Winston Brothers 04 Wild

by Lori Foster

  "All right. Go get some sleep."

  "Good night, Zane."

  "Dream about me." He laughed when she groaned again. She hung up without answering. Zane looked around the bar and decided it was a good time to make another phone call. Things had slowed down a little, the first rush hour over, and he knew if he didn't make this call now, he might not make it at all.

  Joe Winston stretched out naked on the top of the quilt and yawned. A cool night breeze whispered through the open window to dry the sweat on his body and lighten the scent of sex. Except for his bum knee, which throbbed like a son-of-a-bitch, he felt good, damn good. About ready to sleep.

  The woman next to him immediately rolled into his side. Her hands were graspy, her attitude more so. Belatedly, he realized he never should have slept with her again. Not only had her "harder, harder" demands about taken out his knee, but she was the type to read too much into a second tumble. She'd see it as keen interest rather than the boredom it had been.

  Joe held himself still, not about to encourage her.

  "I want you to come meet my folks," she whispered significantly, then licked his ear.

  Damn, damn, damn. He'd known her only a few weeks, for Christ's sake, slept with her only twice—and this time was an accident, a case of her catching him off guard. But then she was good at that. He'd made it clear he had no intentions of getting serious with anyone, yet she was already making plans for him. Why did women never listen?

  Her cool, soft palm moved over his chest, tangling in his body hair and slowly sliding downward. Hell, he'd just finished giving her the ride of her life, and here she was, begging for more!

  Her fingers curled around him and she purred triumphantly.

  In disbelief, Joe reared up to stare at his cock. He was hard again, damn it, straining against her pale, slender fingers. Unbelievable. He dropped back on the bed with a groan. Done in by his least intelligent body part.

  "Joe?" She stroked him with slow, thorough expertise. "Will you come home to meet my family tomorrow? My dad is planning a special dinner for us."

  Her dad! Special dinner? He groaned, the sound of mortal man in excruciating pain. It had no effect on her that he could tell.

  Someone should have explained the rules of warfare to women. It surely wasn't fair to ask a man such questions

  while pleasuring him. Everyone knew the male brain couldn't function properly under such provocation.

  The ringing of the phone saved him. Joe decided he'd kiss whoever was calling so late. "Hold up, baby," he told her as he coerced his throbbing leg over the side of the bed and his sluggish, aroused body into a semi-sitting position, which forced her to release her death grip on his traitorous member.

  She sat up, too, and pressed her lush, naked breasts into his shoulder blades.

  "Yeah?" he said into the receiver, trying to ignore the feel of stiffened nipples grazing his heated skin. "Joe?"

  "Right on one."

  There was a muttered curse, then, "This is Zane."

  "No shit!" He tried to squirrel away from the woman, but she stayed glued to him, disregarding his not-so-subtle hints. "Zane, how ya doing? Everyone okay?"

  "The family is fine." A moment of silence, another curse, then grudgingly: "You still up for hire?"

  The woman raised herself to her knees, and Joe felt her crisp feminine curls on his spine as she ground herself against him. He squeezed his eyes shut, determined to block her out. "Yeah, yeah. Why?" He laughed. "You got someone you want me to kill?"

  "Very funny."

  The woman behind him paused. Good. Maybe he could convince her of what Zane had once believed. She started moving again, sinuously rubbing against him, and Joe gave up on that idea.

  "You're a real comedian, Joe, you know that?" Zane's tone was so dry, it worked as a distraction for just a minute. His cousin had always been a source of amusement. Joe hadn't forgotten the time Zane had accused him of being no more than a hired killer.

  At the time the accusation hadn't been so far-fetched. He'd been in a murderous mood, and if he'd caught the bastard he was after then, instead of over a year later, he might well have beaten him to death with his own hands.

  Instead, he'd turned him over to the authorities. Stupid.

  "So what's up?" The woman started chewing on his neck while her hands reached around to the front of him. One tapered, painted nail dipped into his navel. Almost desperate, Joe snapped, "Tell me quick, man."

  "I need you to keep an eye on someone."

  "Family?" he demanded, feeling a surge of rage that anyone would dare to threaten a Winston. Of course, they threatened him all the time. But that was different. He was in the business, and usually the person threatening him had good reason.

  "No, a woman."

  Joe held the phone away from his ear to stare at it in disbelief. Zane had more damn women than an Arab sheik, but he'd never wanted to protect one of them before. At least, not that Joe had ever heard about.

  Putting the phone back to his ear, he remarked, "I'm not a damn babysitter."

  "Fine," Zane snapped right back, "I'll hire someone else."

  "Now wait a minute.... Damn it!" Joe reached behind himself, caught the woman by the shoulder and moved her to the side. "Will you stop raping me?"

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  It could have been funny, Joe thought, if he wasn't so tired. "I wasn't talking to you, Zane."

  Another silence, then a laugh. "I should have known you wouldn't be sleeping alone."

  "I wish."

  "Ah ha. Like that, is it?"

  "Yeah." Joe didn't go into details, didn't admit he'd been stupid enough—and lonely enough—to let a woman work her wiles on him. That would have ruined Zane's image of him. "So you need me there tomorrow, huh?"

  Zane's surprise was obvious. "Well, it doesn't have to be—"

  "All right, all right," Joe said, sighing as if he were put

  out. The woman sprawled on the bed next to him, then stuck her bottom lip out in a rather fetching pout. She was naked and warm and open to him . . . his resolve weakened the tiniest bit, but he brought it ruthlessly back under control.

  He looked away and held the phone a little tighter. "If it has to be tomorrow, then it has to be tomorrow."

  "You're ditching her, I gather?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  "You're a real bastard sometimes, Joe. You know that?"

  He laughed. "I've known it a long, long time." Bastard was one of the least insulting things he'd been called in his lifetime.

  "A woman will kill you someday."

  "It wouldn't be the worst way to go," Joe said, and then smirked because his companion had just flounced out of the bed. Obviously, if he wouldn't come home with her to perform dutifully for Mommy and Daddy's approval, he wasn't worth screwing. Joe saluted her naked backside as she yanked on her dress, snatched up her shoes, and stormed out of the room.

  "What time will you be here?" Zane asked.

  The clock on his nightstand told Joe it was creeping toward midnight. He wasn't at all tired now, and though his front door slammed loudly, he didn't trust her not to come back. And he didn't trust himself to refuse her if she did. "I'll get out of here tonight."

  Zane laughed. "So she's got you on the run?"

  "Avoidance is the better part of valor." Naked, Joe stood and limped to the open window. He was just in time to see the taillights of her car disappear from sight. He scratched his stomach and stretched. "Wanna take me to breakfast in the morning?"

  "If you can drag your sorry ass out of bed before noon." The nightstand drawer held a pen and paper. Joe caught the phone between his shoulder and ear and said, "Give me some details. Who's the woman, where's she live, and what the hell am I watching her for?"

  "It's more than just keeping an eye on her, though knowing someone else has her in sight will give me some peace of mind. It seems she's being vandalized regularly, only the cops don't quite buy it."

  "Why not?"


  Zane sighed. "At best, they're writing it off as coincidence, as unrelated mischief."

  "And at worst?"

  "They think she's imagining the whole thing." Zane told him about the rat and the fire and even about the toppled box of books, which he had once dismissed. Joe jotted down everything Zane told him, frowning thoughtfully.

  "So what do you think?"

  Being truthful, Joe said, "I think the lady's got a problem."

  "Damn. I was afraid you'd say that."

  "Yeah, well, for the record, I don't believe much in coincidence." Once he might have, but he'd learned the hard way that when things seemed off-kilter, they generally were.

  "Today," Zane admitted in guttural tones, "someone was hanging outside her shop. In a ski mask. She found the guy when she came back from the bank."

  Joe heard his cousin's fury and whistled low. "And that's why you need me to keep an eye on her? Because you can't be with her all the time?"

  "That, and I want you to do some snooping. Discreetly. She doesn't know I'm calling you."

  "Stubborn?"

  "Like a mule. But if you're right, someone is getting into her place. I have no idea how, or why they'd even want to."

  Joe felt the tingle of the challenge. It sounded like mixed messages to him. Fires could be deadly, but rearranged boxes of books were the act of a snoop. Rats in the toilet were vandalism, and a man in a mask could be an outright threat. He understood why the cops might be baffled, but then he wasn't a cop. Not anymore. "I'll see what I can find out."

  "Great. I appreciate it."

  Joe smiled in amusement when Zane added, now with his own dose of menace, "One more thing, Joe. Keep your hands off her, understand?"

  Deciding to tweak Zane a bit just because it was fun—he asked, "A real looker, huh?"

  Zane hesitated. "Well...."

  "She's not?" Joe had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling. "Don't tell me you've fallen for a plain Jane."

  "She's not plain!"

  "Tall?"

  "Not exactly."

  "Nice bod?"

  "None of your damn business!"

  "Let me get this straight now." Joe pretended to be very serious, while his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "She's a short, stubborn, not quite plain woman with a body type you don't care to discuss. Hell, Zane, that's a perfect description. I'm sure I'll recognize her right off."

  The grinding sound he heard was likely Zane's molars.

  "I'm going to kick your ass when you get here."

  "I could use the exercise." Then, because he obviously had a real job to do, Joe asked, "Seriously. What's she look like?"

  "That depends. And if you laugh, I'm hanging up."

  Zane was hedging, and that in itself was unusual. In Joe's experience, a more outspoken, up-front guy didn't exist. Zane was also threatening, but that was nothing new. They'd always gone head to head—which was one reason Joe liked him so much. He could always count on Zane to keep him humble.

  "No laughing, Scout's honor."

  "You were never a Scout."

  Pretending to be wounded, Joe said, "But I wanted to be."

  A long groan issued through the phone. "Shut up and listen. Tamara works as a Gypsy."

  Another surprise. Joe tried to conjure up an image of what a Gypsy looked like, but the only thing he could think of was the old woman in The Wolfman. "You mean like with crystal balls and palm reading and all that crap?"

  "Yeah," Zane ground out, "all of that. When she's working, she dresses the part, which includes this long black wig and a good dozen or so rings and dark contacts. Very exotic look."

  "Sounds like an interesting woman."

  Zane made no response to that, but Joe could practically feel his annoyance. "When she's not working, she's blonde, with green eyes. Cute."

  "Cute, huh?" For Zane to be so interested, she had to be more than cute. Joe wouldn't be at all surprised to find a model-perfect woman.

  "I'm hanging up now."

  Joe picked up a balsong knife from the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. He flipped it open one-handed, exposing the razor-sharp, lethal blade, then flipped it shut it again, almost in the same motion. "Don't you want to know what I charge?" Open, shut. Open, shut. The knife made a quiet, clinking sound each time he flipped out the blade.

  Truth was, he could use a vacation, and this seemed like a perfect time. The woman's trouble sounded like a puzzle, and he was always up to solving a puzzle. Besides, he would enjoy a visit with his cousins, even Zane.

  "I don't know. Can I afford you?"

  "Helluva time to ask! What were you going to do, wait until I'd finished, then stiff me? Would you have claimed I was too expensive?"

  "I have no idea why Chase and Mack thought I should call you."

  So it hadn't been Zane's idea to call? Yet, obviously

  Zane was involved enough that Chase and Mack had thought he could use the help.

  Joe opened the knife one last time and examined the edge of the blade. "Cuz they love me, cousin." He chuckled, then said, "Hey, don't sweat it. How about just expenses?"

  "I'll pay you the going rate."

  He snapped the knife shut and put it back on the nightstand. "No way. You're family. Besides, after hearing about this woman, you couldn't keep me away. The curiosity is killing me."

  "I'll kill you if—"

  "Yeah, yeah, I know. You'll kill me if I touch her, if I sniff her. If I even look at her too hard." He dropped back on the bed with a groan, then stared at the moon shadows on the ceiling. "You know I don't poach, so quit worrying."

  It was a novel thing, having Zane jealous over a woman. He'd told the truth when he said his curiosity was stirred. She must be a hell of a babe, regardless of what Zane had said.

  A thought occurred to him. "Hey, Zane, you in love with this woman?"

  A faint click sounded in his ear, and Joe looked at the receiver, bemused. Zane had hung up on him!

  "Well, I'll be damned." He'd been half-kidding, but maybe he'd hit too close to the truth. Maybe Zane had taken the mighty fall, and was still fighting it. The idea was enough to scare any red-blooded bachelor into forgetting his manners, so Joe forgave him for not saying good-bye.

  Grinning now, he replaced the phone in the cradle. Rubbing his hand over his bristly jaw, he mentally made a few plans.

  Zane in love. Now that was something he definitely wanted to see.

  Eleven

  Tamara heard the shop door chime the next morning. She looked up and saw Zane sauntering in, wearing dark slacks and a gray button-down shirt. He looked tired. She wondered if he'd gotten enough sleep, then immediately berated herself for the concern she felt. She would not start fussing over him. "Good morning."

  He kept coming, his long legs carrying him quickly past the reception area to the counter. Flattening both palms on the polished mahogany, he leaned forward and took her mouth in a warm, delicious kiss. Against her lips, he murmured, "Morning."

  "Mmmm." Her head swam with the heady taste of him. Lazily lifting her eyelids, she said, "I like greeting the day this way."

  "Me, too." Zane straightened, touched her cheek, and smiled. "Do you have the phone on you?"

  Shaking her head at his persistence, Tamara patted her pocket. "Right here."

  He glanced at her hip, where the phone rested in her deep skirt pocket, and satisfaction mingled with a much warmer emotion. She saw the brief flare of desire in his eyes, before he masked it.

  When he looked at her, it was with concern. "How are you feeling today?"

  It irritated her that he thought her so weak and insubstantial that a small scratch might cause lingering effects. She pulled up the loose sleeve of her lavender and silver peasant blouse, baring her arm. "It's fine, see? Hardly noticeable anymore."

  Zane held her arm, gently stroking with his thumb, then bent to brush it with a kiss. "Looks painful as hell to me, but I'm glad it's not bothering you." He smiled. "I was actually talking about your upset ove
r being chased yesterday."

  "Oh." Once it had been over, Tamara wasn't sure what she'd felt. And she was no longer so certain she was chased. Yes, she'd seen a man, but once she'd started running, her fear had obliterated any other sensation. If the man had chased her, she hadn't seen him. It was just as likely he'd run the opposite direction.

  Not knowing made her uneasy. She'd thought she was fine. But off and on throughout the night, she'd jerked awake, startled and tense, as if she were being chased again. She felt unsettled, edgy. The whole thing was disconcerting.

  Especially since she wasn't positive she had been chased. The man in the ski mask might just have been another poor soul caught in the downpour. He'd looked at her, and there had been something unexpected in his gaze—not really sinister, but threatening in a subtle way.

  But had he actually come after her? She couldn't stop thinking about it, running the different scenarios through her mind. She didn't explain any of her worries to Zane because it had felt like she'd been chased, and that would be impossible to put into words.

  Zane's eyes, dark with concern, met hers. "Did you sleep okay?"

  She hadn't—but it wasn't entirely because of the man in the ski mask. It was partly Zane's fault.

  She hadn't been able to stop thinking about him and wishing his brothers hadn't interrupted them. Though she had planned to go strictly by the book, upping the odds of her first time with Zane being all she had envisioned, she now thought making love against the wall of his storage room would have been wonderful, too. And that definitely wasn't in the book. She knew. She'd read through it again last night, trying to put herself to sleep after he'd called.

  It hadn't worked. She'd lain awake for hours, burning up with the remembrance of his touch.

  "Of course," she lied. "I slept just fine."

  "You'd have slept better," he promised, "if I could have stayed with you."

  Oh, the way he said that. She leaned closer, staring at his mouth. "Yeah?"

  "Yeah." His large hand slid around her neck, under the fall of the wig. "I'd have exhausted you."