Page 20 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

Thirteen

Tonight, Tristan’s eyes were ice blue. Not green, but a blue so pale that they looked like they had no color at all.

It was unsettling. Almost as unsettling as the sight of him standing knee-deep in the Gulf of Mexico at sunset, the tide undulating in and out, water foaming around his legs.

He wore a pair of board shorts in a loud tropical print—neon palm trees and bright pink flamingos—and nothing else.

Wait. No. He was wearing that stupid top hat. Because why wouldn’t he be?

“You want to come in?” It was an innocent question, but it came out as almost a growl. Low and throaty, it was an entirely different kind of invitation that made her heart speed up.

Sophie shook her head. “Too many sharks.”

“I don’t think so.” He craned his neck to look up at the sky, squinting against the sun (because it was daytime now). “It’s not the right time for them. Come on.” Those ice-blue eyes were focused on her, and he held out his hand.

“What if I’m worried about you?” He seemed about as dangerous as a shark.

But his gaze was a tractor beam, and she couldn’t resist. She didn’t want to resist. She slid her hand into his, and the touch of his skin sent a thrill all through her.

This close, she could see the slightest sprinkling of blond hair on his tanned chest. She could see the muscles in his tight stomach, tensing even further at her touch as she laid a hand flat on his belly.

His skin was as warm as the afternoon sun.

“See?” The brim of his hat threw shade across his face, and then across hers as he bent closer. Sophie swallowed hard. All she could see were his eyes—ice green now—and his mouth, his full lips, curving gently into a smile as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I told you you’d want to come in.”

That sounded really dirty too. “Yes.” The word was little more than breath as desire stole her voice.

“Not so bad, right?” The words were spoken against her skin, his mouth hot. His tongue was hotter, tracing a line down her neck. Her nipples tightened, and she felt a throb inside. Further down.

Sophie wanted to speak, but her mouth had gone dry, even as water lapped at her legs. Tristan’s tongue lapped at her too, busy against her throat, his arms closing around her, and she knew. She just knew …

Seagulls squawked as they circled overhead.

Sophie slipped her hand under the waistband of Tristan’s board shorts, her palm skidding against his hip bone.

Tristan caught his breath, gasping against her neck as he palmed one of her breasts (her shirt had disappeared, but that was fine), and the seagulls squawked even louder. Over and over. Louder and louder.

Sophie gasped awake, fumbling for her phone and turning off her alarm.

Then she rolled to her back, clutching her phone in one hand, her chest heaving for breath.

Everything was hot, her body wound tight like a stretched rubber band about to snap.

She was still half asleep, still half in her erotic dream.

She had to be. Why else would she slide her other hand down her belly, under her sleep shorts, to where she was so.

Freaking. Wet. Her body knew what was up, and it only took a few strokes to bring the completion that dream had promised.

Sophie bucked against her hand, her fingers skidding, mouth open wide in a gasp that became a slow whine.

For a few moments she let her body calm, her breaths eventually coming slower, until her phone went off again in her hand, the snooze alarm chirping merrily until she finally groaned and turned the alarm off completely.

Now that she was awake, her brain finally clicking on, she sat up in bed and tossed her phone onto her quilt.

The whole dream came tumbling back through her mind.

The top hat. The flamingo board shorts. The oh-so-talented mouth.

Had she really just had a dirty dream about Tristan Martin?

“Ugh!” She pushed her sleep-tangled hair from her eyes and kicked the bedclothes aside. She needed coffee and a shower. Shower first—she needed to scrub this dream away.

The shower didn’t help. Instead, the hot water against her skin reminded her of Tristan’s hands. Tristan’s mouth. No . She had no idea what his hands really felt like. Or his mouth. Thank God. It had just been a dream. A nightmare even, and the quicker she put it out of her head, the better.

But her head wasn’t cooperating. All day her heart beat just a little faster, and her skin felt just a little too tight.

Every time she blinked, there was a flash of half-naked Tristan on the backs of her eyelids: all toned abs, golden skin, and inviting smile.

Her cheeks were warm against the palms of her hands, flushed in a way that no amount of ice water, either chugged or splashed against her face, could cool down.

Part of her wanted to track Tristan down so she could either jump him or push him off the fishing pier.

By the time seven rolled around and it was time to head to Hallowed Grounds for the ghost tour, she was an unsettled mess.

It was a small group tonight; they were firmly in the doldrums between tourist seasons, where a large crowd barely took two hands to count.

Thank God she’d recruited Libby and Cassie to walk the tour with her.

It always helped to have friends make the crowd look bigger.

But tonight was a bad night to be perceived by friends; she stumbled over her words, and stories she’d told for years felt shaky in her throat.

Most nights, Sophie loved hanging out at the end of her ghost tour, available to answer any questions about Boneyard Key and its many documented ghost sightings, or to follow up on any of the stories she’d told.

But tonight, Sophie’s feet hurt, and everything inside of her felt like it was shaking from the remnants of last night’s horny dream.

So of course, now they had questions. And it was Sophie’s job to paste on a smile and answer them.

“Are there really dead bodies out on that island?”

“It’s a cemetery, so yes.” Sophie threw a glance toward the coffee counter. Boneyard Key’s founding families were buried on Cemetery Island. Nick was a member of one of those founding families, and probably wouldn’t like to hear his great-great-grandfather referred to as a “dead body.”

She widened her smile and turned her attention back to the middle-aged gentleman in front of her.

“As I mentioned in the tour, the cemetery is maintained by members of the local historical society. You can rent a kayak from Jimmy’s, over by the pier, if you’re interested in taking a look yourself.

It’s a wonderful piece of local history. ”

But his attention had wandered, away from the cemetery and to the drink coupon in his hand. “What time does this place close?” He waved the coupon. “Nothing else around here is open. Y’all roll up the sidewalks at five or what?”

“Something like that,” chimed in a voice behind her. Sophie looked over her shoulder to see Nick leaning his elbows on the counter. “The Haunt is about all the nightlife we’ve got around here.”

“Hmm.” He looked down at the coupon again, then nodded at Sophie. “Thanks. Tour was…well, it was interesting.”

She kept her smile bright. There were worse things to be called. “Thanks! That’s what I strive for.”

Finally, finally, the last of the ghost tour patrons filed out, heading for The Haunt, and Nick followed them to the door, throwing the lock behind the last one as Sophie leaned against the bar.

Libby peered at her. “You’ve been a little out of it tonight. Everything okay?”

“Of course.” Sophie sighed. Libby wouldn’t want to hear about her horny dream, and Sophie certainly didn’t want to talk about it. “Just an off day, I think.”

On the other side of her, Cassie bumped her arm. “I say we get pizza.” She glanced over at Nick, busy shutting things down. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Nick and I kind of lost track of time this afternoon and forgot to have dinner beforehand.”

“Ew.” Sophie grimaced. “I don’t need to know that much about your sex life.”

“I second that.” Libby raised a hand, and Cassie rolled her eyes with a smile.

“We were watching a movie. Perverts. Sarah hadn’t seen The Mummy yet, and it was time to educate her. Anyway, you wanna join us? You look like you could use some food.”

“I’m starving,” Sophie confessed, and Libby nodded in agreement beside her. “You’re not getting it to go?” Poltergeist Pizza wasn’t exactly a place where people went for fine dining. It was more of a to-go spot. Delivery, when the scooter was working.

“Nah, we can eat there.” Nick flipped off the rest of the lights, plunging the café and its inhabitants into darkness, lit from the streetlights out front. He came up behind Cassie, sliding his arms around her waist. “I promise Cassie and I can keep our hands off each other for a couple hours.”

“Lies,” Libby said with a grin on her face.

Sophie couldn’t help but agree. “I don’t know if I believe that.

” But there was no way she was turning down pizza with friends.

Nothing was waiting for her at home but a barren fridge and a shared spreadsheet with Tristan that needed updating.

She always imagined him sitting at home, staring at his laptop on tour nights, waiting for her latest numbers.

Screw him. He could wait.

Poltergeist Pizza had six tables set up in the front of the restaurant, their chipped Formica covered with the cheapest of red-checked vinyl tablecloths.

Sophie couldn’t remember the last time she’d stayed to eat there.

While Libby and Sophie pushed together the two tables in front of the window, Nick and Cassie went up to the counter to order, returning with a pitcher of beer and four glasses.