Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2)

by Gonzalez, Ani

  The woman stepped gingerly on her foot, breaking the spell. She was hurt. He was going to do something about that. Yeah, what was it again? Oh, clinic, he had to take her to the clinic.

  He reached into a wet pocket to grab his car keys. His jacket was ruined, but he didn't mind. No sane, red-blooded male would mind, when the culprit displayed such a glorious invitation. He wasn't the sort to pick up women—that got too messy—but something about this girl, walking behind him with limping steps and mischievous eyes, eased the tight knot in his chest. A knot he hadn't even known was there.

  They reached the car and he realized he'd forgotten how to unlock the door. He had to input the security sequence into the keypad, but he couldn't recall the number. He tried a Fibonacci sequence, then his mom's maiden name.

  Nothing. His mind was blank.

  He cursed the stupid barn owls and their incessant screeching, and tried the date of his first IPO. The door opened grudgingly.

  He thanked the automotive gods and turned to his companion. The girl seemed amused by the car's refusal to open for its owner. The curve of her lip reminded him of her confident delivery before the Town Council. She looked like a woman on a mission.

  She leaned against the car and rubbed her right ankle without a trace of self-consciousness.

  The gesture made his blood heat. Something about the mix of innate competence and sudden vulnerability toppled all of his carefully crafted defenses. He focused on her leg, trying to gauge the extent of damage, and frowned. He could have sworn she'd sprained her left foot.

  "Nice car," she said and her voice still held a trace of haughty amusement. Her legs looked long and sexy in those unsuitable shoes, and the way the straps crossed around her ankles made impure thoughts race through his body.

  He held on to the car door with white-knuckled fingers, trying to stay in control.

  "You don't see many of these in this town," she continued, running her finger over the metal chassis.

  Her stared at her finger, hypnotized. A comment like that would usually trigger an alarm, but not this time. Somehow he was sure this girl wasn't a gold digger. Something about her demeanor after the lemonade disaster—the way she'd tilted her chin, the oddly familiar gleam in her eye—had reassured him.

  But the girl's intentions were unmistakable. He wasn't imagining that. Her hip brushed against him as she stepped into the car, and he felt every single muscle in his body tighten. He had never felt chemistry like this. Who would have thought he'd find it in Banshee Creek of all places? Was the geomagnetic fault now attracting sylphs? Maybe he should come back home for good.

  He quickly pushed that thought out of his head. This goddess was attractive, but not that attractive.

  She closed her eyes and purred with pleasure as she sank into the passenger seat. The gesture made the blood burn through his veins. The sharp bite of arousal was distracting, but he still noticed that her feet seemed unhurt. She leaned back and stretched out her legs.

  Yep, her ankles were fine. And that should be a warning sign. Alarms should be ringing in his head. But this girl's deception didn't seem sinister. Instead he found it...cute?

  Her skirt hiked up around her thighs, and he felt his body temperature spike. The Mystery of the Mangled Ankle was suddenly much less compelling.

  Okay, maybe she was that attractive.

  "Have you been in town for a while?" he asked. "Or is this a temp job?"

  He desperately wanted to find out more about her. His brain, however, didn't want to cooperate. Where did she come from? His family kept him apprised of the town news, and yet he hadn't heard anything about Mary Hunt's attractive new assistant. Surely one of his brothers would have mentioned her.

  She swept her hair back and smiled ruefully. "Nope. This gig is tragically permanent."

  She sounded wistful. He couldn't blame her though. Selling real estate in Banshee Creek was no one's idea of a dream job.

  "You should ask for a raise. That was a great presentation." Public speaking was hard, he knew from painful personal experience.

  "No raise either."

  "You did a great job. I mean, for someone whose arguments are completely wrongheaded."

  He regretted the words as soon as they came out his mouth. He wasn't very good at this flirting thing, was he? But the glorious Amazon only laughed.

  "You're a ghost fan, I take it," she said, her tone a bit pointed.

  "Guilty. The Historical Preservation Committee has always been loony, but this takes the cake. Whoever came up with this anti-paranormal regulation should have his own private circle of hell. One where rabid trick-or-treaters stone him with stale candy bars."

  That made her laugh, and her merriment didn't subside for several seconds. He paused and absorbed her laughter. His lame joke didn't warrant this extended gaiety, but something about her laugh soothed him. It was like coming home.

  He stifled that thought. A strange girl with a taste for expensive cars reminded him of coming home? He'd lost it. He'd finally lost it.

  And the minx knew it. Her lips curved again, but it was not the hypnotic smile she'd wielded to such devastating effect. It was now the slightly triumphant expression of a woman who thought she'd already won, but was trying not to show it.

  The smile woke him out of his lust-induced stupor.

  This woman felt she had the upper hand, and no wonder—he was holding on to the passenger door of his car, staring at her like an infatuated fool.

  Oh, yes, she thought she had the upper hand, and he wasn't sure he liked that.

  "Thanks for the ride," she said as she fiddled with her sandal, showing a lot of skin in the process. He tried not to chuckle. This girl thought she had him figured out. She thought she was in charge.

  She was wrong.

  And he was going to enjoy showing her how wrong she was. He didn't do this kind of thing, but she was an irresistible challenge. Maybe it was time he had some fun. Why not? Her injuries seemed to be, to put it politely, less than urgent.

  "Need help with your shoes?" he asked.

  Her smile widened and she raised her leg playfully. The gesture made her skirt ride up again, and her thighs opened slightly. She glanced up at him, eyes sparkling.

  Oh yeah, not urgent at all.

  He checked the urge to smile back. Instead, he tightened his hand around her calf. Her expression froze and he didn't have to wonder why. He could feel his nerves tingle the instant he touched her skin. Hell, it was just a leg, a very long, toned leg, but still just a human limb. Seriously, what was going on? Something about her—the hair, the smile, the eyes—drew him to her as a gravitational pull.

  He traced his finger down her leg, and her eyes widened. He knew he was moving too fast, but he couldn't stop. He felt trapped in an avalanche, the force of it dragging him forward. He could feel the blood rushing through his body, making him lightheaded.

  He wanted to give in, wanted to sink under the rush of feeling, but he couldn't. Not yet.

  He took a calming breath and focused on her strappy shoes. The metallic leather wrapped around the ankle twice then tied into a knot. Not a buckle, a knot.

  Clearly these were the most impractical shoes ever conceived.

  And he loved them.

  He slowly pulled on the leather straps, letting the tendrils fall around her ankle. He felt a soft shiver run through her leg, but he didn't raise his head. If he looked into her eyes, this would be over too soon.

  Once the straps fell loose, he caressed her ankle gently, letting the blood flow back to her skin. Then he straightened, leaning her foot against his thigh. Now he glanced at her face. He had to assess her reaction.

  "Does that hurt?" he asked.

  Her gaze was riveted on his hands. She was trying really hard to appear unaffected. A valiant effort, but the dilated pupils and flushed cheeks betrayed her. When she realized he was looking at her, she straightened up a bit, clearly trying to shake off her arousal. Not wanting to downshift the pace, he picked up t
he leather strands.

  "No." She gasped as he tightened the leather around her ankle. "It's fine." It was just a little bit too tight so he could make sure she felt the pressure. He carefully placed her foot down and stood next to the car, assessing her reaction.

  She stared at him, lips parted, for a long, long minute.

  Finally, she licked her lips, took a deep breath, pushed herself off the seat, and stood, a bit unsteadily. Maybe her ankle really was bothering her. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark. The glorious smile was gone. She seemed lost, as if the evening had taken an unexpected turn and she no longer knew where she was going. He loved that he'd put that expression on her face. She walked into his embrace, and he held her tenderly. Her hair smelled like ginger and tart apples.

  She leaned forward and kissed his collarbone, a very light kiss, a mere whisper of flesh. It wasn't enough, so he stood still, letting her explore. Just when he felt his vaunted self-control would break, she glanced up and locked onto his eyes. She had beautiful eyes, green and gold, with long, lush lashes.

  A bit unfocused, the pupils slightly dilated.

  Gorgeous.

  His gaze swept down her cheekbone, her jaw, her racing pulse, her delicate collarbone. He traced the bone lightly and felt her shiver. Her body tensed, trying to hide the reaction from him. He liked it that she fought a little.

  He bent and placed his lips against her shoulder, so lightly that his mouth barely touched her skin. He knew she expected him to go for her mouth, but he was going to make her wait. He wanted her hungry for his kiss. After a minute's torture, he heard a soft groan, laden with desire. Then he felt her fingers in his hair, pushing him against her body. He pictured her eyes darkening, the green becoming deeper.

  He stopped cold.

  He knew those eyes.

  Hazel eyes.

  Hazel eyes, Hunt Realty.

  Cole's sister.

  Elizabeth.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HE PUSHED her away and stared.

  Oh yes, the hair was lighter, but the cheekbones and the eyes, those were all painfully familiar. He hadn't seen her in years. Hell, not even at Cole's funeral. Well, he'd noticed her there, but he hadn't seen her. She'd been a slender figure in black with pulled-back hair, nothing like the dazzling bombshell in front of him now.

  He'd watched her low-budget movie, Cannibal Clones from Alpha Centauri or something like that, but she'd been a brunette then. She'd played the alien villainess, Princess Something. Apparently, Alpha Centauri princesses wore very little clothing, or, at least, the cannibal ones did. He'd watched the movie with Cole and, as a result, spent much time staring at the ceiling trying to avoid staring at his best friend's little sister's bellybutton. Cole's dad had been livid, but Gabe had been amused. It was exactly the sort of trouble he'd expect Elizabeth to get into.

  But he wasn't amused now. What was Elizabeth doing, picking up guys in Banshee Creek? Successfully picking up guys in Banshee Creek, no less.

  Hell, he'd almost had sex with Cole's baby sister. Cole's baby sister, who he wanted to kiss more than he wanted his next breath. He tried to think of what Cole would do to him if he were here. Then he decided that he really, really didn't want to think of what Cole would do. It would be painful. And he'd thoroughly deserve it. And yet he still wanted to kiss her.

  Hell. This was hell.

  "Hmmm," Elizabeth murmured. She was still looking at him with beautifully expectant, but terribly familiar, hazel eyes. "Should we take this somewhere else?" she whispered.

  "No." He took a deep breath. Then he took another. "We're not taking this anywhere," he heard himself say. Oh, good, some part of his brain was still functioning.

  She frowned. Oh yeah, he knew that frown. It was her "oh no, I got caught" frown. He'd seen it several times as he and Cole had saved Elizabeth from her many ill-fated projects. Her shoulders slumped and her head hung. She looked down at her crazy, sexy, mess-with-Gabe's-brain shoes and sighed audibly.

  The gesture was so familiar it made his heart hurt. How many times had he rescued Elizabeth after one of her hare-brained plans went awry? Too many to count. And he'd seldom escaped unscathed. That stupid spaceship ramp had broken his nose, the hot air balloon thing had almost strangled him, and he'd spent hours at the clinic wincing as the doctor had pulled disco ball shards out of his back. He could now add a refreshing lemonade bath to that list.

  Yes, Elizabeth Hunt was trouble with a capital T.

  "You figured it out," she said, almost pouting.

  "Yes." He took yet another deep breath. Being around Elizabeth required a lot of deep breathing. She should have a yoga school named after her. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in L.A."

  "My mom wasn't doing well, so I came back." Her voice was flat, her face carefully blank.

  He felt a surge of sympathy. Mary Hunt was a close friend of his mother's, so he'd heard about Mary's condition. Depression was a horrible illness, and Mary, devastated by her son's death, struggled with its effects. The situation must be dire indeed, if Elizabeth had felt the need to return. That was a big sacrifice. But, like her brother Cole, Elizabeth would do anything for her family. He respected that. But it didn't dampen his anger.

  "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, fists clenched at his sides. "You can't just go around picking up strange guys."

  Her eyes widened in outrage, and her spine stiffened. "Don't be an ass," she sneered in what he now recognized as her Alpha Centauri princess voice. "I knew it was you."

  She was annoyed now. Good, annoyed was better than aroused.

  "You're the one who didn't recognize me," she continued, her voice dripping with disdain. "That means you're the one picking up strange girls in parking lots."

  She had a point, but he wasn't about to admit it.

  "You can't pick me up," he snarled. "You're too young."

  "Three years, Gabe." She raised her hand with the requisite number of fingers splayed out, like he was a very slow kindergartner.

  "It's not the years."

  Age didn't matter. She was Elizabeth, shy little Elizabeth who came up with crazy ideas and always got into scrapes. Except she wasn't shy little Elizabeth anymore. She was now glamorous and assertive and...

  Tempting. She was way too tempting.

  "I'm not a virgin, you know," the siren crooned.

  "I really, really don't want to know about that," he stammered, running his hand through his hair.

  He really didn't want to picture sexy Elizabeth doing who knew what with other men. Actually, given the way she'd reacted to the feel of restraints on her ankles, he knew what she'd been doing, and he didn't like it. He tried to hold his temper in check, but Elizabeth wasn't making it easy. The lemonade had splashed her blouse, turning it transparent, and he could see her lacy bra underneath.

  Her eyes narrowed in exasperation. "You're impossible," she hissed. "I can't believe you're lecturing me on ethics, Mr. Go-Behind-Everyone's-Back-and-Take-Over-the-Town."

  "Don't be silly. You're overdramatizing the situation. I've got nothing to hide."

  This was familiar ground. He had often found himself scolding Elizabeth after her adventures failed. Of course, she hadn't usually talked back.

  "Really?" she asked, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Is that why you were skulking around the library, making sure no one saw you? I bet you were lying low in the science fiction nook where Cole used to go so he could ogle the boobs on the Frank Franzetta covers in privacy."

  Cole's baby sister had developed serious sass. No, she'd always had sass. But she'd never aimed it at him. Well, she was sniping with it now.

  When had this transformation occurred? How had the sweet, albeit speechless, goth girl turned into Boadicea, Queen of Banshee Creek?

  "We're not talking about me," he growled. "We're talking about you. It's basic self-preservation. You can't just go around coming on to random men."

  "Even if the random guy is you?"

  "Esp
ecially if the random guy is me." He bit the words out. He knew he wasn't making much sense, but he didn't care. "You're Cole's sister, for pity's sake."

  She sighed. It was a long, dramatic sigh, about as convincing as her twisted ankle. No wonder she'd ended up selling real estate; her acting was atrocious. The sigh pressed the lacy bra against the see-through blouse, and his fists clenched. That blouse was driving him insane.

  "What does being Cole's sister have to do with anything?" she asked, crossing her arms and tilting her hips.

  He stared at her, not knowing what to say to that. She'd rendered him speechless. Damn it, he was never speechless.

  "Why are you walking around with a giant jar?" he asked, trying to change the subject. Elizabeth attracted chaos like honey did flies. She didn't need to be carrying things around. She needed to sit somewhere and stay out of trouble. Preferably while wearing a thick, wooly sweater.

  The trouble magnet grimaced. "I'm taking it back to Patricia's bakery," she said, shifting her feet. He scanned her legs, searching for an injury.

  Her ankle seemed fine, but those shoes were seven stories tall. "You need new shoes."

  Flat shoes. Or maybe those orthopedic clogs nurses wore. Or clunky nun loafers. Yes, nun loafers. Even Elizabeth couldn't get into trouble in ecclesiastical footwear. And he wouldn't be rendered speechless if she were wearing them.

  "I appreciate your concern," she said, grimacing as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. "These are my lucky audition heels. I had to wear them tonight."

  Only Elizabeth would have lucky audition shoes. And only Elizabeth would have lucky audition accessories that actually worked.

  "Yes, well, you did a good job on behalf of the Historical Preservation nutjobs," he admitted.

  Elizabeth's face darkened. "We're not nutjobs," she said in a steely voice.