Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (33 page)

Now that was an interesting piece of information. "I thought she was seeing a movie star."

"It lasted a couple of months. Then there was a producer, but he wasn't very nice. Cole flew to L.A. and broke his nose."

Not surprising. Cole was a geek, but he was a military geek. He took his hand-to-hand combat training seriously.
 

 
"She also dated a computer guy. He did an app called centaur or something."
 

He frowned. Zentaur wasn't an app, it was a hybrid file-sharing system that made incompatible platforms work together. It had revolutionized the industry and made millions.
 

"Now, he was a really nice guy, head over heels in love with her. He even proposed. Mary was really excited."

His hands slipped on a plate, and he lunged to catch it before it hit the sink. He couldn't break his mom's precious, tragically discontinued, not-to-be found, not even on eBay, plates. She'd kill him.

"But it didn't last. Mary thinks Elizabeth's not really into the business type. She says it's because they're too serious." She went back to drying. "I think it's because of her father."

He felt his heart sink. He was the epitome of the business type. He'd assumed Elizabeth's skittishness was a reaction to family pressure and the Banshee Creek gossip mill. What if it was something more?
 

"She needs someone though," his mom continued. "Everyone has an empty space, a missing puzzle piece they need to be made whole." She smiled. "Even you."

"You two should stop meddling." Especially when his missing piece may want a completely different puzzle.

His mom laughed. "Parents always meddle. Who knows where you kids would end up without me? And if I hadn't meddled, you wouldn't have approached Elizabeth."

 
True, she deserved someone better than him. He was good at making money and not so good at other stuff. Like family, friendships, relationships—he sucked at all of them. His best friend was gone. His relationships with his brothers were shaky at best. His romantic relationships were ephemeral. Well, he was good at sex. So, sex and money, that was all he was good at. And she was smart enough to figure that out.
 

 
"Listen to me." His mom's blue eyes bored into his. "When I met your father, I knew I'd found my missing puzzle piece. He was sitting at a table in the plaza in front of the
Libreria Nacional
. It was my first day at work in the library, and he dared me to a match. I left my dream job and followed him across mountains and oceans. I abandoned the books and ended up kneading pizza dough and figuring out the perfect melting temperature for mozzarella." Her eyes were moist with tears. "I love your father. I wouldn't trade one single day. Even the hard ones."
 

He reached out to hold her, but she shook her head.

"But this isn't about me. It's about you, you and Elizabeth." She took a deep breath. "To find a love like that, you have to take the chance." She looked steadily into his eyes. "You have to risk and you have to fight, but it's worth it."
 

She turned her attention back to the dishes, and he was left staring at the countertop. He'd heard about the chess game in front of the library many times. His parents' love had stayed strong through thick and thin, and there'd been a lot of thin. He'd always known that he'd fight for a love like that. Hell, he'd risk anything for a love like that.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth was the one who wasn't willing to take the risk.

But the talk with his mother had sent his brain gears whirring. He now knew how to convince her to support the ghost tours.
 

This would work. It had to.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-S
EVEN

E
LIZABETH
TRIED
not to fidget on the buttery-soft leather car seat. She should've refused to go on this house hunt. The Franco lunch had seriously freaked her out. She didn't care how sinfully handsome he looked or how he made her insides melt. She should be done with Gabe. The
no
had been on the tip of her tongue. But then she'd spied one of the listings and an evil thought had entered her mind.

Evil thoughts had always been her downfall.

This particular one was quite insidious, based, as it was, on teenage memories and a sexy scene from Holly's book. She should be strong. The evil thought should remain a fantasy. A thrilling secret known only to her and the TurboGasm 2000.

But where this man was concerned, she wasn't strong at all.

"I can't believe you talked me into looking at more stuff," Mr. Temptation said, shaking his head ruefully.

"Wrong pronoun," she corrected. "Your mom talked you into looking at more houses. I just came up with listings."
 

He winced, and she smiled. Baiting Gabe was highly entertaining. The next property would be even more special than the Fortress of Solitude they'd just visited. Did she really have the guts to go through with this? It wasn't too late. She could tell him that they were done for the day. He'd probably be ecstatic.
 

She pushed the cowardly thought out of her mind. She'd never get a chance to do this again. Never. And she'd been thinking about it since the Sunday lunch. He should pay for making her all hot and bothered at the lunch. And she would make him pay. Watch out, world, Sex Kitten Elizabeth was baring her claws.

She took a deep breath.
Okay, Hunt, try to keep the conversation running until we get to the next property.
"I thought you'd like the house we just saw. It's very modern." That was good.
Let's keep talking about the last house. That will keep him from wondering about the next one.

Gabe shook his head.
 

"It's a techy playground. It has all the gadgets and screens you could ever want," she continued. "The wiring alone must have cost the earth."

"Did
you
like it?" he asked.
 

She didn't answer. Why did he care about whether she liked the house? Her distaste for the yucky grotto house had made little impression on him.

She looked at his profile. He was relaxed. Well, as relaxed as Gabe could ever be. He hadn't even checked his smartphone. The house hunting was going well. Maybe he'd even pick the techy house over the grotto house. True, the techy house was cold and sterile, but it was very hygienic. And definitely ghost-free. That was his main requirement wasn't it? No haunted houses.

The next house definitely didn't meet that requirement.

"It didn't have any furniture," Gabe complained. "And the brochure recommended that you don't buy any."
 

"The egg-shaped things were furniture." She'd expected a lot more enthusiasm for the Fortress of Solitude house. Tony Stark would love it, and Gabe was definitely a Tony Stark type.
 

"No, they weren't. They were sensors."

"They were sensors
and
furniture."
 

"They sense your butt?"

That made her giggle. "You can learn a lot from a person's gluteus."

He seemed to agree with her as he gave her butt an appreciative glance.
 

She smiled. She was wearing a very short skirt today, so he had plenty to admire. She'd considered stiletto heels, but she'd grown tired of the shoe mishaps. Instead, she was wearing trustworthy black boots with a solid, easy-to-manage heel. She had, however, found a pack of garters with matching dark hose in the back of her closet.
 

Dark hose was Gabe's weakness.

She smiled and leaned back in the passenger seat of the Ferrari. Her skirt hiked up, and the lacy top of her garter stockings peeked out. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. Oh, yes, the house hunting was going splendidly. Gabe pressed the accelerator, and the Ferrari sped up. He seemed to be having trouble focusing on the road. Elizabeth crossed her legs, exposing a bit of flesh, and smiled in satisfaction when the car lurched unpleasantly.

Elizabeth 1, Ferrari 0.

"You'd better stop that if you want to get to your destination," he growled.

"That's an intriguing thought, but I'm going to have to take a rain check. We've arrived."

A Victorian mansion rose in front of them. It was big and purple with a sweeping porch, round shingles, and white gingerbread trim. A tall, round turret, topped by a metal weathervane, rose behind the house. The sign said
Rosemoor Inn Bed and Breakfast.

He parked the car and looked up, horrified. "This is a hotel, I thought we were looking for a house."

"The Rosemoor used to be a house," Elizabeth replied. He still looked skeptical. "Okay, so that was a long time ago, but it could be turned into a house again."

"I also thought we were through looking at haunted properties," he said, still looking a bit shell-shocked.

"Lorelei Danvers is a sweetheart. She hardly ever manifests and, when she does, she just alphabetizes the medicine cabinets. Anyway, look at the house." She waved toward the porch. "It's beautiful."

"It has its charm," he conceded grudgingly. "It's also old and outdated. And purple, it's very purple."
 

Now that was unfair. The paint was so old it didn't even look purple anymore. It was more of a soft gray. But Gabe didn't seem in any hurry to get out of the car and look through the property. He sat placidly in the driver's seat, his right hand wrapped around the gearshift, as if ready to take off.

"It's not old," she said in her most persuasive tone. "It's vintage, and vintage is charming. The purple paint can be painted over." She unbuckled herself and opened the car door. "You could paint it gray, or maybe beige."
 

She got out of the car, congratulating herself on finally mastering the Ferrari seatbelt buckle. She felt optimistic. The beige comment would do the trick. Gabe was definitely a beige type of person.
 

She pulled a quilted duffle bag out of the miniscule back seat and headed for the house. He stepped out of the car and followed her reluctantly. She could feel his eyes on her legs as she walked toward the hotel. He was trying to find out if she was really wearing garters. The thought made her smile.
Well, he'll find out soon enough.

"My understanding is that Ms. Danvers likes the purple paint," he was saying. "And what's with the bag? Do we need ghost protection equipment?"
 

She ignored the question. The bag was her little secret. "Oh, c'mon. You grew up handling a tantrum-throwing telekinetic thingamajig. You're not going to let an elderly lady with a serious OCD problem intimidate you, are you?"

"Ms. Danvers is very particular. I remember when your brother tried to plant pink azaleas. Ms. Danvers didn't like the color and she made her feelings known."

"My brother, may he rest in peace, was prone to exaggeration. He just got a little muddy. And the purple clematis he ended up planting was lovely."
 

She climbed the steps to the front porch, which looked very pretty with a white beadboard ceiling and green rocking chairs. She opened the door and stepped inside the house. Gabe followed, tapping skeptically at the stained-glass insert in the door.

"Leave it alone. It's not going to break."
 

The foyer was neat and tidy, with a worn wood floor and curving staircase topped by an intricately carved balustrade. Brightly colored globes hung from a curving light fixture affixed to the ceiling. One of the light bulbs had gone out and hadn't yet been replaced, so the chandelier cast a lopsided shadow on the floor.

A large envelope with her name lay on a round table in the foyer. She opened it and took out the room key, then turned around to face her companion. He was examining the lock on the door. He looked up and tapped on the stained glass again. He didn't look pleased.
 

"The security features leave something to be desired," he said drily.
 

Elizabeth debated whether to defend the Rosemoor, but decided against.
Ulterior motive, Elizabeth, focus on your ulterior motive.
"The locks can be changed," she said as she jingled the keys enticingly. "Follow me."
 

She headed up the stairs. Gabe followed her at a sedate pace, and Elizabeth hoped he was getting a good look at her hose-clad legs.
 

"Are those room keys? I thought we were just going to look through it."

"We will." She turned around. "Later."
 

 
"Have you been here before?"

"Of course. The Rosemoor is a local institution."
 

She'd been here several times. Her most memorable visit had been a sleepover with her high school friends in the turret. It had been Mimi's
quince,
and they'd had a very disappointing Ouija board session. Apparently, Ms. Danver hated séances as much as she hated pink flowers. So instead of conjuring the dead, they'd talked about boys and making out. Well, mostly the theoretical aspects of boys and making out, as the Banshee Creek High Drama Club had little practical experience in the matter. But one of the girls had brought a pretty racy Japanese
manga
comic book, and it turned out to be an educational evening.

She crossed the landing and headed down the hallway. "You haven't been here before?"
 

"Yes, but I've never been inside. The owners used to order extra mushrooms though. Good tippers too." His fingers traced the flowered wallpaper on the walls. "It's a bit girly, isn't it?"

"Oh yes." Her lips curved into a secretive smile. "Very girly."
 

There was a small spiral staircase at the end of the hallway. She tested the handrail, made sure it didn't crumble to the ground, and climbed up.

"It has charm and lots of rooms. I can see how you could turn it back into a residence, but—" he paused, "—do you
really
like it?"
 

He didn't sound happy. And why was he asking for her opinion now? Talk about rotten timing. She liked the Rosemoor a lot, but it wasn't because of its potential as a single family home.