Page 42 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

Twenty-Nine

What?

Tristan hadn’t intended to say that, but as soon as he did, he knew he meant it. It was the only real solution.

Sophie raised her head, blinking at him, and she looked so different without her glasses on, so vulnerable, that it stole Tristan’s breath and made him forget what they were talking about.

Then she groped on the coffee table for her glasses, sliding them onto her face, and the world righted itself again.

“I don’t understand,” she said, and rightfully so. Tristan barely understood himself. “All these months you’ve been outdoing me. Now you’re just giving up?”

All he could do was nod. At this moment everything was clear, the way it had never been before.

Eric was going to kill him. Guaranteed. But that was Future Tristan’s problem. Current Tristan had enough going on, what with a hurricane raging outside while here, inside, he was about to throw away his entire business.

But the woman in front of him was worth it.

He’d never thought of a hurricane as a romantic setting before, but with the rain and the wind whipping around outside, and Sophie’s skin glowing in the candlelight, his heart was so full that his chest could barely contain it.

He swallowed hard against the lump in this throat, and Sophie blinked, a tear dropping from her lashes onto her cheek, sparkling in the light of the vanilla-scented candles nearby.

That tear clinched it. Sophie was crying. It was his fault. He had a way to fix it. Future Tristan was going to have to suck it up and deal.

“I said I’m conceding.” Conviction made his voice louder, his resolve stronger. “This was a stupid contest anyway, and I never should have proposed it. This is your town. I can’t take that away from you.”

“You weren’t going to.” The tiniest of smiles played around Sophie’s lips.

“It’s not like I was gonna move away.” Her feet were tucked under the skirt of her sundress as she sat curled up on one corner of the sofa.

She looked snug—like she was in her safe spot, her retreat from the world.

He wanted the whole word to be a safe spot for her, but he’d settle for Boneyard Key. Removing himself as a threat.

“Jesus. Of course you’re not.” That had been a consideration?

Tristan couldn’t take this. He surged to his feet, nervous energy propelling him around the room.

“Even so, I bet it would be super fun, having me around all the time. Spending your weekends watching me lead ghost tours, knowing that I took that away from you?”

“Okay,” she said. “Good point.” Her mouth twisted. Not quite a smile, but close.

“Besides,” he said. “It was a ridiculous bet. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were probably thinking that this town isn’t big enough for two ghost tours,” she said, her tone saying she’d had that same thought once or twice, and he huffed out a laugh in response.

“The point is, I’m not the same guy that I was when I first came to town, and when we made that bet.

All that guy could think about was winning.

When I made that bet, all I was thinking about was…

” He faltered. He could finish that sentence.

All I was thinking about was winning against my father , but that would just bring up more questions.

And the last thing he wanted to do right now was hash through his daddy issues with Sophie.

Those were his to deal with, and he never should have mixed her up with them.

He still had his October first deadline. But it was far from the most important thing on his mind. Tristan cleared his throat, effectively erasing that half-finished sentence and beginning a new one. “Anyway, it was a ridiculous bet.”

“Then why did you do it?” Sophie wasn’t aggressive or accusatory. She simply tilted her head to watch him pace around the room. “The whole thing was your idea.”

“It was a dumb idea. I have those sometimes.”

She made a noise that could have been agreement, could have been disapproval. He would never know. But for the first time, her lips curved up in a smile—a real smile—and Tristan felt like he could fly.

“So now what?” The question came from deep in Sophie’s throat, and Tristan felt it in the base of his spine. Now what, indeed.

“Well, I don’t know, Sophie.” Her question, and the way she was looking at him right now, gave him courage.

He moved to sit on the edge of the coffee table, the grouping of candles to his right, directly in front of where Sophie curled up in her nest on the sofa.

“Because I know that we’re not friends.” She caught her breath at their old refrain, and the soft sound sent a thrill across the back of his neck.

“I’m sure you’d love for me to get the hell out of town as soon as possible. ”

“Well…” The tip of Sophie’s tongue peeked out between her lips, wetting them, and Tristan forgot how to speak. “I mean not right this second. There’s a hurricane and all.”

“And after the storm’s over?” This was it. Now or never. Slowly, as though watching someone else do it, Tristan reached out, laying his hand on top of Sophie’s where it lay in her lap. “Because the thing is, I’ve gotten really attached to…this town.”

It was all he could do to keep his hand still, to not curve it around and grasp hers. The next move was hers, and he wasn’t going to be able to breathe until she made it.

An excruciating few seconds passed, and then Sophie moved her hand under his, tangling their fingers together.

His breath caught at her touch, and her gaze snapped up to his.

And there was that smile again. Small, wicked.

Making him feel like he could run through a wall.

“I know what you mean,” she said. “This town’s… come to mean a lot to me.”

“Yeah?” Now he let himself tighten his grip on her hand.

“Yeah.” She tugged, and it was the easiest thing in the world for him to slide to his knees in front of her.

He sat back on his heels, drinking in the sight of Sophie in the candlelight.

Her eyes glowed in the subtle flame as they met his, and God, he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Her free hand came up to cradle his jaw, and Tristan’s eyes fell closed. “I mean, I wasn’t sure at first,” she said. “About this town. If you want to know the truth, I wasn’t much of a fan.”

“Really.” He tried to sound as casual as he could while his heart pounded against his ribs.

“Oh, yeah.” She quirked an eyebrow and bit down on her bottom lip, trying to hold in her smile.

Tristan couldn’t help it; he leaned forward, drawn to her.

She was a siren, and he was an ancient sailor.

He wanted to bite that bottom lip. He wanted to do so much more than that.

Patience , he reminded himself. Patience.

This wasn’t about what he wanted. It was about Sophie.

In the silence that followed, she continued.

“But then I got to know the town. And there’s so much…

” She drew in a shaking breath, and she tugged at him, pulled with her hand in his until he was kneeling up straighter, his lower belly against the edge of the sofa.

He was a supplicant, worshipping a queen on her overstuffed, floral-patterned throne.

Sophie shifted in her seat, leaning closer, bringing her forehead close to his. “Let’s just say I like this town a lot.”

“Oh, God, so do I.” The words burst from his chest, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

He reached for her, cupping her face in his hands.

“I’ve really, really fallen for this town.

” Her skin was so smooth, her hair curling around his fingers as he slid one hand back to grip the base of her skull.

“Sophie. God.” He leaned closer, impossibly closer, his mouth hovering a breath away from hers.

“You have no idea…the things I want to do to this town.”

A laugh burst from her, a giggle that any other time would seem childlike, but right now made him hard as iron. He’d never been that turned on by a laugh before. But now he was laughing too, and her smile felt so, so good against his mouth when he finally kissed her.

He’d kissed Sophie before, of course. Several times, at her front door. They’d been sweet, mostly tentative. But this was different. This was a slow, rolling wave, pulling him under. He would gladly drown in her.

Sophie’s arms came up around him, pulling him into her as much as she pulled herself into him.

Her mouth opened against his, and her tongue—God, her tongue.

He tugged her closer and she went, her legs sliding around his hips as easily as her arms slid around his neck.

The coffee table behind them made a loud groan as the force of their bodies sent it backwards across the hardwood, and Sophie came up for air long enough to gasp.

“The candles!”

“Sorry.” He sat back and blew out a long breath. This had gotten a little out of control. Setting the place on fire anytime was a bad idea, but during a hurricane? That seemed especially negligent.

Sophie fisted a hand in his shirt, pulling him back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I just…” Those sweet kisses they’d shared in front of her door were long since gone in the rearview. Up until now, Sophie had been so reluctant to let him in—to her home, to her life. And for good reason.

But now…everything seemed turned on its head, tossed like the wind outside tossing around palm fronds.

He could taste the red wine on her tongue, and it reminded him to proceed with caution.

So he leaned back, edge of the coffee table digging into his back, keeping Sophie cradled soft and warm in his lap.

“Are you sure about this? This isn’t the hurricane wine talking?” He kept his voice as light as he could, even though this was the opposite of casual. He was about to explode with wanting her, but he had to check.

Sophie huffed a laugh. “I’ve had more to drink on Romance Resort nights with Cassie, Libby, and Sarah.”

That got his attention. “Sarah Hawkins? You watch reality television with a ghost?” He had so many more questions, but that conversation would get them very, very far afield of Sophie’s thighs around his hips and the many things he wanted to do with her. To her.

So instead he smiled. “God, I love this town.” He reached for her, pulling her mouth to his.

Sophie laughed against his mouth, but their laughter dissolved fast as they got more and more caught up in each other.

Tristan dropped a hand to Sophie’s leg, the skirt of her sundress pooling around his wrist as he glided upward.

She shifted in his lap, a slight rocking motion that made the top of his head want to pop off.

His senses were filled with her, the warmth of her mouth, the smoothness of her skin, the way her breath hitched when he reached the crease of her thigh…

She rocked again, rising up on her knees, helping him move her sundress out of the way. “God.” She exhaled a moan into his ear, clutching his shoulders. “Yes, please. ” It was more than just a moan, a beg.

He wanted to go slow with this. It was what Sophie deserved.

She deserved a bed strewn with rose petals, slow sips of champagne over declarations of love.

She deserved to be undressed slowly while he discovered every inch of her with his hands, his mouth, his tongue.

She did not deserve a quick fumble on her living room floor.

But he couldn’t think; his cock was straining against his shorts, and she was moving against him while he slid one finger, then two, under the elastic of her underwear to find the spot where she burned the hottest. Her nails dug into the back of his neck when his fingertips stroked her clit, and it only took a few strokes to send her trembling.

She made a soft, almost surprised noise when she came, a sound that was a dart to his soul. He knew then that he was lost.

No. He was found.

His future had so many question marks, but Sophie…Sophie was an exclamation point.