CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SHE LOOKED like a dream, leaning against the sofa with one leg propped on the ottoman. Her hair curled wildly around her and her skirt barely covered her body. The plaid blanket lay on the floor, and he could see the outline of her lingerie under her still-wet clothes. This was an entirely different Elizabeth, one he would have never imagined.
Her boldness was streaked with uncertainty, though. And she played with a bra strap nervously until it slipped down her arm. He could have resisted the sensual onslaught, but the skittish gesture undid him.
He tried to think of reasons why he shouldn't do this. Why he shouldn't tear off her clothes, press his lips to her mouth, and kiss her. He had really good reasons for not doing those things, but none came to mind. All he could think about was Elizabeth. Confident-to-the-point-of-idiocy Elizabeth who now looked...hesitant.
He pushed the ottoman out of the way, and her leg fell to the ground. She stared at him as he kneeled between her legs. She looked a bit lost, but that was fine. He, too, felt unmoored, at sea. They stared at each other for an endless minute, then he put his hands on her knees. Her eyes widened, but her gaze held steady. He pushed her knees apart with exquisite slowness and felt her muscles tighten in sudden convulsion.
He smiled. She wanted this badly. He continued the gentle, and thoroughly unsatisfying, caress, eventually reaching her knee. There was a small tear on the right one where she'd scraped it on the rocks, coming out of the grotto. He pulled on the fabric and widened the tear.
Elizabeth bit her lip.
"Does it hurt?" he whispered.
She shook her head. He caressed the back of her knee softly. That was a sensitive spot.
She closed her eyes.
"No," he said. "Open your eyes."
She blinked and stared at him. Her eyes looked unfocused, lost. He'd never seen anything as beautiful as Elizabeth's hazel eyes, drowning in lust.
He tore the elastic fabric slowly, all the way up. Her hips jerked. His hand was pressed to the wet silk between her legs. He didn't move, though. He wouldn't give her the contact she craved. Instead, he felt for the seam of the tights. He smiled as he hooked his finger in the loose threads. He held his smile until the spasm subsided.
"I want you to look at me," he said. She tried to rub against his hand. He held her hips still with his left hand. "Don't come yet, Elizabeth. It'll be better if you wait." He held her gaze as he ripped the thin cloth from her crotch to her inner thigh. Her legs convulsed, but she closed her eyes and didn't come.
"Good girl." He kissed the inside of her knee gently and felt her shiver.
He stood back and stared. Elizabeth sat with wet clothing and tangled hair, practically shaking with desire. Her skirt was hiked up over long, beautiful legs and her dark tights were broken. Her eyes were dark and deep, as if drugged with desire. He noted every detail. He'd remember her this way for the rest of his life.
"I asked you to finish what you started." Her voice was soft and sultry. It made his insides tighten.
"Asked?" He smiled. "More like told."
"Fine." She raised her hand to her breast and caressed herself gently. "Finish what you started, Gabe."
His smile widened. He leaned back. "Make me."
She looked him over slowly, still gently caressing her breast. Her eyes traveled from his lips to his neck, down his abdomen, settling on his hips. Her breath caught. Well, at least she liked what she was looking at. He stood perfectly still wondering whether she'd dare. He wanted her fearless.
She straightened on the couch and slipped the blouse off her shoulders. The boots came off, then the skirt. He waited, not wanting her to take the tights off. He liked the rawness of the torn black tights. She looked wild and untamed. Her hands settled on the waistband for a long minute. Then she stood.
Now it was his turn to stare.
She reached out to run her fingers through his hair. Her touch was tentative, almost reverent. The movement brought him flush to her hips. He pressed his lips to a spot right above the elastic of her tights, and she moaned.
He pulled the elastic down, revealing a faint red line. The abrasion would be exquisitely sensitive. He bent down and slowly followed the line with his tongue. Her hands gripped his hair tightly in response, and he smiled against her skin. He sucked lightly on her skin, which made her lean forward and pull on his hair so her breast was pressed against his lips. He licked the lacy fabric obediently, and she groaned. He leaned back to look at the wet imprint on the cloth, her tight little nipple puckered against the fabric, and her breaths came hard and fast. The urge to take her was almost too strong, but he reined it in. He wanted this to last.
Elizabeth didn't agree. She tugged at her bra strap until her breast was exposed and pressed on the back of his neck. "Please," she begged.
God, he loved hearing her beg. The raspy, raw tone in her voice was irresistible. He obligingly pressed his lips to the tight nub and sucked. Hard. She jerked. He sucked again, and she moaned and grabbed his hand. She placed his hand on her waist. That stopped him.
He looked into her flushed face. "Feeling shy?"
She shook her head. "Please."
"Please, where?" he asked. He wanted her to say it. Or, better yet, to show him.
She paused uncertainly then pushed down her tights and panties. "There."
He stared at her naked legs. He touched between her legs lightly. The evidence of her desire made him harden.
"Now." She grabbed his hand, and he smiled.
"Patience is a virtue, Elizabeth."
She pulled his head up for a kiss. Her face was flushed, her eyes deep and dark.
"I'm not feeling very virtuous." She sucked at his lower lip and moaned. He could get addicted to her sweet little moans. He pressed his finger into the tight wetness between her legs. Another sweet moan escaped her lips, and he felt her raise her hand to her breast. She was touching herself, mimicking his caresses.
He pushed his finger into her and felt her muscles clench again and again. Her eyes were glazed with pleasure and her body held him tightly, convulsing around him. Finally, she came, burying her head in his neck.
He staggered onto the sofa, holding her tightly.
"I'm not done," she whispered. "I want you inside me."
He smiled at that and touched her face tenderly. She was still shivering. He was achingly aroused, but he paused to enjoy her aftershocks. He'd made her feel this way, and the thought of it was viscerally satisfying.
"I want it too." He tried to catch his breath. "But I don't have condoms." A tragic oversight on his part. Fortunately, he could think of several alternatives that didn't require condoms.
But his disclosure didn't faze Elizabeth.
"There's some in my purse," she murmured, looking around the room hazily.
"You carry condoms in your purse? Since when?" Not that there was anything wrong with that, but she didn't seem the type to be prepared for a one-night stand.
"I bought them after the town meeting. I figured it would be best to be prepared." She was right. He should have known that their combustible chemistry would lead to this. He should have been prepared. Instead, he'd relied on his vaunted self-control. Big mistake, his discipline vanished when Elizabeth was around.
And he wasn't the only one affected.
She stared right into his eyes. "Get my purse." She pushed him off the sofa. "Now."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ELIZABETH WATCHED Gabe hunt through her purse. She'd just had the most amazing orgasm of her life. Maybe Holly was right about this "trust issues" stuff. There was something to be said for letting go. But her body felt needy and hungry, and she couldn't help noticing that Gabe was still fully dressed. True, he was very rumpled, but he was wearing all his clothes. She, on the other hand, had half of her bra on. Her panties, as well as her tights, were tangled around her ankles.
This was a problem. And there was only one way to fix it. She pulled her tights and panties off and
sauntered toward Gabe.
He'd found the condoms. Good.
But he was still wearing his shirt. Bad.
She loved the way he looked at her as she approached him. His eyes were cloudy with desire, and the tightness of his mouth belied the softness of his kisses. She'd never felt more wanted.
Or more desperate. She needed to take this man's clothes off right now.
She stepped forward to unbutton his shirt, but he held her hands firmly and leaned forward. The kiss was sweet and tender. But Elizabeth wasn't in the mood for sweet and tender. She wanted wild and rough. She held his face between her hands and deepened the kiss. He matched her, sucking lightly on her tongue. She felt her insides clench. Now that was more like it. She tried to unbutton his shirt again, but he grabbed her hands and held them in a viselike grip. Her breath caught.
"You're still dressed," she complained.
"And I plan to stay that way."
She frowned in confusion. Wasn't nakedness the whole point of this exercise?
But Gabe turned her around, arms behind her back, and she froze.
He picked something off the ottoman and tied her hands with it. It was a strip of cloth and it was quite wet. He wrapped it around her wrists with exquisite slowness, giving her plenty of time to protest.
She didn't, surprising even herself.
Instead, she stroked the patterned fabric. It felt strangely familiar. Understanding dawned. He'd tied her hands with her torn hose. The wetness had come from her.
She remembered the girl in the grotto, her skimpy lingerie, her flushed face. True, she'd run from the grotto so fast she'd tripped and fallen. But she hadn't run because she was afraid. She'd run because she'd wanted it too much.
He let go of her hands. She was now tied up. She felt him touch her shoulders. His fingers caressed her nape lightly.
"Gabe?"
He pushed her gently toward the sofa.
He murmured something unintelligible and leaned her upper body over the arm of the sofa, running his finger down her spine. Elizabeth shivered. His hands clasped her hips loosely and his pants brushed the back of her tights, making her sensitized skin tingle. She could feel wetness seep between her legs.
Gabe's fingers circled her hip, and she jerked in response.
"You have a bruise," he said accusingly.
"I fell on the rocks, remember?"
"You should be more careful, Elizabeth." He caressed the underside of her butt. She bit her lip.
"I'll stay away from kinky grottoes from now on."
He chuckled. "Maybe not that careful." He opened her legs with his knees. Running out of the kinky grotto may not have been the best idea she'd ever had. She remembered the girl shackled to the stone wall. What would it be like to have Gabe tie her up like that? Maybe they could have a two-night stand and find out.
He was standing behind her and staring. Just staring. Maybe he liked what he was looking at? She pressed her hips against him, aching to find out.
He'd unzipped his pants. The light rasp of metal against her sensitized skin inflamed her and she pushed back with more force.
"Shhh." He stroked her hip to gentle her.
"Gabe, please..."
"Please what?"
She tried to move against him, but he held her still.
"I want to hear you say it."
"Please..." She heard him tear the condom wrapper. "In me. Please."
He entered her slowly. The submissive position made her muscles tighten around him. He reached around her hip, and she felt his fingers between her thighs. He pressed a soft kiss on her back then his fingers pressed into her. The sudden pressure made her vaginal muscles clench. His fingers caressed her gently, and she relaxed. He shifted and entered her fully. The fullness made her gasp.
He kissed her back again. Elizabeth tried to move, but she was trapped under his body. His fingers kept on stroking, and she moaned. She needed to move, needed it desperately.
"Please move, please..." she begged.
"Hearing that." She felt him straighten and pull back. "You have no idea what it does to me." His hand swept down her spine in a gentle caress, a stark contrast to the erotic scene they were playing out. "Push back."
She pulled her hands under her body and obeyed. The pressure inside her increased. The image of the shackled girl had haunted her all through the car trip to the inn. Now she was tied and immobilized and more aroused than she'd ever been in her life. She gasped when Gabe thrust inside her. His body was now pressing against a particularly sensitive spot. She moaned again and he thrust harder. Again and again.
She focused on the sensation, the feel of him inside her, the pressure of his fingers on her hips, the leather under her skin, his thrusts increasing in intensity. She bit her lip as the pressure inside her crested then broke, and the delicious convulsion spread through her body. She felt Gabe give one final, deep push into her body.
It was heaven.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SHE CLOSED her eyes and leaned her head back against the edge of the clawed-foot tub. All she felt was warmth. The water was hot and sweet-smelling bubbles tickled her nose.
It was perfect.
She didn't want it to be perfect. This was, after all, the Middleburg Inn, and she liked to find fault with all things Middleburg, but she had to admit, this was perfect
It was a dream of a bathroom with a black-and-white marble floor, glass subway tile, crystal chandeliers (yes, chandeliers plural), a huge glass shower and, the piece de resistance, a standalone tub.
And it wasn't just the bathroom. The rest of the hotel was flawless. No jack o' lanterns besmirched the Middleburg Inn lobby, just tasteful magnolia leaf garlands. Gabe's suite had wood paneling and paisley wallpaper and was completely devoid of fake spider webs or Theban script graffiti. The bathroom walls were lined with charming botanical prints and there were no fake bloody footprints or Hammer Films posters on the walls. The Banshee Creek Motel couldn't be compared to this.
She turned on the faucet and watched the water flow into the tub.
Warm water.
Warm bubbles.
Heaven.
She was starting to drowse when loud banging on the door startled her. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub.
"What the hell, Elizabeth, you ordered room service?"
Gabe didn't sound happy. But really, his grumpiness wasn't surprising. This crazy house hunt had taught her one thing: Gabe Franco didn't like to have his tidy life disrupted. The past twenty-four hours had involved bruises, stitches, and wild, crazy, out-of-this-world sex. No wonder the poor guy was feeling a bit out of sorts.
The impromptu tea service was apparently the last straw.
"I ordered tea," she shouted at the door. "I'm supposed to warm up, aren't I?"
"This isn't tea," Gabe hollered back. "This is the invasion of Normandy, with crumpets."
Well, yes, the Middleburg Inn tea service was spectacular. If one was to betray one's hometown, might as well do it fortified by tiny sandwiches, curry puffs, and red velvet cake. Loyalty was one thing. Red velvet cake was another.
The doorbell rang, and she heard him open the door.
She started to rinse her hair. She should stay in the tub forever just to spite Gabe, but then her tea would get cold.
"There's more?" The edge in Gabe's voice was unmistakable.
She considered staying in the tub just to make him stew, but there was cake on the other side of that door. Red velvet cake. She got out of the tub, wrapped herself in a warm, fluffy robe, and combed her hair. She smiled at her reflection. Gabe may be doing his best Oscar the Grouch impression right now, but he'd been gentle and considerate after their lovemaking. The least she could was rescue him from the tea service from hell. She headed to the bedroom, where new clothes lay on the inn's signature pink tartan blanket. The Middleburg Inn had its own Scottish tartan. Of course it did.
The clothes weren't plaid, but they were also apple green. There was a pair of yo
ga 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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
GABE 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.
Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) Page 17