Page 43 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

Thirty

The day before Hurricane Flynn, Sophie would have best described her sex life as ““self-inflicted.” She’d had some fun in college, and had even dated a guy that back then she was sure was ““the one.” But he hadn’t lasted past graduation, and then she was back in Boneyard Key.

Living with her great-aunt had severely limited her options, which were already woefully scarce.

Unless she wanted to date either Tony or Terry—the food fight she’d witnessed between those two in the seventh grade negated that—or Theo, who she’d hated up until a year or so ago, she was out of luck.

It was one of the reasons she and Libby—who knew something about spending her twenties as a caretaker for an octogenarian—had stayed so close as adults.

But now, while the second half of Flynn beat at her shutters and pounded down on her roof, and while her body shimmered from the first orgasm in years she hadn’t had to give herself, Sophie’s future felt wide open.

That future started with pulling Tristan to his feet and getting him into her bedroom.

“Wait, where are we going?” He tried to look innocent as she led him by the hand, past her kitchen and to the darkened hallway that led to the bedrooms. But there was nothing innocent about the way he pushed her against the wall, his hands holding her shoulders while his mouth found that soft spot where her neck met her shoulder.

Even as he explored her skin with his tongue, he was still talking. Sophie was beginning to suspect that Tristan never stopped talking. “Are you sure you want to show me the rest of your place? We’re not friends, you know.”

The old Sophie would have huffed at this.

She would have probably thrown him out on his ear.

But this Sophie, the just-had-an-orgasm Sophie, grinned into the darkness of the hallway.

“I don’t do this kind of thing with friends.

” She’d felt him, hard against her, soft moans in her ear as she’d rocked against him in his lap.

He was still hard against her now, pushing slowly against the thin layers of cotton that separated them.

She knew his protest was toothless; he was hanging on by a thread.

And despite her recent orgasm, so was she. “You have somewhere else to be?”

“Fuck no, I do not.” His hands slid down, tracing the shape of her body through her sundress until he reached her waist and his fingers dug in, clutching.

“Well, come on then.” She pushed at him lightly and he fell away, happy to cede control to her. “Time for the dirty side of the hurricane.”

“God, I love hurricanes.” He followed her down the hallway, but when she stopped at her bedroom, the first door on the left, he almost barreled right past her until she grabbed his hand, tugging him to a stop at her door.

“This is your room?” He looked down the hallway, and Sophie understood his confusion. The layouts in their places were probably similar, with the master bedroom at the end of the hallway. The room that was still Aunt Alice’s.

“Since I was five!” she said as cheerfully as she could, but her heart plummeted.

She didn’t like this. Next, he was going to ask her why she’d never moved into the master bedroom, even though she’d lived alone in this place for a while now.

She’d try to explain that while sometimes the days were long, the years were short, and while she hadn’t intended to keep her great-aunt’s room as a shrine, she’d also never gotten around to moving in there.

They’d been kissing and touching, and until a few moments ago Tristan had practically been shaking with how much he wanted Sophie.

But now, in the dark hallway, his blood seemed to have calmed, and Sophie wanted to cry.

So much for romance. No wonder she was usually on her own when it came to orgasms.

“Hey.” Derailed mood or not, Tristan seemed more than eager to get it back on track.

He stepped closer, an arm sliding around her waist. His embrace was more comforting than sexy, but his warmth was everything she wanted.

“Where’d you go?” His lips brushed her forehead, sending a thrill through her blood even as her throat closed up.

“I’m sorry.” She could barely speak. “I think…I think I’m not very good at this.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” His voice was gentle while his hands were soothing, one rubbing a slow circle on her back while another slid through her hair. “But we can stop, you know. Go back into the living room if…”

That was a horrifying thought, so horrifying that she stretched on her toes, capturing his mouth with hers, and the rest of his sentence was lost in their kiss. “I want this,” she said between kisses, barely allowing herself to come up for air. “I want you.”

“You’ve got me.” He turned them like they were dancing, walking backwards into her room and tugging her along after him. A few steps into the darkened bedroom, he paused. “I can’t see shit in here.”

A watery giggle burst out of Sophie. “Hold on. I have candles.”

“Of course you do.” He stood still while she made her way to her nightstand, and the lighter that she’d placed next to the three-wick pillar candle there.

She’d anticipated a dark bedroom; she just hadn’t anticipated bringing a guest in here.

Once it was lit, she moved to the one on her bureau, and warm candlelight filled the room.

Now that he could see, Tristan moved in behind her, his front grazing her back as she put the lighter down on the bureau.

He moved her hair over her left shoulder, and his lips brushed her neck—the smallest of touches that sent shivers all through her.

“How about this…” The tip of his tongue grazed the shell of her ear, and the murmur of his voice was all she could hear.

“You tell me what you want and I’ll make it happen. Okay?”

She tried to answer, but he chose that moment to nibble on her ear, and she forgot how to speak.

Her knees sagged and Tristan was there, one hand flat on her belly, holding her flush against him.

She nodded instead, turning in his arms and reaching for him.

She thought she’d ruined the mood, but when he bent to kiss her it all came roaring back—that shimmering in her blood, the desperate way he clutched at her.

The mood was back, and it wasn’t going away again. Not if she could help it.

“What do you want?” he asked again, his voice hoarse from their kiss. His arousal made her bold, and she reached for his shirt, tugging it free from his shorts.

“Off” was all she said, and he obeyed immediately, pulling the collared polo shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

Sophie caught her breath, suddenly remembering the dirty dream she’d had about him so many weeks ago.

Her subconscious hadn’t been too far off.

Tristan was lean but toned, a runner’s body, his belly paler than his arms, his chest lightly furred with a sprinkling of blond hair.

She’d seen that hair before, on nights when the ghost tours were over and he’d taken off his cravat and undone the top button of his shirt.

It had been like getting a glimpse of ankle in Victorian times, so getting the full view now felt almost obscene.

Tristan didn’t push; he stood still in the candlelight, watching Sophie watch him. “Do you just wanna look?” He cocked an eyebrow.

She shook her head and stepped closer, reaching out one hand as though she were in a dream.

Maybe she was; it would be just like her to have another erotic dream about Tristan, about the two of them making love during a hurricane.

She let her fingertips dance across his flat stomach.

He sucked in a breath at her touch, muscles contracting, and he felt better than any dream ever could.

But he still didn’t move; he seemed determined to let her take the lead here.

So she did. Her throat had gone completely dry, and she licked her lips, swallowing hard as she let her hand glide down, meeting her other hand at his belt buckle.

“I can’t believe you dressed business casual for a hurricane,” she said as she undid his belt.

“Did you iron these khakis this morning?”

“Of course. The power was still on.” A laugh gusted out of him. “Nothing wrong with being well-dressed,” he said in a shaky voice as his belt met his shirt on the floor.

“There is right now,” she said. “In fact, I don’t think I want you to be dressed at all.”

“Like I said. Whatever you want.”

Sophie didn’t know where she found the courage.

She’d never been this bold in her life. But with Tristan it didn’t feel like boldness.

It felt normal to pop the button on his shorts.

It was the most natural thing in the world to let her fingers trace the fine line of hair beneath his navel, sliding down to his waistband and then under it.

Tristan’s breath shuddered out of him as she reached down, curling her hand around him. His flesh leapt at her touch, and when she stroked him once, twice, he broke his stillness to slide a hand around the back of her neck.

“God. Sophie.” Her name was a plea, whispered on a sigh as his grip tightened on her nape. “Can I touch you?”

“Soon.” She smiled at his frustrated groan.

She almost felt bad for him, but it had been a long time since she’d been alone in the dark with a man sighing her name.

Soon she would relinquish control, but right now she was having too much fun.

She pushed on his shorts and they fell to the floor, his boxers following.

His erection, now freed, bobbed between them, and God, he looked proud.

He looked strong. There was something about him being completely naked while she was still fully dressed that sent a thrill through her.

He should look vulnerable, but the way he met her eyes told her just how much he was holding back.