by Lori Foster
But he wasn't a weak-spined coward, ready to turn tail and run at the first sign of mental instability. So her relatives were certifiable? He wouldn't let that stop him. Not when there was something, or someone, he wanted.
And right now, at this moment, he wanted Tamara Tremayne bad. That fact had been driven home to him in no uncertain terms.
Even in the midst of bedlam, he was aware of the vibrating tension in his muscles, and the sexual fever pulsing in his blood. He was too drawn to her to walk away now. But he could handle things his own way, refusing to give her the upper hand.
Zane raised one brow, keeping a close eye on Thanos-the-missing-link, and said, "Tamara, would you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?"
The giant stepped forward and thundered, "You were mauling her! We all saw you."
Zane couldn't very well deny that, because he had been all over her—never mind that she seemed to be going along with it, even enjoying herself. And perhaps doing a little mauling of her own.
Not since his second woman had Zane abandoned all finesse during a seduction, but with Tamara, for that brief moment, he'd been aware only of his need for her. Nothing else had registered. They'd been on a stair landing, for God's sake, but if no one had interrupted them, Zane suspected he'd have taken her right there, with only the night shadows to conceal their activity.
And from all indications, she'd have let him.
As he started to nod in assent, ready to accept the truth of Thanos's claims, Tamara gasped and said loudly, "I wanted him to."
That sure got things quiet.
While they all, Zane included, stood there staring at her with their mouths open, she asked, "What were you all doing watching, anyway? I specifically told you to give me a few minutes of privacy."
"Your apartment isn't big enough for privacy," Thanos told her.
"It's big enough if you don't press your nose to the door window and snoop."
Zane was surprised not only by what she said, but also her vehemence and the number of words she'd used to say it. In the time he'd known her, Tamara had managed to be mysteriously soft-spoken and far from chatty.
Olga, brushing Zane's hair from her hand, shrugged her narrow, frail shoulders. "We heard you hit the door. We thought he was attacking you."
Another woman, a bit older but looking just as mean, harrumphed as she came up next to Olga. "He was attacking her."
Olga narrowed her eyes. "Now that I think about it though, she didn't seem to be fighting him off."
Zane rubbed the back of his neck. This was too much for him. Way too much. It had been a long time since he'd had to deal with a woman's relatives. "Look, I'm sorry I jumped on her that way. I've never done that before."
Tamara took immediate offense. "Don't you dare apologize, Zane Winston. You didn't jump on me, you kissed me." She stepped closer to him, pointing that lethal cane at his chest. "And it was wonderful." Her fierce expression was enough to melt his insides.
Zane's libido stirred, and he fought to keep his responses at bay. Not here, not now. It had been bad enough dealing with an erection in the store, with swarms of customers moving around him. In front of her less than reasonable relatives, it would be impossible.
Zane didn't move except to let his eyes shift, taking in all the curious faces surrounding them. Thanos looked bemused. Olga and the other woman were pressed together, eyes wide, staring at Tamara.
"Uh. . . ." Zane knew he had to regain control somehow. "Care to introduce me, Gypsy?" He figured if he was to be accosted and threatened and put on display, it should at least be on a first-name basis.
Tamara clapped a hand over her luscious mouth. "Ohmigosh. I'm sorry, Zane. Of course I should introduce everyone."
She stepped to his side and clasped his arm, providing a united front against the others. Zane refused to dwell on the emotions that her action stirred, how her stance pleased him. Plenty of women had stood at his side throughout his life, but none had ever seemed quite so right there. That realization disturbed him.
"Zane Winston," she said, now smiling, "this is my uncle, Thanos, and my aunts, Olga and Eva Tremayne."
The relationship was easy enough to see. Though they didn't look anything like Tamara now, they certainly looked like her when she wore her Gypsy getup. And while their eyes were black, and hers were green, the slanting, cat-eyes shape was the same.
"You called her Gypsy," Eva accused with a smile. She looked very pleased by it.
Zane shrugged. He wanted to touch Tamara again; he wanted to find out what the hell had happened with the long black hair, the penetrating black eyes. In the most basic ways, she was the same woman without the unusual clothes and makeup, yet she was also doubly intoxicating.
Now she seemed more real, more attainable, and that played havoc with his senses. She wasn't that gorgeous, and she certainly wasn't stacked. But she was still so intrinsically sexy that his temperature had automatically gone up three degrees the second he'd seen her.
He was starting to sweat.
"She claims to be one," Zane explained, and hoped he was the only one to notice the gravelly, aroused tone to his voice. "But seeing her like this, I have to wonder."
"There, you see," Olga said with satisfaction. "Without the right props, no one would know your heritage. You're far too fair, too slight, and plain. We were right. You need the enhancement."
Tamara frowned at Zane, and her eyes were lit with a touch of disappointment. At him?
"They insist I wear the dumb costume—"
"Not dumb," both women exclaimed, obviously appalled that she'd utter such sacrilege.
"—otherwise, I'm like the white sheep in the family."
Thanos shook his huge head and laughed. The windows rattled at his exuberance. "Little Gypsy, even without the costume, you're still a white sheep." To Zane he added, "She's too good, too tenderhearted. She has a conscience as big as the moon. How she came to be in our family is a miracle."
Eva added, "It's amazing she plays the game so well, considering her romantic nature."
"The game?"
Nodding, Eva said, "Fortune-telling, palm reading, and the rest."
Olga went on tiptoe to murmur into Zane's ear, "She comes from sure stock, yet doesn't like fooling people. Can you imagine?"
Zane wasn't exactly sure what they were all prattling on about, but he could feel Tamara's distress. He knew he was partly responsible, and regretted it. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.
Didn't these people—her own family—know they were upsetting her? It angered him, and made him feel not only protective, but defensive. They weren't emotions he normally associated with anyone other than his family. He frowned with that realization. "I'd like to talk to Tamara alone now, if you wouldn't mind."
Thanos barked a rough laugh. "It's not talking you have thoughts for, man. Your lust is there for all to see."
Olga sighed dreamily. "For our little Tamara."
"It's about time," Eva added.
About time? What the hell did that mean?
Tamara, her face coloring hotly, whirled on them all. Zane had never seen her angry, never heard her loud.
Never seen her blonde.
"Don't any of you even think of interrupting me again, do you understand?" She pointed toward a hallway and said, "We're going to my room, and if I hear even a creak of a footstep"—her voice dropped to a demonic growl—"I'll make you all so sorry."
As far as threats went, it wasn't specific enough that Zane would have worried. She was one small woman. What could she possibly do to them?
Thanos gave her an approving nod, unmistakably pleased with her show of anger. "The Tremayne temper. She has it in spades."
The two old women twittered.
Exasperated, Tamara grabbed Zane by the arm and practically dragged him down the hall. He felt the gazes of her aunts and uncle boring into his back like fiery brands.
Without any of them uttering a word, he heard their threats loud and c
lear, and they were a lot more specific than Tamara's had been.
If he hurt her, they would make him sorry.
Zane shook off his uneasiness. He was about to be alone with her, and that filled him with undeniable expectation; there was no room for anything else.
Tamara dragged him inside a room and shoved the door shut. Bright, overhead lighting, centered above a huge, modem computer desk, nearly blinded him, drawing his attention first.
She flipped a wall switch, and there was only moonlight filtering through her window, and light from one small lamp on a table beside her queen-size bed.
Zane stilled. He was in her bedroom. They were relatively alone. He looked at Tamara and caught her bewitching smile.
Oh, no. He wouldn't make it so easy on her. She'd led him in here, and now she was smiling at him, her eyes filled with promise. Teasing, taunting, using her Gypsy tricks and her curses. He was on to her.
Now was as good a time as any for him to take control. She claimed only to want sex. Fine. He'd give it to her, in abundance. He'd brand her in the best way known to man.
His gaze raked over her, seeing the thrust of her pretty breasts beneath her top, the gentle slope of her belly, and the curve of her hips in the snug jeans. There wouldn't be a single part of her he left untouched.
He'd see to it that she experienced the best damn sex she'd ever had. When all was said and done, she'd be as emotionally raw and hotly wired as he now felt.
Having made his decision, Zane gave Tamara his own slow smile, and watched her eyes widen in wariness. She swallowed, and said softly, "Oh, my."
Zane had the awful suspicion she'd just read his mind, and anticipated his intent.
Christ, what had he gotten himself into?
Three
"Oh, my, what?" Zane demanded.
She licked her lips, tried for a negligent shrug, but her eyes told it all. She had beautiful, incredible eyes, the green much nicer than the darker contacts had ever been.
"I was . . . just...." She gestured with her hand. "You look so ..." Clearing her throat, she said, "Never mind."
Refusing to let her see his unease, purposely shifting the mood, Zane glanced around the room and was amazed by what he saw. In direct contradiction to what he'd seen of her shop through the large front window, her private room was plain—and modern.
Neither the desk nor the computer fit his original image of her. As a Gypsy, she used candles and incantations as her tools, not a state-of-the-art computer complete with fax and scanner and copier. Yet the system arranged neatly on her desk was most impressive. Zane eyed it with appreciation, wondering what she did on that computer, if she'd learned to cast spells through the Internet.
There were no ornate fixtures or candles or lace overlays. No smoldering incense, no colored lights. Her bedspread was plain blue, her carpeting a solid beige, her
furniture sturdy light oak in a style of clean, simple lines.
There was no clutter anywhere, nothing fancy, nothing exotic or seductive. It amazed Zane, and further confounded him.
This room matched her as she was now, a petite blonde scrubbed clean of makeup, barefoot, wearing well-worn jeans. An innocent earth child, and doubly sexy because of it.
Tamara took in his frown and stepped away. For the moment, Zane let her retreat, knowing if he reached for her, they'd be back at square one, with her body flush against his where he most wanted it to be. He needed some answers first; he needed to know her at least a little more.
Zane watched her pace the length of the airy room. She went to the window that faced his store and moved the curtains aside to look out. How many nights had she done that? How many nights had she watched him from that window? Maybe he'd felt her gaze, maybe that accounted for his sleepless nights and vivid dreams.
In a soft, agonized whisper, she said, "I'm so, so sorry."
Zane's chest constricted tightly at her low apology, at the embarrassment and upset he could hear in her tone. "For what?" he asked, keeping his tone gentle, hoping to soothe her, to gain her confidence.
"Everything." She shrugged helplessly. "Shocking you as I look now, letting my relatives attack you, even my bold proposition this afternoon."
Panic ripped through him, and he growled, "I won't let you take it back."
She turned to face him, lips parted in surprise.
In three long strides, Zane reached her. "I won't let you take it back" He clasped her shoulders, drew her up to her bare toes. "You said you wanted to sleep with me."
Her chest rose and fell, her eyes widened and glittered with moonlight. "I do."
"You said you wanted sex with me." Zane didn't want any misunderstandings. He wasn't sure he could survive a misunderstanding.
Tamara licked her lips slowly, cautiously. "Yes." Rather than easing his tension, her confirmation drew him tighter until his every muscle strained and he could count the hard beats of his heart. Knowing he was close to losing it again, Zane forced his fingers to open, to release her, and he stepped away.
He felt like a damn fool. How did she keep doing this to him, pushing him over the edge, making him act like a man he didn't recognize? How did she make him so aware of her every thought and emotion, until they became his own? He didn't want any woman to affect him that deeply.
"Good." He gave a sharp nod. "Then that's settled."
"Is it?" She looked him over, taking in his features with a kind of hopefulness that nearly made him groan aloud. "Is it, really?"
"Oh, yeah." Zane couldn't quite get over his amazement at her appearance. He could have looked at her all night long and it wouldn't have been enough. "There's no backing out for you now."
Her blonde curls bounced silkily as she shook her head. "I don't want to back out. I want you."
In that moment, Zane decided Tamara would have been a valuable addition to the Inquisition. "Damn, don't say that."
"Don't say . . . what?"
"That you want me." He scrubbed his hands over his face, paced up and down. "I don't know why, I don't understand this at all, but I'm hanging on by a thread." He stopped and glared at her. "A real thin thread."
Tamara came a tiny bit closer. It was too close. He could detect her scent again, and it called to him in some primal way, tightening his testicles, filling him with a surge of hunger until his vision blurred and narrowed on her features.
"You want me, too?" she asked.
Her naiveté would have made him laugh in different circumstances. Plainly visible if she only looked, his cock filled his pants, straining for release, straining for her. And even if she missed that rather obvious sign, lust was written all over his face. Hell, even Thanos had seen it, and that's when Zane had thought he was successfully hiding it.
"I want you," he confirmed, then added, "And I intend to have you, since you were gracious enough to offer." "Thank you."
He knew women, knew all their tricks, all their ploys. But he had no idea what Tamara was up to—or, for that matter, who she really was. A blonde who pretended to have raven hair? A modern woman who gave the illusion of Old World values? A wild temptress who now looked too sweet to bear?
Slowly circling her, Zane studied Tamara from every angle. Wearing a loose pullover shirt and trim jeans, her blonde hair mussed, her extreme makeup and the abundance of jewelry gone, she looked like innocence personified.
Yet she'd liked being mauled by him on the stairs when he'd only just learned her name. Her sexual nature matched his, or at least came close enough that she'd been as unaware of the surroundings as he had. All that had mattered was getting closer.
But there was something he was missing. Since he'd known her, which had always been in a peripheral way, Tamara had presented herself as a free-spirited Gypsy wrapped in mystery and superstition. Her clothes said as much. Her shop said as much. Her every smile and teasing glance said as much.
And now, by pure chance Zane had caught her looking entirely different. Not like a Gypsy siren, but like a damn schoolgirl.
She tucked her fair hair behind her ears, inadvertently shoring up his perceptions, then said, "Twenty-four. And you?"
"Twenty-seven," Zane answered, distracted by his thoughts. She didn't look twenty-four. Of course, she hadn't really looked like a black-haired Gypsy either. Perhaps that accounted for his edgy reaction to her. He'd suspected she was hiding behind a dark façade.
Would she have gone on deceiving him if he hadn't made his impromptu visit tonight?
Was she deceiving him even now?
"This is your natural look?" At her blank expression, he clarified. "The blonde hair is natural?"
She touched her hair. "Yes."
"There are ways I can tell, you know."
Her brow lifted. "How?"
"When I see you naked."
She blinked at him, and then, as realization dawned, her face heated and her hand dropped to her side. "I'm a ... a natural blonde."
Zane sensed her discomfort as he continued to circle her, continued to study her in minute detail. "I will see you naked, you know."
Nodding, she asked, "And I'll see you, too?"
Zane hesitated, taken aback by her question. "Did you think I made love fully dressed?"
"Have sex."
"What?"
He stood behind her, paused momentarily. She replied without looking at him, "We'll have sex, not make love. We . . . you and I barely know each other, so there won't be any love involved."
She annoyed him. Zane narrowed his eyes and said through his teeth, "Yeah, I'll be naked. And it's fine with me if you want to look your fill."
Again she said, "Thank you."
"I'll be looking my fill, too. Will you like that, Tamara?"
She nodded, but said, "I don't know."
Because she had something to hide? For certain she didn't have a shy bone in her luscious little body. Zane began circling again.
Her fair skin and glittering green eyes went along with the golden hair, so she was likely telling the truth about that. But he wasn't quite satisfied; there were too many things that didn't add up.