by Lori Foster
Tamara rubbed her forehead, wondering how to proceed.
Zane released her and stepped back. She heard him speaking to the other woman. "You should leave, Claire. Tamara and I have some talking to do." He didn't sound pleased.
Claire said, "You can't be serious. You're turning me down for . . . for this?"
The insult was too blatant for her to miss, even in her distraught state. Eyes narrowed and mean, Tamara focused on the other woman. Oh, her relatives might tease her about being a white sheep, but she knew the power she had when she caught someone in her sights, when she locked her Gypsy eyes on them. The black contacts were great for effect, especially when they accompanied her present dark mood. And no matter what the color of her hair, she was still a Tremayne through and through.
Claire took an alarmed step back.
Though Tamara didn't say a word, the woman quickly donned her raincoat and fled. Tamara briefly wondered if it was safe for Claire to be out there, what with some nefarious type person lurking around in the shadows wearing a ski mask, but the blonde made it safely to car her and drove away. Tamara watched her leave, just to be certain.
Zane made a rough sound behind her. "Terrorizing the locals, Tamara?"
She continued to study the parking lot. There weren't too many places for a grown man to hide. If he was there, she'd have seen him by now. Had she imagined the whole thing? It sickened her to consider that possibility.
If you think I'm going to apologize, you're sadly mistaken."
Zane's tone drew her away from her concerns. She met his unwavering gaze as her nervousness began receding, replaced by awareness of him. "Okay." Their relationship wasn't the type that required explanations or apologies. She would force herself to remember that, no matter what.
Then she realized that her slicker had blown open when she ran. She was soaked through and through and her makeup was badly botched. No wonder the blonde had been so disbelieving! "I don't suppose you have a towel or anything handy?"
Frowning at her, Zane retrieved a roll of paper towels from behind the counter. "Where the hell is your umbrella?" he asked, as he watched her remove the slicker and drop it by the door.
With the sleeve torn and the lining soaked, it would do nothing to protect her from the weather. She mopped at her dripping face and throat.
"Don't you have enough sense not to run around in the rain?"
She understood him now. He was disgruntled with her and being foul-tempered because of it.
"I dropped my umbrella." Tamara gently wiped away most of the smudged makeup around her eyes and then got a new towel to blot her arms. "It's pouring out there."
"What do you mean you dropped your umbrella?"
Tamara glanced up and then away. Uh-oh. He looked suddenly . . . angry. And suspiciously alert. The man had too many mood swings for her to keep up with.
When she didn't answer right away, Zane caught her arm and said, "What's going on, Tamara?"
"Going on?"
His jaw tightened. "Don't play games. Something is wrong. I can feel it."
Her brows lifted. Was it possible that he could read her as easily she read him? "No kidding?" It was not a reassuring thought. "Kinda like intuition or something?"
Zane opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His frown turned fierce. "It's clear you're upset about something."
Tamara racked her brain and came up with the obvious reply. "You were here in a heated embrace with another woman. Of course I was upset."
"Bullshit."
Startled, Tamara opened her mouth to reply, but this time it was her turn to play mute.
"Seeing me with Claire didn't bother you a bit." He hesitated as he searched her face, his expression alert. "Did it?"
She didn't understand him at all. His attitude was curious, bordering on hopeful.
"Did you want it to?" Tamara tried to peek over her shoulder again, to look out the door toward the parking lot. It was nearly abandoned. There were no lurking shadows, and even more than that, she had no lingering feelings of danger. Whoever had been there was gone, or at least far enough away that she couldn't sense him anymore.
She couldn't quite muster any relief. In her head she might reason that she'd imagined the danger, but in her heart she knew it existed.
With one finger on her chin, Zane turned her face back to him. "Claire asked me out, I said no because I planned to see you, and she tried to push the issue. That's all there was to it."
Now she felt relief, even though she'd already concluded as much. It was still nice to have him admit it so openly.
"Okay."
Exasperation laced his tone. "Just like that?"
Now that the threat was over, Tamara felt safe devoting her full attention to Zane. And it looked like he definitely
needed her full attention. He was all but demanding she give it to him.
In a soothing tone, she reassured him. "You said it was nothing and I believe you."
How could she not believe him? She'd felt his sincerity right off. It had been like that from the first. She read Zane more easily than she read others. Throughout her life, there had been people she'd been able to pick up feelings from. She wasn't a mind reader, so she never knew exact thoughts or expectations. But fear, elation, worry—she could sense those emotions in a few people.
When her parents had died, she'd known Uncle Thanos's grief, as well as Olga's and Eva's determination to make her feel welcome as a member of their family. She'd sometimes felt the curiosity of customers, the hopefulness. The scorn.
But it was more than an inkling with Zane. What he felt, she felt as if it were her own. Right now she felt his anticipation, and that brought with it another thought. "Do you plan to see her when you're not seeing me?"
He started to answer and she whirled away, appalled that she'd ask such a thing. "No! Forget I asked that. Really, it's none of my business."
"Tamara—"
"I mean it, Zane. I have no intention of trying to tie you down." The words were hard to get out, but she knew she had to say them. Tamara swallowed hard and added, "If you want to see other women, that's up to you."
Carefully, as if he'd never said such a thing before, Zane muttered, "That's not how it works, Tamara. For as long as we're . . . involved, it'll be exclusive."
Surprised, she stared at him.
He leveled a harsh look on her. "For both of us."
Since she had no other prospects, Tamara just shrugged. She certainly had no one else she wanted to see, and she perceived no downside to telling him so. "Fine."
He looked first relieved, then suspicious. "You trust me on this?"
"No, of course not." Zane wasn't a man who could or should be trusted. He was a man to be savored, but only by a woman who kept her wits and didn't expect too much. Like fidelity.
"Damn it, Tamara!" He ran a hand through his hair and glared at her.
"Zane," she said reasonably, "you dance topless on the tables at the bar. You date a different woman every night. You draw customers to your shop with your gorgeous bod alone. Why should you change all that for me?"
His chin jutted forward. After a heavy silence and a look that could scorch, he growled, "Because I said I would and I'm not a liar."
No, he wasn't lying. His earnestness beat at her, wearing her down.
More than anything, Tamara wanted to ask him why. Why would he change his habits for her, especially after he'd first turned her down? He'd avoided her, had made his disinterest clear, and now he wanted their agreement to be exclusive?
She wasn't sure the answer would be one she wanted to hear. Slowly, she nodded. "Okay."
"No more doubting?"
"No."
Zane caught her shoulders. "Now that that's out of the , tell me what spooked you."
Damn, how had he taken her full circle back to the subject she wanted to avoid? "I never said anything spooked me," she hedged.
"You walked in here, soaked to the skin, your blouse all but transparent—"
Gasping, Tamara looked down, but Zane caught her chin and lifted it. Once she met his hot gaze, her blouse was
forgotten. "We'll deal with your distracting state of undress in a moment," he murmured. "For now, tell me what happened. And no more lying."
You just had to throw that last in, she thought, scowling at him. He knew she'd lied about not caring if he saw other women. "I thought someone was following me."
Zane stared at her a second more, then cursed as he set her aside. "Why the hell didn't you tell me right away?"
He stalked over to the door, jerked it open, and marched straight into the pounding rain. Tamara ran after him.
"Zane!" The storm had become more violent, rain coming down in a deluge. "Aren't you the one who called me an idiot for running around in the rain? At least I had a good reason!"
He looked between and behind the remaining parked cars in the lot. Finding no one there, he turned and stalked over to the alley between their buildings. Alarmed, Tamara wondered what he intended to do if he found someone.
Lightning pierced the dark sky, briefly lighting the lot. The air sizzled and popped with electricity, while dread churned in her belly. Zane was safe for now, but what if the man had still been hanging around? She would not let Zane be hurt because of her.
Tamara grabbed the back of Zane's shirt. He was soaked through, and now, so was she. "Zane, whoever he was, he's gone."
"You don't know that," he shouted over a loud explosion of thunder that arrived only seconds after the lightning.
"Yes I do," she yelled back. Zane froze.
Slowly, so slowly it was apparent he had no care of the freezing rain, Zane turned to face her. Water ran in rivulets from his nose to his chin, and dripped off his dark hair, now stuck to his skull. "What do you mean, you know he's gone?"
Tamara twisted her hands together. The rain battered her skin with stinging force. She began shivering. "I just . . . know."
Zane eyed her from top to toes, and his expression hardened. "I'll call the cops." But he didn't move.
"No. It wouldn't do any good." She watched Zane absorb her words, accept them, while her teeth began to chatter. "It's okay now."
Zane looked like a savage, every harshly carved muscle delineated beneath the clinging wet clothes, his dark eyes burning, his jaw tight, his lashes clumped together. Primitive emotions shimmered off him like waves of heat. "That's what I thought," he growled. "Come on"
Despite her assurances and his apparent belief. Zane looked around as he led her into the store, his gaze watchful. This was a side of him she'd never seen, never anticipated, and in a way it was as exciting as it was alarming. He wasn't just a playboy, civilized to the point of urbanity. No, at that moment he was pure, basic male and she couldn't help but respond.
Tamara tried to stop on the welcome mat, thinking to do most of her dripping there, but Zane didn't even slow—and given that he had hold of her arm, she got dragged along with him.
His anger was strong and turbulent, surging against her in forceful ripples. Was it because he realized she was intuitive? Or was it entirely focused on the man who'd followed her? She watched his broad back expand with deep breaths as he led her to a storage room so neatly organized in comparison to her own, it put her to shame.
Tamara was swept along on his emotions, some of them clear, some not so clear. She knew she should be searching her mind for a way to explain the inexplicable, but it was difficult at the moment.
If she told Zane exactly what had happened, would he believe her, or would he accuse her of being a card-carrying swami? His ridicule would he unforgivable. she'd still want him, but she'd never be able to put aside her hurt.
He stopped just over the threshold, shoved the door closed with his foot, and backed Tamara into it. She caught her breath when his hard hips pressed against hers; he was fully aroused, his erection a long, hard ridge between their bodies.
Heat rolled off him, despite the sodden state of their clothes. Tamara followed the progress of a raindrop as it trailed along his firm jaw, down his throat and into the open collar of his shirt. Her belly clenched in sexual awareness—his or hers?
Involuntarily, she licked her lips. Bombarded by sensations, she couldn't quite pinpoint the most prevalent. Desire? Worry? Fear? She tried to draw a deep breath, and drew in the humid smell of Zane's heated body instead. A fine trembling started in her limbs and gained strength the longer she stared at him. "Zane?"
Watching her, holding her gaze captive with his own, he closed his large hand over her breast. His lids dropped to half-mast, his jaw tightened. The feeling was so indescribable, so overwhelming, she tried to flinch away from it. Zane held her secure.
Gently he caressed her, learned her, shaped her in his palm and with his long, hard fingers. When he touched her beaded nipple, his eyes shut briefly. He groaned softly before he opened them again, watching her with a concentration that invaded her soul.
His voice low and rough, he said, "Your blouse and bra are so wet, I can see through them. I can even see your nipples."
Contentment swelled inside her, because he didn't want to question her about the masked man or her intuition. He wanted her, as savagely as she wanted him.
Relieved of that worry, she was better able to focus on what he did to her, to give her full attention to her body. His hand cuddling her breast felt better than she had ever expected. His touch radiated out to make her legs shaky, her fingers tingly. She arched into the steady press of his hips, blindly seeking more. She rubbed her belly against his erection, and moaned at the pleasure of it. With her movements, his breathing came faster, rougher.
Their clothes stuck, cold and uncomfortable, but not a deterrent to the anticipation swelling inside her.
"That's it," Zane crooned with deep satisfaction. He kissed her throat, her shoulder. In contrast to the cold, wet clothes, his mouth was hot, his tongue hotter, leaving behind a burning trail. The clinging material of her blouse bunched in his fist, then rasped across her sensitive breasts as he peeled it away. He kissed her collarbone, lower, dipped his tongue into her cleavage. "I've been thinking about this all day."
Tamara laced both hands into his dripping hair, urging him toward her nipple. The combination of her excitement, the rain, and the cooling temperatures had caused both of her nipples to tighten almost painfully. She needed his mouth on her. "Zane."
"Take it easy." He nuzzled closer while tugging at the blouse and her thin lace bra until he'd bared both breasts completely. She felt physically snared, the material restricting her movements as he pushed it over her shoulders to her upper arms. Her breasts were forced higher by the bunched material and his callused hands.
He continued to kiss her throat, her ear, his mouth open on her as if he couldn't get enough, while his hands caressed and teased. The dual assault was more than she could stand. She made an urgent sound that he responded to by rubbing his thumbs over her nipples and murmuring low, "Damn, you're so soft. I love touching you."
"I can't bear it."
He carefully closed his finger and thumb over one taut nipple and tugged. Her body arched hard as she cried out.
"You like that? You'll like this too." His right arm circled her back and his mouth moved lower. Tamara tilted her head back, breath held in impatience, and still she jumped when his tongue stroked over her throbbing nipple.
She groaned.
"I know." He licked again. "You're very sweet, Tamara."
Even the touch of his breath was a torment. "Zane, please."
His low laugh, gruff with triumph, stroked over her. "Okay, sweetheart." And then he drew her nipple into his mouth with a soft, wet suction that devastated her senses. Her body drew tight, her legs felt liquid.
He sucked, teased. His tongue curled around her, his mouth pulling at her insistently. All she could do was gasp in pleasure and hold on to him.
Zane's arm hooked beneath her bottom and she found herself lifted so that he could reach her more easily. Caug
ht between his solid body and the wall, her stiff, wet clothes tangled around her, she couldn't move. He switched to her other nipple, treating it to the same delicious torment, and just when she didn't think she could bear it a second more, his thick thigh thrust between her legs. With one hand opened wide on her behind, he began moving her against him in a slow hard rhythm that drove her wild. She tried to wiggle away, startled and not just a little alarmed by how quickly she spun out of control. But Zane didn't let her retreat. His dark head stayed bent to her breasts, and his hold on her body was secure, unrelenting, his long fingers pressed deep against her buttocks.
She hadn't been prepared for him, she realized wildly.
She had no idea how to react, how to contain herself. Sensations roiled inside her with unstoppable force, and she accepted that she was on the verge of a climax.
The book had said that the first time, a climax was difficult for a woman to achieve. Zane was managing it with distressing ease, and she could do no more than hang onto him.
Then her feet touched the floor again and Zane's mouth was on her own, smothering her cry of disappointment. She'd been so close!
"I know," he muttered gently, again and again. "I know, baby. It's okay."
He fumbled with her wet skirt, shoving it out of the way. She always wore voluminous layered skirts for work, and now she cursed the excess of material as she tried to help bare herself for Zane. She wanted what he wanted, whatever it might be, as long as he didn't let the incredible feelings fade.
When his hand slid over her thighs, her belly, she stilled, frozen with the newness of it, the excitement of it. He wedged his large hand between her thighs, covering her mound in an almost protective way. He didn't move, didn't stroke her. He simply held her that way, the heat of his hard palm both comforting and more tantalizing, and it was so erotic she felt tears sting her eyes.
"I need you now, Tamara," he growled, nipping at her jaw. "Tell me you're ready."
Ready? She'd almost finished without him. If he didn't get on with it, she'd lose her fragile grasp on her emotions and cry with the wonder of it. "Whatever...." she started to say, then had to swallow and try again. "Whatever you want, Zane."