“Why don’t you go back in the house, and I’ll check out the garage.” His pressed both hands on the bare skin of her shoulders.
She shuddered.
“Go,” he said, giving her a nudge.
“But how will you get in the garage if it’s not open?” She wanted what was in her garage out, but she wanted Owen in her house more. Specifically, in her bed.
Forever.
“The side door. Is it locked?”
“Um, well, I never lock it.”
Neither had her grandmother, Lilly.
The heat from his long fingers curled around shoulders sent shock waves down to her toes. “We’ll have to have a little talk about that later,” he said as he tried to turn her body toward the house.
“Oh, no.” She glared at him. “No way in hell. I’m not going back into that house alone. I’m coming with you.”
“Okay.” He took out a flashlight. “Just stay behind me.” He looked her up and down.
She tried to bite back a smile.
Maybe her dead grandmother hadn’t fallen off her rocker.
“Ha, don’t worry about that.” She grabbed hold of his rock-hard waist. It wasn’t just his great body and insanely good looks she was drawn to. He was her soulmate. The only man who could take her heart without taking her essence. Their souls were connected. No explanation necessary. It was just how the world worked. Besides, when you talk to ghosts, you learn to follow your gut instincts about every other aspect of life, especially those things that might not make sense.
He paused for a moment, glancing toward the ceiling. A howl echoed in the night while the almost-full moon lit up the night sky. She pressed her hand against the taut muscles in his back as he moved effortlessly toward the garage. He rounded the corner, stepped onto the driveway, and then reached for the handle.
She gasped, burying her face in his back, and taking in his fresh ocean-breeze scent.
He completes you.
That’s a line from a movie, Grandma.
So?
A few faint rustling noises from the still night rang out in her ears. “Hear that?”
“Only thing I hear is you talking,” he said gruffly.
“Sorry.” She raised up on tiptoe and peered over his bulging bicep because she was too short to see over his shoulder. She made sure she pressed her breasts against his arm, although he didn’t seem to notice. Damn.
His flashlight flickered about the dark and dingy garage just as the second garbage can flipped over, making a loud crashing noise. She let out a little yelp and tucked her head in his back again, biting down on her tongue as she blindly followed him into her garage.
She couldn’t tell what Owen was doing, but both arms moved, and he grunted a curse or two before inching toward the back of the garage. She only hoped he was pointing his pistol at the nasty, little intruder. What had she been thinking when she devised this plan with the help of a dead woman?
“We need to open the garage door,” he said calmly.
Actually, she thought there was a hint of laughter in his voice.
“Why?” Once again, she peered around his arm and stared at two red eyes blinking back at her. “Oh my God,” she mumbled. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Just open the garage door, please.”
“Um, Owen. I’m not leaving your backside.” She grabbed hold of his belt buckle.
“All right, but I can’t take care of your new pets if you don’t ease up on the death grip.” He reached around, lacing his fingers through her hand and tugged.
“Oh.” Slowly, she pulled them out with a sigh. “Sorry.”
He squeezed her hand, holding on a little longer than she thought necessary considering the situation. Her plan was working like a charm.
“Uh-huh.” He shifted to his left, never taking the light off the little rascal gawking at them with beady eyes and greedy little fingers.
Owen fiddled with something near the side of the door.
“Higher,” she said, realizing he was searching for the garage door opener.
No sooner did the garage door start to hum and the lights flicker than the raccoon began making horrible hissing noises. The little bugger rose up on its hind legs, waving his paws frantically in the air as if ready to claw something.
“Aww, shit,” Owen said as he shoved her aside, pressing his back against her car while raccoon number one, followed by suspect number two and three, raced through her garage and out into the wilds of the neighborhood.
Not missing a beat, she threw herself at Owen, flattening herself against his hard chest. Her fists clenched in his shirt. “Damn, that was close.”
Owen chuckled. She felt the rise of his chest as his arms circled her body and held her for one small moment before he pushed her from the warmth of his robust body. He kept his hands near her waist, his thumbs gently massaging her hips. His gaze bore into hers like lightning glowing in the sky. He tilted his head as he raised a hand to her cheek.
This is it, she thought. He’s making his move.
“You can let go of me now,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides and looking everywhere but at her.
“Oh.” She reluctantly stepped away, swallowing her pride.
“Turn on your main light and let’s see what kind of damage those rascals might have caused.” He took two steps when she saw the mess on the floor.
“Shit,” he said right before he skidded across the garage, waving his arms in the air. His feet came out from under him, landing him in a pile of gushy leftover stuff from her kitchen the racoons had pulled from the garbage cans.
She reached inside the door quickly and turned on the main garage light and chomped down on her lip. “Sorry,” she managed, trying to stifle the laughter building up in her throat. Seeing Owen, covered in a combination of sauce, rice, some chocolate
