Medium Well (9781101599648) (15 page)

He stepped after her, digging into his pocket, his forehead creasing. “Maybe you could give me a little help here.”

“Help?”

“I need to get my wallet out,” he muttered. “Condoms.”

Biddy slid her hand inside his jeans pocket, her fingers grazing the swell of male muscle.

Danny groaned.

She felt like giggling, but she had a feeling she wouldn't be able to stop. “Courage, Mr. Ramos. I've almost got it.”

“Good.” His voice sounded a little choked.

Her fingers closed around the wallet and she pulled it out, rubbing the back of her hand against him again, not entirely by accident.

His breath hissed out and he jerked open his belt buckle. “You'll pay for that.”

“I'm counting on it.” She grinned. She would have reached for his zipper, but he seemed to be taking care of that himself. Very quickly.

Her grin faded as she stared. God, he was gorgeous! But she already knew that. His shoulders, his chest with the fine spray of golden hair, the tight muscles of his stomach. She knew he'd look like this. She'd always known.

“Gosh,” she whispered.

Oh, wonderful, Biddy!
Gosh and golly, gee willikers, some pecs you got there, handsome!

His teeth flashed in the moonlight. “Just what I was thinking.”

She wet her lips, staring up at him. He was absolutely ready, judging by his arousal. Was she? What if she wasn't right? What if he didn't like having sex with her? What if . . .?

He leaned over her, pushing her down on the bed, the heat from his body radiating against her skin. “Biddy, if you change your mind now, I'm a dead man.”

She placed her hands on his chest, running her fingers through his hair to pinch the flat nipples. “Whyever would I want to change my mind, Mr. Ramos?”

He groaned again.

***

Danny figured he'd be lucky to live through the evening, and not just because he was breaking all those ethical rules he'd posted for himself. He was going to have sex with his assistant. His assistant who had the most perfect breasts he'd ever seen. His assistant, who made him feel like his lower body had been turned to granite again. Aching granite.

Her fingers left streaks of cool fire on his chest. He closed his eyes, concentrating on her touch, trying to slow down his pulse rate.
Take your time. Feel it all.

He dipped his head again, running his tongue along her collarbone, tasting a hint of salt, smelling almonds. Below him her breathing sped up.

He moved lower, running his lips along the side of her breast, then taking the nipple into his mouth, pressing it hard between teeth and tongue as he sucked.

Her breath became a gasp. She moaned, moving her hands down his body, along his thighs. He sucked harder, pulling more of her breast into his mouth.

“Oh, sweet,” she murmured, moving her hips against him.

Holy crap.
His breath caught in his chest.
Take your time. Feel it all.
Yeah, right.

He licked his way down her body, feeling the satin softness of her skin beneath his palms, then spread her inner lips, feeling the warm heat of her arousal.

She arched again, her hips rubbing hard against him. He took several deep breaths and tried to remember how to calculate compound interest in a vain effort to jolt his brain out of attack mode.

No chance there. He'd better make this good because he had a feeling he'd need some recovery time. He ran his tongue along the inside of her thigh, feeling her fingers twist in his hair.

“Oh, God, Danny!”

He looked up into the deep pools of her eyes. “Any problem, ma'am?”

“I'm going to die here very soon.”

“Right.” He managed a grin that was probably more like a grimace. “But we'll both die happy.” He moved his mouth to her mons, sucking, hearing her moans become shorter, more emphatic.
Hang on there, Biddy. Just give me a few more . . .

He closed his eyes. There weren't a few more, not for him. He reached for the bedstand, fumbling at his wallet. Given the pain he'd gone through to get the damn things out, he wasn't going to forget them now.

“Danny?” She reached for him. “Let me . . .”

“No,” he gasped. “Definitely not. No touching. Not if you want this to last beyond the next two minutes.” He sheathed himself, then pushed up on his elbows, staring down into those deep blue pools again.

And then he slid inside. Into damp heat that would very soon be driving him insane.

Her sigh was half groan. “Oh, my Lord, that feels so . . . good.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes.” It seemed to be all he could say. He moved slowly, feeling her warmth clasp and unclasp around him, enfolding him tight. And still he stared down at her, watching her face, willing her to keep her eyes open.
Watch me, Biddy, watch me. Only me. Only me.

The words hammered in his brain, picking up the rhythm of his body, quickening now as he felt her legs move around his sides, her heels tucked behind him.

He felt the tightening in her body at the same time he felt the warmth begin to move up his spine.
No. No. No. Not yet.
Not until he saw her come.

She threw her head back, her face set, eyes closing.

“No,” he gasped. “Look at me. Look at me.”

Her eyes popped open almost at the same time her body arched beneath him. He caught her cry, covering her mouth with his, swallowing the sound as his own body began to shudder.

Heat exploded in his groin, behind his eyes, along his spine. His body convulsed, driving deep, again and again.

His tongue stabbed into her mouth as his body plunged once more, beyond his control. But then the whole thing had been beyond his control. Maybe since the first time he'd seen her.

“Biddy,” he whispered. “Ah, Biddy.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, tucking her head into the curve of his shoulder. Danny managed to roll to the side, before his body slumped. He nestled her against him, pulling the sheet across them both.

Ghosts, goblins, and things that go bump in the night notwithstanding, he'd just had what was probably the best sex of his life. And he wasn't about to let her go without at least one encore. Assuming he could scrape himself up from the puddle of pure satisfaction he currently occupied.

Chapter 15

Danny recognized the room. Unfortunately. Why now, when he was warm and happy and so satisfied his bones had turned to jelly? He should have been sleeping the sleep of the totally oblivious. Instead, he was back inside the goddamned carriage house, looking at a ghost.

Of course, the
damned
part might be the literal truth, given his luck.

The ghost stood across from him, half hidden in shadows. Danny had the feeling he was disappointed. Maybe Danny wasn't supposed to be having a good time when the ghost had things for him to do.

“Go away,” he murmured.

The ghost stayed where he was. Clouds drifted across the moon, sending stripes of silver across the floor.

“I don't want to be here.” His voice felt stronger now. “I'm trying to help you. Bringing me here doesn't make it any easier. Leave me alone.”

Moonlight moved across the ghost's face. For a moment, he wondered how light could move across something transparent.
It's a dream, doofus. Anything goes.
The ghost's eyes remained in shadow, but the gash in his throat showed clearly.

Terrific.
The ghost's injuries were one part of the whole thing that didn't need emphasizing. “You've made your point,” he snapped. “Somebody murdered you. You want payback. Or something. I get it.”

The ghost stared at him, unmoving, and Danny sighed. He really wanted out of this dream.

And then something moved in the far corner of the room.

He forced himself to stand still. Maybe it was the cat. Probably it was the cat. Although he'd never seen the cat in the carriage house before. Not that he'd been looking.

Another movement, something flashing in the moonlight.
Not the cat.
He narrowed his eyes, staring into the darkness. Something white, gleaming white.

A woman. He could see her now in the shadows, her outline against the far wall. She moved again and he saw her white dress, dimmed to silver gray in the shadows.

His gaze flicked back to the ghost. “Who's your girlfriend?”

The ghost faded further into the darkness, his form blending with the wall behind him.

The woman took a step forward.

Her long white dress glittered in the moonlight, the sleeves diaphanous and flowing around her arms. Her waist looked impossibly small, nipped in, wrapped in a long silk sash in a color that looked black in the darkness. She reminded Danny of a John Singer Sargent painting, some wealthy woman of leisure, trapped now in the dust and shadows of the carriage house.

And then she stepped forward again and he saw her face. Or where her face should have been.

Darkness. Shadows within shadows. A face that wasn't a face but a yawning black cavity.

Danny opened his mouth to say something, anything, but his throat was too tight—no sounds came out.

The thing that was dressed like a woman raised its hand to him, palm out, and he was suddenly gasping with terror, his lungs seizing, his body paralyzed, unable to move away from the hand that seemed poised, floating, ready to touch him.

He sucked in a huge breath, suddenly able to move again, pushing away from her. “No!” he cried. “No! Don't!”

“Danny?” A woman's voice.

He shook his head. “No, dammit, no!”

“Danny.” A hand now—she was touching him. Touching him!

“No!” He twisted away. Away from a warm, soft body, slender arms, the scent of almonds.

His eyes popped open.

Biddy was staring down at him, her turquoise eyes wide, the sheet twisted around her waist. “Danny?”

He sucked air into his lungs, trying to get his heartbeat under control. Morning sunlight flooded his bedroom windows—cool sheets, a down pillow beneath his head. For a moment, he felt almost giddy with relief.

“Okay,” he gasped. “I'm okay.”

Her soft hands touched the sides of his face, turning his gaze up to hers. “The carriage house?”

He closed his eyes, nodding. “Where else?”

“Who was it this time?”

“Same guy.” He opened his eyes again. “Maybe we should give him a name or something. It might make him a little easier to think about.”

She touched his cheek lightly, then brushed it with her lips. “How about Mr. Black? Seems to fit. Were you yelling at him?”

His stomach lurched. He took another deep breath. “No. There was somebody else there this time. A woman. Sort of.”

Her hands stopped moving. She stared at him again, wide-eyed. “A woman. What did she look like?”

He shuddered. “Like a cross between John Singer Sargent and the Crypt Keeper. Nice clothes, but not much in the way of a face.”

“Meaning?” Her eyebrow arched.

“Meaning she didn't have a face. Nothing. Darkness.” The words tumbled out through his gritted teeth.

She dropped her hands, her breath coming faster. “Oh my God!”

Danny missed her warmth. He ran his palms along the top of her shoulders. “It's okay, just a nightmare. Lord only knows what it means.”

Biddy was blinking fast. “I saw her, too,” she blurted. “When I saw Mr. Black in my dream. She was there, too, in the mist.”

“You saw a woman without a face and you didn't remember it until now?” He managed not to sound too incredulous.

“I didn't see her face, or that she didn't have one. It was just too dark to see her in the mist.” She rubbed her arms the way she always did at the carriage house, as if she were cold.

He gathered her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. Her body seemed to tremble slightly before settling against him. “All right,” he murmured, “we both saw her. So she's part of the mix. It's okay. We'll figure out what she wants later.”

“Do we have to?” She snuggled closer.

He felt a rush of warmth followed by nearly instant hardness.
Damn, she was good! Actually,
they
were good. Together.
“You don't have to do anything, ma'am.” He nuzzled the soft place behind her ear, feeling silky hair against his forehead. “But I can think of a few things I want to do that would be a lot better with your assistance.”

She turned slightly so that her breasts rubbed against his chest. He'd never been so glad to be sleeping naked.

“I think I'd like to hear more about that, Mr. Ramos. I also think I'd like to take my mind off the carriage house. Could you maybe help me with that?” She looked up at him from beneath her lowered lashes.

“Oh, lady,” he breathed, “just give me a chance.”

***

Since Biddy only had the dress she'd been wearing at the show last night, she pulled on one of Danny's dress shirts to serve as a makeshift robe for breakfast. Judging from the way he watched her as she got the orange juice out of his refrigerator, the shirt was a hit.

She loved his house—the light and space, the dusky Saltillo tile floors in the kitchen and dining room, the dark wood and woven rugs in the living room. She might once have expected his place to be full of glass and chrome and hard angular furniture. But now that she knew him better, the house seemed a perfect fit.

“Do you guys have a gig tonight?” He handed her a cup of coffee, pushing out a stool for her at the kitchen counter.

She shook her head. “We had a booking to open for someone in Austin, but it fell through. Tomorrow night we're back at Tico's, opening for some hat from Nashville.”

“Some hat?” He raised an eyebrow.

“As in all hat, no cattle. Some one-hit wonder. I'd rather open for Texans, but Tico's got to eat.”

“Not at his own club, I'll bet,” he muttered.

“Probably not.”

“Have dinner with me tonight.” His eyes were back to burning emerald again.

“Sure.” She tried for nonchalance. “Where?”

“Here.”

Her pulse began to thump. She resisted the urge to tug down the bottom of the shirt. “Oh . . . okay. Sure.”

His smile made her think of a hungry timber wolf. “I'll feed you. So help me.”

“I believe you,” she murmured, trying very hard not to think about all of the possible implications in that statement. “Are you going to the office this morning?”

He shook his head. “I've got a showing at ten—in Tobin Hill. I need to go over and make sure the house is in shape. Are you going in?”

“I thought I might go back to the Historical Society.” She took a bite of muesli. It tasted a little like something you'd feed livestock, but she decided she could live with it. “I found some stuff yesterday I want to check on.”

He leaned on the counter next to her, holding his cup of coffee in both hands. “What's up? Have you found somebody who might be the ghost?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. But I've eliminated a lot of people who can't be—mostly on the basis of the clothes Mr. Black is wearing. I figure he couldn't come from any time later than 1930.”

He narrowed his eyes, thinking. “Okay. That's an interesting way to go.”

“It just seemed logical. Do you see a problem with it?”

“No, but if we go with clothes we've got a better possibility.”

She took another bite of fodder. “Like what?”

He took a deep breath, then blew it out. “The woman. Miss Faceless. She was wearing a very recognizable style of dress.”

She nodded slowly. “Right. Late nineteenth century, maybe early twentieth since styles wouldn't change as quickly down here.”

“How much does that narrow the time period?”

“I'll have to check. Gracie eliminated the first name on the list because he was the developer who built the house—he didn't live there. There were only a couple of others, I think.”

“Ah, Gracie.” He grinned, his eyes warming again. “Better you than me. Gracie's always been immune to my charms.”

Biddy was considering just how unimmune she was to those charms herself when a loudly chiming doorbell from the direction of the front room made her jump.

“What the hell?” Danny slid off his barstool. “Who'd be coming around at this time of day?”

“Danny?” A woman's voice echoed down the hall. “Sweetheart?”

Biddy moved off her own barstool, feeling her heart slide toward her toes.

“Sweetheart?” the woman said again. “Are you in there?”

“Shit!” he growled, heading up the hall. “I'll have to let her in or she'll never go away.”

She watched him move, the muscles flexing in his bare back. He had a beautiful ass, even covered in the loose jersey sweatpants he was currently wearing. It shouldn't be a surprise that he had other women in his life.

Right, Biddy. Keep telling yourself that.
Her stomach clenched tight.

Danny reached the door and threw it wide. Over his shoulder, she could see a mass of honey blond hair.

“Sweetheart,” the woman said. “I've been worried about you.”

“Come on in, Ma.” He sighed. “There's toast.”

Danny's mother was obviously the source of his sandy hair and emerald eyes, although apparently not the dimples, given the dimpleless smile she directed at Biddy. She hadn't even blinked at seeing a semidressed woman standing behind her son's kitchen counter.

Biddy, on the other hand, was acutely aware of the amount of bare leg she had sticking out from beneath the edge of Danny's shirt.

“Hello, I'm Deirdre Ramos.” She extended her hand in Biddy's direction.

Biddy resisted the urge to jerk the shirt further down her thighs and took her hand. “Biddy Gunter, Mrs. Ramos. Pleased to meet you. We spoke on the phone.”

Danny's expression seemed purposefully blank as he leaned back against the counter, folding his arms across his bare chest. His very bare, very muscular chest. “Would you like something to eat, Ma?”

Mrs. Ramos shook her head. “No, I've already had breakfast. Are you all right, Danny?”

“All right?” His forehead furrowed. “Sure. I'm fine.”

“But you weren't earlier this morning, were you?” His mother narrowed her eyes. “I had a feeling . . .”

His mouth became a thin line. “I'm fine, Ma. No problems. Was that all you wanted?”

She sighed, climbing onto one of the stools at the counter. “All right, give me some coffee. Obviously, we have some talking to do.”

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were developing a headache. “Look, Ma . . .”

His mother gave him a slightly lopsided grin. “It's no use, Danny. If you want to get rid of me, as you undoubtedly do, you'll need to tell me what happened.”

“It was a nightmare, okay?” He shrugged. “I woke up. End of story.”

Her grin disappeared. “A nightmare. In the same place or somewhere different?”

Biddy felt like shaking her head to clear it. Too many thoughts had flooded her brain at once. His mother apparently had some kind of sixth sense that told her when her son was suffering. Not only that, but his mother knew what was happening with the ghosts. Apparently, she knew everything. Well, not
everything
because she evidently hadn't realized Biddy was involved. On the other hand, maybe she had since she was carrying on this conversation where Biddy could hear it. She found herself pinching her nose, just like Danny. It seemed to help.

“It was in the same place, Ma.” He sighed again. “Look, I'm dealing with it. You don't need to worry about it.”

His mother looked at him as if he'd just told her not to worry about that little case of malaria he'd contracted. “Of course I need to worry about it! If something is trying to hurt you, I need to know.”

He looked like he was gritting his teeth. “Biddy doesn't need to be in the middle of all this.”

His mother turned toward Biddy, with a smile so bright it was almost blinding. “I'd guess Ms. Gunter is already in the middle of this. Would I be right about that?”

Biddy took a deep breath. “Please call me Biddy. And yes, you'd be absolutely right.”