Elizabeth hit the sprinklers by mistake. She's wet, it's cold, and I don't have time to wait for the police. Now. Give. Me. The. Code."

Zach spit out a couple of numbers. Gabe entered them into the lock and waited. The gate unlocked, and he pushed it open, trying not to think about the nasty divorce, the cameras in the grotto, and the possibility that his brother may have been involved in both. Zach hadn't been called as a witness, so all's well that ends well.

"Thanks, brat," he barked into the phone, then hung up and turned toward Elizabeth.

She was still standing in the middle of the grotto clutching his jacket, her wet skirt draped tightly across her body. There was another tear in the hose, probably from that spill in the farmhouse. He was staring, mesmerized, at the enticing patch of skin revealed by the hole, when he realized that Elizabeth was moving in a small, restless, rhythm.

She put her weight on the left leg. Then shifted it to the right.

She licked her lips.

Weight back on the left leg. Then back to the right.

She bit her lip.

She was really, really turned on.

And he couldn't stop looking at her. He should do something to break the spell, but he didn't want to. Her naked arousal was absolutely enthralling. He finally tore his gaze away.

But that didn't help, because he was very much aware of the very convenient restraints attached to the walls of the grotto. Not chains—chains could scrape and cut. No, someone had invested a good chunk of change in the high-quality NASA-polymer stuff that had just the right amount of stretch.
 

He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to use these restraints on Elizabeth. Wonder whether her legs would move restlessly. Wonder what he'd have to do to get her to bite his lip like that.
 

And that was something he had to stop wondering about. The erotic images were destroying his self-control. He was beginning to realize that he probably would end up messing with Elizabeth Hunt. He would not, however, end up messing with Elizabeth Hunt in a tacky grotto. She deserved better than that.

He tapped her lightly on the shoulder. His jacket, or rather, the soggy piece of fabric that used to be his jacket, covered her shoulder, which made it a relatively safe spot to touch. So far, this house search had killed two jackets. It was time to call it quits.

"Ready to go?" he asked. He had to replace the jacket. He didn't remember buying it, which meant he'd have to speak to the stupid personal stylist Salvador had found for him. He tried to focus on how annoying that would be. It dampened his arousal somewhat.
 

"What?" Elizabeth spun around, but her boot heel got caught in one of symbols engraved on the floor and she slipped on the wet stone, spinning right into his arms. His hand fell on her stomach as he instinctively steadied her.

Her breath warmed his neck, and her hip curved against his body. He could feel her muscles clenching under his hand.

Hell.

The struggle to open the gate had flooded his system with adrenaline. Adrenaline that had to go somewhere. Unfortunately, it was going straight down his groin.

Double hell.

Her tight nipples pressed against her wet blouse, and he could picture the outline of her underwear under her wet skirt. He shook his head, trying desperately to clear it. It would take a while before the adrenaline subsided.
 

He focused on the feel of her wet, clammy clothes. He had to get her out of here and into warmth, fast.
 

And he knew just the way to do it.

"We can stay and finish the movie if you want," he whispered.

Her eyes widened for a second. She looked at the screen. She looked at him. She looked back at the screen.

Then she glared at him. Lasers.

He smiled. Angry Elizabeth, always dependable.
 

She spun around and started punching at a small screen embedded in the fake rock. It took her several tries, but the screens eventually turned off and she stepped back.
 

She took a deep breath. "We. Are. Leaving."

She turned and headed toward the exit with as much dignity as she could muster in wet, clingy clothes and unsteady heels. Gabe followed her, trying not to ogle her body as she climbed the grotto steps. He looked around the grotto one last time, making sure nothing was left behind.
 

The grotto was empty. The screens were dark, and the blue lights were dim. One of the sprinklers hadn't closed completely, and a watery mist fell on the terra cotta statute in the corner. A stray beam of sunlight hit the spray, giving off an eerie gleam, a bit like an intoxicated rainbow.
 

He could have sworn the small Etruscan goddess winked at him.

As Elizabeth crossed the gate, the broken lock snapped. Gabe pushed her out of the way. He tried to dodge the lock, but it hit his shoulder before crashing into the stone floor.
 

He was right about one thing. Gravity and Elizabeth were like oil and water. He was right about a second thing, too. The lock weighed a ton.

C
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T
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G
ABE
LED
Elizabeth through the opulent hallways of the Middleburg Inn. Plush carpeting muffled the heels of her boots as they walked toward his suite. The polished brass sconces shed a warm glow on the prancing horse wallpaper. Some of the horses galloped, some jumped, some chased helpless foxes. The Middleburg Inn was a temple to equine snobbery.
 

Nothing marred the endless expanse of horse-and-hunt-themed luxury. Nothing, except... Her eyes narrowed as she focused on a grazing stallion with an incongruous appendage on his head.
 

An enterprising child had drawn unicorn horns on the horses between rooms 543 and 545. The horns were carefully colored to match the wallpaper, and the hotel staff hadn't noticed the juvenile vandalism. They were a welcome hint of levity amid the hotel's overbearing formality.

But today the unicorns weren't the only aberrant presence in the hotel. Elizabeth, wrapped in a wool blanket, her hair plastered to her head, wasn't exactly following the establishment's dress code. And even the delinquent unicorns couldn't make her smile. They'd just left the hotel clinic where, even though Gabe was the one with the head and shoulder injuries,
she'd
been the one subjected to the tender ministrations of the hotel nurse. She'd been checked, rubbed, and bundled into a blanket, and now she walked down the luxurious hallway feeling a bit like a Titanic survivor.