by Lori Foster
Olga looked aghast, her wrinkled face going pale. "Dear God, we love her."
"Then let her be her own woman."
Tamara shook off her shock. Never in her life had she stood idly by while her relatives were badgered, not by spectators, not by law officials. She wouldn't stand by now, not even for Zane.
His defense galled her, even as his understanding melted her heart.
"I can deal with my relatives on my own, Zane Winston."
He turned, not the least put off by her imperious tone, her bristling attitude. His smile was intimate, private, and he said, "But you no longer have to."
He meant it. His earnestness was a live thing, drumming in time to her heart. But he didn't understand her aunts and uncle, didn't know how difficult it had been for them to take on a little girl.
She cleared her throat. "Maybe . . . maybe you should go."
"Me?" Incredulous, he pointed at Boris. "What about him?"
"I can deal with him."
"Like hell." Zane crossed his arms much in the same fashion as Thanos. Standing near one another, they looked like mismatched bookends. "I'm not taking one step out of here, babe, so forget it."
Boris pushed himself past the table to face off with Zane. He was nearly as tall, older by a decade, heavily muscled. Yet, there was no comparison. Zane was competent and strong and self-assured, while Boris appeared bloated with bluster.
"How dare you speak to her with such a lack of respect!"
Zane looked down his nose at the older man. Ignoring the question, he took a step forward and forced Boris to retreat. "You tried to break in here last night, didn't you?"
"No!"
"You're trying to run her off, and I'm curious why." "You get your jollies by terrorizing women alone, is that it? Only she wasn't alone last night, was she?" Zane caught him by his shirt collar. "She won't be alone ever again."
"That's absurd!" Boris was quickly wheeling backward now, and he bumped into Thanos.
Tamara went light-headed at his words. Ever again. Her heart thundered, her stomach dipped. What was he saying? Surely not what she ... no, that was ridiculous. Numb in the brain, she muttered, "I was not terrorized, Zane."
Boris pushed his hand away. "And I did not attempt to come into her home uninvited."
"I don't believe you."
Thanos asked, "I think you need to back off, Zane."
Blank disbelief filled Zane. "You still champion him? After what I've just told you?"
Thanos shrugged. "I don't know about that. I need to give this all some thought. But Boris wasn't here last night, that I do know."
Tamara moved to Zane's side, giving him her silent, unquestioning support. He accepted it by taking her hand. "How?"
With another shrug, this one of apology, Thanos admitted, "Because he was with me till very late."
"With you?" Then with more suspicion, "Doing what?"
"Having drinks, sharing conversation." Glancing at the aunts, back at Tamara, Thanos winced. "Planning your future."
A red haze clouded his vision. Through set teeth, Zane growled very softly, "Planning her future?"
With his own show of bluster, Thanos said, "It's an uncle's duty to see that—"
Zane interrupted him. "Did I plan into this future?"
Thanos cut a quick look at Boris, and that more than answered his question. "I don't fucking believe this."
"Zane!"
The two aunts looked ready to swoon. Thanos scowled
darkly. "You'll watch your mouth, young man."
"Yeah, right. I'll watch my mouth while you try to push her off to this joker?"
Boris sputtered. "I've had just about enough of you. I agree with Ms. Tremayne. You should go."
Zane's eyes glittered. "Why don't you put me out. His hands curled into fists, the need for physical violence boiling up inside him.
Boris, looking uncertain, turned to Thanos.
And then Tamara was there, standing in front of him, a small smile on her beautiful face. She touched his chest, his face.
"Zane, I really would like it if you'd calm down."
His jaw felt too tight to speak. Through set teeth, he repeated, "I'm not leaving here."
"Of course you're not."
Boris cleared his throat. "I thought perhaps we could spend the day together, Ms. Tremayne. Your uncle tells me your Sundays are free."
Her gaze still locked on Zane's, she said, "My uncle is wrong. My Sunday is very taken."
"Well," Eva mused briskly as she patted her streaked black and gray hair back into a tidy bun. "It's apparent she's made up her mind."
"But she works so hard."
Zane drew a calming breath and turned to Olga. "What did you say?"
"She works so hard to make ends meet. And Boris is rich, so...."
Zane shook his head. "You're worried about her?"
"Yes of course."
Eva nodded in agreement, and Thanos looked grim.
"You're all so concerned, yet you'd leave her alone with him?" He nodded toward Boris with the same regard he'd give a worm.
"This is outrageous." Looking to Thanos to back him up, Boris said, "He's spewing outright slander. You know I didn't come here last night."
Every muscle on Zane's body bunched. He wanted, quite simply, to drag Boris outside and beat the hell out of him. Not just because he'd been troubling Tamara, but because her family had chosen him.
Too bad.
Thoughtful, Thanos scratched his beard. "But someone apparently was here."
Tamara patted Zane's chest and turned, then she leaned into him until her bottom was snuggled up against his groin. Damn. Zane knew she only wanted to offer support, to share some of her own calm, but if she kept that up, he'd be embarrassing them both.
She said to Thanos, "Someone shut off my electric and tried to waltz right in." Here she glared at Boris. "He had a key."
Olga and Eva looked at each other, then at Thanos. Thanos said, "We didn't give him a key."
"Of course you didn't," Boris agreed. "Why, Ms. Tremayne and I haven't even gotten properly acquainted." He unwisely added, "Yet."
Surging with intense fury—partially based on jealousy and possessiveness—Zane reached past Tamara and caught Boris by this shirtfront. He rattled him like a paper bag. "You're not getting anywhere near her."
"Zane!"
He was damn sick and tired of her remonstrating with him. With Boris gasping for air at the end of his arm, Zane said, "What?"
"You told me to control my volatile tendencies."
"Yeah. So?" Boris made a strangling sound and Zane shook him again. Olga and Eva watched, like captivated viewers of a train wreck, while Thanos appeared pensive over the whole thing, unmoved by Boris's reddening complexion.
"So," Tamara said in exasperation, "you have to get a grip. This isn't going to solve anything."
"It'll make me feel a helluva lot better."
She actually laughed. In the middle of everything happening, with her family trying to hoist her off on a criminal and the criminal leering at her with lascivious intent, she managed to laugh. Damn, she was something else.
And she was his.
Zane let Boris drop, gagging and gasping and cursing, back to his feet. "All right," he said, addressing Thanos, "if it wasn't Boris who broke in here last night, then the hell do you think it was?"
"All I know for certain is that he didn't get the key from me." Apparently affronted by the very idea, Thanos added, "I would never be so careless with my niece."
They all ignored Boris as they considered the possibilities. As Joe had said, it wasn't always as obvious as it seemed, though no way was Zane ruling out Boris as a probable.
Olga clutched at her throat and Eva pressed her hands together. Almost in unison, they cried, "Uncle Hubert!"
Boris, having regained a modicum of his aplomb, rasped, "Who the hell is Uncle Hubert?"
Zane smirked at him. "The family apparition, of course."
Boris cast o
n him a look of scorn. "Hogwash." Just that easily, he alienated Eva and Olga.
Zane, seeing his opportunity, turned to the quailing women. He slipped his arm around Olga's frail shoulders and patted Eva's delicately veined hands. "Not a ghost this time, ladies. We saw him running off. He's flesh and blood." Zane deliberately didn't mention Joe; the fewer people who knew about him, the more effective he could be.
"Someone really did force his way in here?" In a quick turnaround, Eva and Olga rushed to Tamara. "Our poor baby! Are you okay?"
While the women were occupied smothering Tamara with concern, Zane narrowed his eyes on Boris. "Get lost."
"I'm ready to leave," he announced in cultured tones. "But I'll be back."
Zane opened his mouth, and before his rejoinder could reach any ears, Tamara said, "Not without an appointment."
And Boris agreed, "Whatever it takes."
Eighteen
Luckily for Zane, the customer's conversation was sufficiently mundane that he didn't need to pay close attention. Truth was, he could barely think at all and the condition got worse every day.
For two weeks now, Tamara's business had been booming. Not only was Boris the bore still hanging around, doggedly it seemed, but Arkin Devane showed up more often than ever, as did a dozen other men. Though a scattering of women also called, her clientele consisted largely of the male persuasion. It made him nuts.
Tamara had done no more than present her own naturally sensual, seductive self to the world, and the male populace had fallen to its knees.
As the customer's monologue drew to a close, Zane handed him a receipt, bade him farewell, and went to peer out the window. Two women and a man loitered on the walk in front of the old house.
The upside to all the attention Tamara had garnered was that her financial situation was more stable than ever. She might even recover her losses. The Realtor had presented her with another offer for the house, but it still wasn't quite as much as she had countered. Because of all her fortune of late, she'd been comfortable in negotiating for a higher price. Zane didn't even want to consider the day when the offer might be good enough. There was no way he was letting her go, even if he had to take out a loan and buy her damn building himself.
But he wasn't stupid, so he hadn't told her that.
The downside to all her added business was that she worked more hours. Which meant she had less time to spend with him. He'd actually cut back on his hours, not that it had done him much good. Her days were busy.
But her nights . . . well, her nights belonged to him.
Smiling, Zane pictured her in his mind as she'd looked that morning, with her green eyes bright, only lightly made up, her blonde hair bouncing with natural curl, and her boundless energy.
God, he loved her energy. The way she made love with him each evening, and most mornings, boggled his mind. Other than his one overly emotional slipup, he'd used protection every time. Because he cared so much about her, he forced himself into fair play.
Tamara had made even that especially tantalizing, by learning how to put the condom on him—slowly. So slowly that he wondered if he was a little masochistic for enjoying the torture.
She was creative and, in the tradition of her heritage, free-spirited. They'd made a rather sexy game of the journal, trying everything the author suggested, and embellishing on a few.
More and more Zane wondered about the woman who'd patiently organized so many erotic details—if she'd died happy, if her life had been all it could be. Did she write out of a need to share her happiness, or to try to help others find what she couldn't?
One night, after he'd loved Tamara into near exhaustion, she'd voiced the same concerns. Though they'd never met the woman, her journal had given them great insight into her personality. Her caring and loving nature had come through on paper, and had endeared her to them. Whoever she might have been, Zane felt sure she'd been a very special woman with a very large heart and a zest for life and love.
Now that he held Tamara every night, he couldn't imagine sleeping without her. He hadn't mentioned leaving her home, and neither had she. He'd simply picked up more items from his place as he needed them, and now all his shower and shaving supplies were in Tamara's bathroom, and her closet held a good portion of his clothes.
Sometimes, in the early evening, he'd sit in bed, pretending to read, and watch her work on the computer. She was intense then, her slim brows narrowed in thought and her face, in the blue light of the computer, endearingly studious. When she'd finally shut off the computer, he'd put aside his book and open his arms.
A new alarm system had been installed, and a floodlight mounted on the side of his building was aimed at her lot. There had been no more run-ins with masked men in the middle of night, no more dead rats or small fires. Zane had no reason to remain with her except that he needed her; he hoped she understood that.
It still enraged him off that Boris had an alibi. It didn't matter in the long run, because Zane wasn't convinced that Boris was innocent. Perhaps he hadn't been there that particular night, but it was possible, even likely, that he'd paid someone to do his dirty work. Until Joe actually caught someone, Zane wouldn't be able to let down his guard.
"Brooding again, I see."
Zane wanted to groan. He'd "hired" Joe as an assistant to give him a reason to be close to Tamara, to snoop around and check into things. But having him in the store all the time was trying. The women who usually flirted with Zane now divided their time with Joe. Zane didn't mind on a personal level because Tamara was the only woman who interested him. It just nettled that Joe might think he was stealing the women's attention.
"I see you forgot your name badge again."
Joe grinned, unrepentant, then rubbed at the left side of his chest. "Hell, I nearly pierced my nipple with the damn thing. Get a stick-on name tag and I'll wear it, but no more pins, thank you. Besides, I don't need it. Everyone knows me already.”
True enough. The women whispered his name in hushed excitement and the men grumbled about Joe's policy of "ladies first." It didn't matter how long a male customer had been waiting, if a woman walked in, Joe moved to assist her. He was the worst sort of employee, but Zane wasn't about to fire him.
"So what has you mooning this time?" Joe asked.
Zane moved away from him. "Just anticipating closing time." Which was still several hours away, damn it.
Seeing through Zane's lie, Joe said, "She's a sweetie, I'll give you that. It'd be hard not to think about her."
Zane wondered if Joe had his own mind-reading abilities. "I can do without your experienced opinion on the matter."
Joe laughed. "You wanna hear what I've found out about your buddy Boris, while the crowd is gone?"
Zane jerked around to face Joe. "You've found out something?"
"Of course. What, you thought I was a totally ineffectual snoop?" He snorted. "That doesn't say much for you, since you hired me."
"You've been here all morning and it's damn near lunchtime now! Why the hell didn't you say something sooner?"
Joe shrugged. Along with not wearing a name tag, he refused to dress up for his bogus job, preferring to stick with jeans and T-shirts and boots so scuffed they had to be ten years old. His hair was too long, his earring too damn noticeable, more often than not he forgot or refused to shave—and the female customers adored him. It was a good thing Joe didn't know anything about computers, or he'd likely have accepted some of the inquiries on home service.
"Your place is busier than I expected." He clapped Zane on the shoulder. "You run a helluva business, cousin. I'm impressed."
Zane sliced his hand through the air, dismissing the compliment in favor of hearing more important news. "What did you find out?"
Propping his hip on the counter next to the cash register, Joe retrieved a knife from his pocket. He flicked it open, then closed—an annoying habit he had. "Boris is married."
Of all the things Zane had expected, that wasn't anywhere on the list. "No sh
it? The bastard has a wife?"
"A wealthy wife. Not that Boris comes from a poor background. His family was well-to-do, but lost a lot in the last ten years or so. I gather he married as a way to restore the family financial standing."
Pacing, Zane muttered, "This is incredible."
"And he's not from Romania, as he supposedly told Tamara's uncle, but his wife is. Very Old World. Her family dates back to some impressive and influential names."
I'll kill him, was Zane's immediate thought. But first he had to find out what Boris wanted with Tamara. Then he could work him over. He flexed his hands, imagining them around Boris's thick neck. "What do you think he's up to?"
"Can't tell you that, but I can tell you that his wife's family is not the type who'd take kindly to news of his activities." Joe flipped the knife open again, polished the blade along the denim on his left thigh, and held it up to the fluorescent lights to admire the shine. "If they knew he'd been sniffing after another woman, the proverbial crapola would hit the fan."
"You're sure he and his wife aren't separated?"
"Rightfully so. It proves without a doubt that you're dead-on, that Boris is unprincipled to say the least, and up to something sinister at the most."
"He's going to be seeing her again today." And Zane intended to be there. Damn, at least now he had something solid to use against Boris. Surely this would make her relatives detest him as much as Zane did.
"Yeah, well, I'd put an end to that real quick."
Zane flashed Joe an irritated glance. "I tried reasoning with her. She's convinced that as long as Boris is minding his manners and paying for her time, she should indulge her relatives by pretending to give him an opportunity to woo her."
Joe shook his head in a pitying way.
Because his attitude mirrored Zane's own, there wasn't much he could say.
Of course, that didn't stop Joe. "You should know better than to attempt to reason with the female brain, Zane. Take the guy aside, break his nose, make him understand that he's to get lost and stay lost." Joe cracked his knuckles. "And if you're not up to it, I'm game."
It was no less than what Zane wanted to do, but he found himself laughing. "You've become a bloodthirsty cynic, you know that? Besides, this isn't the Stone Age. Women are allowed their own thoughts and choices."