Winston Brothers 04 Wild

by Lori Foster

  "I'd saved up money from the jobs we did. I used all my savings for the down payment, and it was just enough."

  He imagined she had a very frugal lifestyle, without a lot of room for luxuries or extravagance. Yet, she didn't seem to want for anything—except him. That thought caused a tightness in his chest, and in his groin.

  Unaware of his private turmoil, she continued matter-of-factly. "My family is settled and this house is perfect for me. When I was younger and we were on the road so much, I used to dream of a house just like this. I love the wooden floors and the rusty pipes and the high moldings." Sadness invaded her expression before she shook her head, as if bringing herself back to reality.

  She clearly thought she had no option except to sell, and just as clearly wasn't going to dwell on what couldn't be. She was too sensible to bemoan things she couldn't change. It was that sensibility, Zane thought, which had enabled her to get a band of loony Gypsies settled in the first place.

  "I'm leaving," she told him, "because I don't know what else to do. Everything that happens costs money—money that I can't spare." She shrugged. "So we're .. . moving."

  Zane crossed his arms. If there was any way to help her, he damn well would. But first he had to know all the details. "Start with the first crisis."

  "A fire."

  He cocked a brow and waited.

  "That's right. A fire here in my shop. It had been a busy day with people in and out, so I hadn't had a chance to eat all day. When I closed the shop, I went to your bar to get a sandwich and a drink. But you weren't there. I guess you had a date or something, because you weren't at your store either."

  "You were looking for me?"

  She shrugged and waved a hand in airy explanation. "I've admired you from afar for some time now. But as I said, you weren't at the bar, so I wrapped up the sandwich, finished my drink, and came home early."

  "You've admired me from afar?"

  "Do you want to hear this story or not?" she demanded. "Yeah." A feeling of contentment settled over him. "I want to hear the story."

  "Then stop interrupting."

  Bossy little woman, Zane thought, this time with humor. He realized he was starting to get used to her. And he was liking her more with each minute that passed.

  Wondering if she'd be that bossy in bed, he smiled and said, "Yes ma'am."

  She eyed him, and must have decided he was sincere, because she continued with her tale. "I always use the outside stairs when I'm going straight home instead of into the shop. But this time I felt that something was wrong."

  "You felt it? Like a premonition or something?" She kept claiming she didn't have powers, but Zane was sure she did. How else did he explain his obsession?

  "I didn't mean it like that! I already told you I'm not psychic." She looked flustered, then went on. "I just used the shop door this time is all. And as soon as I stepped inside, I smelled the smoke. It came from this room, which was a good thing since the door was shut and it kept the damage from reaching most of the rest of the shop."

  Zane looked around and only then noticed the blackened corners of the ceiling. The room was small, square, with a shallow closet where Tamara had hung a jacket, and a minuscule bathroom that boasted a plain white toilet and white enamel sink with the pipes exposed. A single bare bulb, hanging in the center of the room, supplied light. It was a storage area in every sense of the word, and at the moment it was packed full of boxes and bags and odds and ends. A fire could have really taken off, with plenty of paper and cardboard to feed on. "Do you know what started it?"

  "An old chair that I'd bought at an auction caught fire. The material was threadbare and dry so it went up like kindling. I had planned to reupholster it because I liked the wood trim. It was dark and ornate, and went well with the rest of the decor."

  "Eclectic hodgepodge?"

  "Exactly."

  Zane shook off another smile. He'd have to quit smiling like a fool over every inane thing she said. Otherwise, she'd think he was besotted. And that would never do. "How'd it catch on fire?"

  She shrugged. "Supposedly a cigarette. The fire department found a butt down in the seat. Only I don't smoke and no one who works for me does either. I don't allow it."

  "A customer?"

  "Not that I know of. I have a prominent NO SMOKING sign. Besides, customers aren't allowed in the backroom and they're never left unsupervised, so it's not likely someone could have snuck in there to take a cigarette break."

  "Could someone have asked to use the bathroom?"

  She shook her head. "I send them to the diner across the street." She began pacing again, her movements punctuated by her explanations. "Luckily I caught the fire early because I can only imagine the amount of damage that might have been done otherwise. As it was, it took me a week to get things cleaned up and the smell out."

  She could have been killed, Zane realized. What if she hadn't gone out that night? Or what if she hadn't come home early? If he'd been at the bar when she was there, would she have hung around admiring him from afar and then gotten home too late to stop the fire—or perhaps even been caught in it?

  A sick feeling stirred in his stomach; it felt remarkably like fear. For her.

  Damn it, it had to be just a fluke. He couldn't think of a single reason why anyone would want to bum down her small establishment. She wasn't a threat to anyone, didn't offer any great competition to the other businesses in the area. None of it made sense, unless it was all personal. "You're certain your assistant—what's her name?"

  "Luna Clark."

  Zane did a double take. "Luna?"

  Smiling, making her voice deliberately mystical, she said, "Luna, goddess of the moon."

  Zane stared. "Uh-huh. Right. So you're certain your assistant goddess doesn't smoke?"

  "Just because Luna is a little different doesn't mean she'd lie to me."

  "Don't get in a snit. I didn't mean to suggest she would." Then he asked, "Different how? I've never met her."

  Tamara grinned. "Except for her coloring, Luna could have been born into my family. She fits right in with them. She believes all the crazy stuff they believe about fortune-telling and fate and ghosts. She's beautiful, naturally flamboyant without a wig or contacts. Half the time I believe she's got mind powers. She usually knows what I'm thinking."

  "Does that bother you?" Zane figured one mystical woman was more than enough for him. He'd be happy never to meet Luna face-to-face.

  "No. Being around Luna is a riot. The customers love her."

  Luna, Zane thought, sounded more than a little flaky. "How long has she worked for you?"

  "Around a year. I trust her completely. Besides, she wasn't here that day. She's only part-time."

  Zane strode toward her, inexplicably drawn nearer. "Who did work that day?"

  "Just me."

  "All day?" The sense of fear intensified, only Zane didn't know where it was coming from, or why. He just knew that it was very real, as real as the need to protect Tamara, to claim her. "By yourself?"

  "You don't have to say it like that." She rolled her eyes. "My shop is hardly as busy as yours. I can and do work alone quite often. It's no big deal."

  A deep breath didn't help. Silently counting to ten didn't help, either. "Are you telling me," Zane asked quietly, "that you still work alone? Even though you think someone is out to hurt you?"

  She inched back, warily moving away from the bite of his restrained temper. "I never said anyone wanted to hurt me. The problems have all been related to the shop somehow. The fire, a dead rat in the toilet that caused all the plumbing to clog up and overflow—"

  "Whoa." Zane held up a hand, halting her in midsentence. "A dead rat in the toilet?"

  She shifted on her bare feet. "The police said it crawled into the pipes and died somehow, but . . . well, if you'd seen it, you'd know that rat was roadkill. It was disgusting, and I'm convinced it was put there deliberately. Same as the cigarette."

  "How?"

  "I don't kno
w. That's just it. The window in here is too small for a man to crawl through, and the rest of the place is always locked up."

  Zane looked at the window. It was high, narrow. "A kid could probably fit through."

  "Maybe. But why would a kid want to?"

  He shrugged. Kids did a lot of stupid things, like taking a bet, or agreeing to vandalism for the thrill of it, or for a few bucks. Someone might have hired a kid for the job. It made as much sense as anything else. "Your problems could just be childish pranks."

  Tamara bristled. "Childish pranks have ruined my savings account. Repairing the plumbing cost a fortune, not to mention all the cleanup and the fact I had to close for nearly a week. And it wasn't long after the fire had forced me to miss some days, too."

  "Do you have a better explanation?"

  She sighed in defeat. "I think somehow, someone is getting in without me knowing it. That's why my aunts insist—"

  "On Uncle Hubert's ghost." Zane shook his head. "I suppose they choose to believe that because it's less threatening to them than a flesh-and-blood person skulking around, getting in unnoticed."

  "I think so." She frowned as she looked up at him, as if she didn't understand him or his level of concern. If it had been up to her, she wouldn't have told him anything—except that she wanted him.

  He drew a deep breath. Truth was, Zane didn't understand himself. Never before had he felt so drawn in by a woman's problems. Especially when he'd only kissed her, and most of the time in between those kisses had involved her insulting him. And there was the fact that part of her problems included an eclectic group of relations who had taken turns trying to do him bodily harm.

  All in all, Tamara Tremayne shouldn't have been such a temptation. If he had any sense at all, he'd be running in the other direction.

  But now he was involved up to his eyebrows. He was worried, damn it, when he didn't like to worry. He felt ... connected to Tamara and everything that surrounded or touched her, including her problems.

  Tamara cleared her throat. "I lost three nice rugs because of the water damage, and several boxes of things that had been on the floor."

  "It was the toilet in here?"

  "Yes. It's the only one on this floor. There are two bathrooms upstairs, but I only use the one that connects to my bedroom. The other is in the hall in the part of the house that I've shut off."

  "You don't use all the rooms upstairs?"

  "No. Uncle Thanos and my aunts live in their own home, and I certainly don't need all this space."

  He hated to say it, because the idea of an intruder being near Tamara while she slept filled him with rage and helplessness. But the thought wouldn't go away. "Maybe someone got in through that part of the house."

  "Upstairs with me?" She looked taken aback by the idea, and damn if Zane didn't feel her anxiety as if it were his own. Then she shook her head, the stubbornness he was beginning to recognize apparent in her expression. "No, the windows are all too high for someone to climb through, and they're locked besides. I even have the hallway door leading to that part of the house locked."

  "You put a lock on it?"

  "No. It's not uncommon for older houses to have key locks on all the doors."

  "A skeleton key?"

  "Yes. But the locks are sturdy and I'm a light sleeper. I'd hear if anyone was prowling around."

  It was an attempt to convince herself as much as him, and it didn't work. Zane didn't like thinking about her being alone. He wasn't entirely convinced that her prowler was anything more than coincidence and pranks, as the police apparently thought, but just in case, he'd have felt better if she had company.

  He'd always written off intuition as coincidence, but now he couldn't rid himself of the feeling that something was very wrong. Tamara wanted him, but he was almost certain that she needed him, too.

  It was far too soon for him to propose that he stay over; that would suggest an intimacy that she'd claimed to want no part of. He tried doing the next best thing. "You have a phone by your bed?"

  "Yes."

  "Call me if anything happens, if you hear anything at night or if you just get nervous."

  "Zane....

  "Whatever you do, do not try to deal with an intruder on your own." He broke out in a sweat as he thought of how she'd tried to race down the steps alone earlier. She hadn't known that only a box of books had fallen; she'd been fully prepared to confront an unknown assailant.

  "Zane....

  He could tell she was going to refuse. She was an independent woman, doggedly so, and she wouldn't like the suggestion that she might need him. "Promise you'll call me, no matter how silly the reason might seem, or I'm going to suggest to Thanos that he spend the night."

  Her eyes flared. "Good God, if you do that, my aunts will want to stay, too!"

  He shrugged.

  "Do you have any idea how hard I had to fight for my privacy? It wasn't easy getting them settled in their own home!"

  He'd want to hear more on that later, he decided. Since he valued his own privacy, and protected it fiercely, he could understand. But this was too important to let go. "Then promise me."

  Angry color darkened her cheeks. She didn't like being manipulated any more than he would.

  They had more in common than he'd ever suspected. "Do it for me, Tamara," he insisted. "I know you can take care of yourself, but I'll still worry.

  "You're supposed to be a playboy, not a mother hen."

  Thoroughly exasperated, Zane asked, "Do you always resort to insults when you don't get your own way?"

  Looking contrite, she bit her lip. "There's no reason for you to worry."

  "I'm male and you're definitely not. That's all the reason I need."

  For several seconds she glared at him.-"Oh, all right." After she gave that grudging promise, she actually smiled. "I can tell dealing with you is going to be more difficult than I'd expected."

  "You thought things would be simple when you propositioned me?" Zane asked. "No messy involvement or unsolicited caring, just sex? I'd show up when you said, leave when I finished, and not talk to you much in between?"

  She looked uncertain, started to say something, then pinched her mouth together and shrugged.

  Indignation nearly choked him.

  In the past, a no-involvement relationship had always suited him just fine. But at the moment, he wasn't really sure what he wanted. He decided things would last as long as he said, and she could just deal with it. Not that he'd tell her so.

  Zane turned away from her before she could sidetrack him again.

  Hefting the box, he put it back on the shelf. He made sure it was securely stationed this time and wouldn't fall, then took Tamara's hand and started her out of the room. He had more important things to do than moon over his unaccountable feelings for a little Gypsy with too much backbone.

  Keeping her safe was first on the list. And to do that, he had to figure out what the hell was going on. He could probably use a little help with that. He'd see his brothers tomorrow, and maybe they could all come up with a logical explanation.

  Thinking of the razzing he'd take pissed him off, but he could live with that. He couldn't live with leaving Tamara in danger.

  "Okay, before I head home," Zane growled, "tell me the rest, and don't leave anything out."

  "Zane...." She trotted along next to him as he headed upstairs, where her relatives waited. "You're . . . upset?"

  She was good at reading him, and he didn't like that much either. He gave her one sharp nod, unwilling to

  discuss it. He should have known that wouldn't be enough for Tamara.

  She pulled him to a stop in the middle of the stairs. One step above him now, she was on eye level. Her expression turned serious, and curious, and warm. "Why?" she whispered. "Is it because we can't start our new .. . association tonight? Or is it because of that insult business? I didn't mean to make you angry, you know."

  It didn't matter this time if she saw his hands shaking. Zane cupped her
face and drew her closer until their breaths mingled. "You could have been hurt, Tamara. If you're right, and it is an intruder deliberately preying on you, you could have been killed."

  Her eyes widened, in shock both at his vehemence and at the fact that he obviously believed her. Her emotions—relief, confusion, lust—rolled over him in suffocating waves.

  "I'm not just upset, honey. I'm goddamn furious." Zane kissed her, to try and block the unwelcome connection, to replace it with pure lust, something he could understand and deal with.

  His time as a free man was slipping away, and he knew it.

  Cole was at the bar when Zane wandered in much later that night. He hadn't meant to go there. Hell, he'd meant to go home and think about things, maybe get some needed sleep. He'd spent a long while talking to Tamara, hearing about the more recent problems. Before he'd left, they'd made plans to have dinner the following day.

  But Zane hadn't gone home afterward, knowing he'd only have stayed awake thinking of Tamara. And so he found himself at the bar. It was a place of comfort, a place to let his brain rest.

  Women greeted him as he walked in. They didn't insult him—far from it. They ogled him and smiled suggestively, and his world felt right again.

  Dropping onto a bar stool, Zane asked his brother, "Been busy tonight?"

  Cole glanced up while filling a mug with beer, then continued to look. With a sudden frown, he demanded, "What'd you do?"

  Startled, Zane glanced around, realized Cole was speaking to him, and said, "Nothing. I just got here."

  Cole slid the beer to the customer, wiped his hands on a dish towel, and propped his elbows on the bar. He studied Zane suspiciously. "You're up to something."

  "I am not!" Zane shifted uncomfortably, laughed a little nervously. There was no way Cole could know what he had planned for Tamara.

  "You look just like you used to when you got into trouble."

  Zane managed a credible snort. "I never got into that much trouble."

  "Ha! I had outraged mothers calling me all the time."

  "That's an exaggeration." Zane refused to feel guilty about things he'd done in his teens. More often than not, it had been the females asking him out, anyway.