Must Love Ghosts (Banshee Creek Book 1) (6 page)

Abby eyes narrowed. She wouldn't have expected Mike to have a tempting, roguish smile, but there it was, taunting her.
 

Oh, yes, this was definitely a dare.

"Sure." She grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled. "And strangled you with it."

He chuckled and it was a sexy sound, the amusement tinged with heavy arousal. It wasn't something she'd ever expected to hear from Mike, and it made her shiver with anticipation.

"Don't get angry," he soothed. "It was a great kiss. Just, you know..."

"What?" Abby's eyes narrowed threateningly. She liked this game.

He shrugged. "It wasn't what I expected, that's all. I mean, from what I gather this Emma Peel person was some kind of James Bond-like figure, right?"
 

She rolled her eyes. That had been the best kiss of her life. A kiss that could make a girl rethink her priorities, a life-altering kiss, and Mike's response was to criticize her cosplay?

"Sorry to disappoint you," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "What exactly was His Majesty expecting?"

"Well," the wicked smile was back, "Let's see."

She was still gripping his shirt, but he took her hand, gently disentangling the fingers from the cloth, and pulled her arm around his waist. She stiffened as her fingers met naked skin. The contact was a shock. After all, she'd never even seen Mike—ultra-proper, by-the-book, sir-and-ma'am-Mike—shirtless. And now, her hand was exploring his naked, and very muscular, back. His skin was soft and smooth, overlying steely muscle.

She stood perfectly still, fascinated by the forbidden touch.
 

"Maybe something like this."

The soft whisper, so close to her ear, took her by surprise, and she flinched when his lips touched her skin. He kissed her lightly, his lips barely touching her neck, but the contact was electrifying. She shivered as his lips traveled down her neck. Mike must have noticed that telltale quiver because she felt him smile against her skin.

"Or maybe something like this."
 

His breath was warm against her skin and she gasped as he trailed kisses down her cleavage. She pushed her body against him desperately, yearning for his touch.

He raised his head, interrupting the trail of torturous kisses.

"Now, that's more like it," he said.

 
She moaned and draped her arms around his neck. The warm, safe feeling was gone. In its place was a heated streak of arousal that ran through her body like wildfire. Arousal that would remain unsatisfied for a long time, judging by the leisurely way Mike was exploring her body.

She leaned forward, trying to pull him into a kiss. But he pulled back, avoiding the caress.

"Sorry, my dear," he whispered roughly against her ear. "I'm afraid you've had your fun." She felt him take something out of his pocket. "It's my turn."

She twisted, trying to see what he'd taken out, but his muscled arms blocked her view.
 

"What is that?" she asked. But Mike only smiled.

"You'll see," he replied, pulling her arms behind her back.
 

He had to bend forward to do so, and Abby took advantage of the situation, capturing his lips in a scorching kiss.

This was no leisurely exploration. She fed hungrily at his mouth, indulging in a long-overdue carnal feast. By the time he pulled away, she was breathless and painfully aroused.

And bound.
 

Her eyes widened in disbelief. The bastard had used one of Caine's plastic ties to bind her wrists. She tried to free herself, but to no avail. Her struggles were useless. The ties were not uncomfortable, but they were very effective. She sank against the attic wall, breathing deeply.
 

She stared at Mike, completely dumbfounded. Bindings and restraints were not things she would ever associate with this man. This was definitely a surprise.

But an intriguing one.
 

Curious to see what other surprises lay behind Mike's squeaky-clean Boy Scout demeanor, she waited for him to do something. But Mike just stood there, admiring her bound body.

He didn't seem in much of a hurry.
 

She wriggled impatiently. Mike may want to take his time, but she vehemently disagreed.
 

And she knew exactly how to hurry him along.

"So," she drawled, chin raised in challenge. "Is this it?"

The question seemed to amuse him. "Sassy, aren't you?" He smiled, running his finger along her jaw.

"No offense," she said. "But it's not—"" She gasped as he ran his finger down her neck. A sharp shock of desire, like an electric current, swept through her body.

 
"What I expected," she finished, breathlessly.

"Mmm." His finger dropped down her chest to the zipper of her cat suit. "I wouldn't want to disappoint a member of Her Majesty's Service." His lips curved into a half smile. "It sounds like a dangerous proposition."

She held her breath as he pulled down the zipper slowly, the metallic rasp a rough caress against her skin.

"Yes," she gasped. "Very dangerous."

The front of her costume fell open, baring her breasts. She waited, muscles taut with anticipation, for Mike to kiss her, or caress her, or do anything at all.

But he just stood there, gazing at her, as if enthralled.

The situation was unbearably exciting. Her nakedness, the restraints, Mike's naked desire, it all coalesced into an overwhelming wave of arousal.

"I've been wanting to do that all day," he confessed.

"Really?" That was a flattering thought, but she had more pressing concerns. "Speaking of wanting..."

She wriggled her hips enticingly.

"Is Mrs. Peel getting restless?" he asked.

Abby licked her lips, trying to think of a response that would get her some action. Unfortunately, her brain wasn't working quite right.
 

"Well, Emma
is
an action kind of gal," she said, affecting a serious demeanor.

That earned her a long, lingering kiss. The long-awaited caress took her breath away, and she leaned against him, hungry for more. Her breasts pushed against his chest and his soft cotton shirt rubbed enticingly against her bare nipples. The contact stoked her desire, deepening her need.

His hands settled on her waist, as if gentling a high-strung horse. The light touch made her quiver and she waited restlessly for his hands to travel to more interesting places. Desire spiraled through her, a red haze surrounding her, frustrated ardor ringing like a siren in her head.

Siren? Her mind cleared instantly.

That wasn't a lust-fueled mirage. That was a real, honest-to-goodness, fire siren.

She looked out the window, and saw pair of Fire & Rescue trucks approaching the house.

"I guess the firefighters lost faith in the local legend," Mike said, frowning at the trucks.
 

Abby stared at him, confused. His face was hard and his eyes were cold. Where was her passionate lover? Mike's luscious body was now tense and taut, like a soldier readying for battle. He zipped up her cat suit quickly and picked up his papers and jacket from the desk. Her confusion turned into admiration; this man was efficiency personified.

"We need to get out." Mr. Efficiency wrapped the jacket around her shoulders, frowning.

"Are you kidding?" she squealed, as he buttoned the jacket. "You have to untie me first."

"Sorry," he said, looking completely unrepentant. "I don't have scissors. And my knife is in my duffle in your house."
 

He grabbed her arm and led her toward the stairs as she wriggled furiously, trying to loosen her bindings. Her efforts were useless though. Those stupid plastic ties were stronger than steel.

He bent down to whisper in her ear. "And I like having you bound, Mrs. Peel," he said softly, as he guided her down the steps. "It keeps you out of trouble."

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

M
IKE
HELD
Abby's arm, leading her carefully down the rickety steps. Well, he actually held her elbow, her hands were still tied behind her back and he felt slightly guilty about that.
 

The key word was
slightly
.

At least the bindings weren't painful. This particular restraint position could be held for hours without discomfort, and, try as he might, he simply couldn't conjure up the slightest bit of remorse. Something about Abby, dressed in his fatigue jacket and walking with uncharacteristic docility, just felt right.

Now
that
was something to feel guilty about, and confused. This entire experience had an air of unreality about it, much like the time his convoy hit a
fougasse
bomb in Afghanistan and he found himself outside the flaming vehicle, holding a wounded comrade, with no clue as to how he'd escaped the vehicle or even managed to drag someone else along. His reaction to Abby was pretty much the same, befuddlement and disorientation.

 
Her curvy body peeking from under the voluminous jacket did not help. And neither did the frequent stumbles that caused her to lean against him unsteadily.

After all, she was his best friend's girl.
 

Sure, he'd been in love with her for years, ever since he first saw her singing in Germany. But he'd done the right thing. He'd hid his feelings, the way a good friend would, and had limited his interaction with Abby to "Hi," "How are you," and "No, the Bermuda Triangle doesn't actually exist."

At least until Cole's death.

It was just a couple of e-mails, at first. Just checking up to see how she was doing. Then it evolved into endless Facebook and Twitter updates on new songs and performances. They talked about life and music and, sometimes, UFO encounters—or random weather balloon sightings, as he liked to call them.

All of it perfectly innocent.

So how did that lead to plastic ties and passionate kisses in an abandoned attic? He was still confused about that. This was a fantasy he hadn't even known he had.

But he'd have to think about that later. Right now he had to get Abby out of the dilapidated, and very flammable, house. They reached the second floor landing and he looked around for an exit. Like the rest of the house, the landing was completely devoid of furniture. Torn wallpaper, a particularly bilious shade of green with a fancy scroll motif, and scuffed wood paneling were all that remained of the house decor. A pair of metal sconces with dusty shades provided dim illumination.
 

The landing was quite crowded with costumed partygoers, looking for the exits. No one seemed concerned though. The atmosphere was that of a public high school complying with the fifth fire drill of the school year. Abby dodged a gaggle of hobbits and headed for the stairs to the first floor, but Mike stopped her and pointed back.

"No," she exclaimed, struggling against him. "That's the wrong way."

"Everyone will head for the front door," he explained. "We're taking the back exit." He pointed down the hallway. "This way."

"There's another exit?" She walked unsteadily down the hall, swerving to avoid a group of
Buffy The Vampire Slayer
clones who were heading for the front door. "How do you know?"

"There's always a second exit," Mike said firmly. He was a firm believer in having multiple retreat alternatives.

But he didn't get a chance to explain. A girl in black plants and a tight top turned around at the sight of Mike's voice. She caught sight of his fatigues and squealed, "Riley."

Mike stopped, confused. Who was this Riley person?
 

"Oh, no," Abby whispered. "It's the Buffies."

"The what?"

The girls turned and stared. They all had brownish hair with gold highlights and dark leather boots.

"The Buffy clones," Abby hissed, walking quickly. "You know, like in the vampire slayer show? Run!"

He looked at the girls, bewildered. They looked harmless, well, mostly harmless. One of them was holding a sharp wooden stick, but he didn't think she could do much damage with that.
 

"It's the Initiative," the girl in a leather jacket shouted gleefully. Her companions smiled in tandem, eyes glinting.

He took a step back. Okay, maybe they weren't so harmless after all.
 

The clones clustered around Mike, backing him against the balustrade. He was completely surrounded. But Abby avoided the onslaught and reached the end of the hallway safely. She looked back and smiled at his predicament.
 

"Oh my god," the shortest clone exclaimed. "You look just like him."

"No way, this guy's better looking," another said. "The haircut's a mess, though."

"Don't take her," a skinny clone in a cheerleader uniform said, pushing her friend aside. "Take
me
."

Mike gazed beseechingly at Abby, but she shrugged, silently claiming helplessness. The ersatz vampire slayers huddled around him, blabbering about controlling chips and whatnot. The hallway opened up to the foyer downstairs and he was seriously tempted to leap over the rail and escape.

He was about to do exactly that, when a loud voice boomed out.

"Keep it moving, ladies." Caine moved down the hallway, urging the girls forward. "You're holding up the evacuation. "

The clones tried to stand their ground, but Caine and his posse pushed them inexorably toward the stairs.

 
"No, wait." The petite slayer hung on to Mike's arm. "My Spike just dumped me. Be my rebound, Riley," she wailed as one of her friends pulled her toward the exit.

Caine made sure all the girls made it down the stairs, then turned back to Mike. The biker seemed strangely calm for someone supervising an emergency evacuation.

"I take it there's no fire," Mike said.

"Here?" Caine snorted. "We could have a blowtorch juggling exhibition in this place and the flammability risk would be zero." He shook his head. "No, it's those crazy old biddies from the Historical Preservation society trying to sabotage us. They called Fire and Rescue on us."