Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (24 page)

The clothes weren't plaid, but they were also apple green. There was a pair of yoga pants, a sweater, and a hoodie. They all had a small M logo and the words Middleburg Inn Spa stitched in a corner. Gabe had gotten her extremely modest clothes. Comfortable clothes for sure, the Middleburg Inn Spa catered to comfort, but still very modest.

That was food for thought.

She could take Gabe's "only this" rule seriously. She could put on the clothes, drink her tea, and go home. That was the way she usually did things, easy, clean, uncomplicated. This could be just another good sexual experience. Well, maybe not good, maybe great, perhaps even fabulous.
 

She picked up the yoga pants, fingering the silky fabric. Her instinct was to put them on, demolish the Middleburg tea service, make a couple of jokes, and go back home.

But she wasn't going to do that, though. Oh, no. Today, at the grotto, Gabe Franco had
seen
her. Really
seen
her. Not as Cole's little sister. Not as crazy goth Elizabeth Hunt. No. He'd seen
her
, as a woman, a woman he wanted.

She'd never felt this with anyone else. Never. Holly would say this was her own fault, that she had daddy issues and simply didn't let men get that close. And she had to admit that a couple of her exes, including her almost-fiancé, would agree. But this thing with Gabe was...different. True, he was an overprotective grouch. True, he probably wasn't relationship material.
 

But, then again, neither was she.

But she felt strangely...safe with Gabe. He complained about the red velvet invasion and he was a little bit too fond of all things Middleburg, but he'd graciously accepted his defeat in front of the town council and he'd put up with the crazy house hunt.

And he made her feel safe.

And that was worth exploring.
 

She tightened the belt of her fluffy robe, ran her fingers through her wet hair, and reached for the doorknob.

To hell with the yoga pants.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-S
IX

G
ABE
SIGHED
with relief. The water wasn't running anymore, which meant the torture portion of the evening was finally over. He'd spent the last hour considering joining Elizabeth in the bathroom. He could picture her breasts covered with suds. He could imagine running the soap over her. He could almost hear the sweet moaning sounds she'd make as he caressed her.
 

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 under 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.