Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (28 page)

Just a little bit more.

She just needed a little bit more.

Gabe broke the kiss and pushed her away. He was breathing heavily. He wasn't the only one. Elizabeth could feel her heart beating at runaway speed in her chest. His eyes were black with arousal, but his voice was firm.

"Think, Elizabeth." He let go of her arms and stepped back. "For once, just think."

Then he walked away, closing the door firmly behind him.

 
She stared at the door, aroused and confused.

And also angry.

Think
about what?
 

She didn't want to think about her mom's reaction to seeing her with Gabe at the pizzeria. She was fairly certain she hadn't looked like a composed, professional real estate agent showing properties to a wealthy client. No, she'd looked like a woman who'd just had an orgasm in a basement. Her mom would either be angry to see her looking so disheveled or overjoyed to see her with Gabe. She didn't know which one was worse.

She also didn't want to think about the lunch tomorrow. Everyone would assume they were a couple, and their families would be drafting guest lists and reserving wedding venues in their heads. Hell, the whole town would get in the game. They needed a new distraction now that the ghost tours were kaput.

Not thinking about
that
was already giving her a headache, and she walked to her room in a foul mood.
 

How could he be so sanguine about their situation? It was almost like he didn't mind that their families would think of them as a couple.

She minded, though, a lot. She didn't mind her mother's matchmaking. It was a good thing in a way. At least her mom was now interested in something. But successful matchmaking was a different thing altogether. Her mom was a little too interested in the potential relationship. If they became a couple, her mom would start dreaming of white gowns, flower girls, and grandchildren? Would she be disappointed if that didn't happen? Disappointed enough to give in to the pull of the Dreaded Sofa of Darkness?
 

After all, she didn't intend to walk down the aisle at St. Michael's and pledge to love, honor, and obey Gabe Franco. Especially the obey part. She didn't want to find herself playing dutiful wife to an autocratic husband. And Gabe was very much the "my way or the highway" kind of guy. Exhibit 1: Tonight's basement adventure. Exhibit 2: The Grotto House. Exhibit 3: The PRoVE takeover. The thought made her shudder. She didn't want her mother's life.
 

She shook her head. She was
thinking
about it, just like he wanted her to.
 

She stripped out of her damp clothes and threw them on the floor as she walked to her nightstand. She jerked open the drawer and took out a translucent case that held a brightly colored plastic cylinder with a bulbous head. She hadn't had a chance to try out the Turbo-gasm 2000 she'd bought in L.A. It came from Amsterdam and was supposed to be life-altering. It was even waterproof.

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.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-T
WO

G
ABE
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.
 

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-T
HREE

H
ER
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.
 

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.