ZANE - THE WILD ONE

by Bronwyn Jameson

  "What's so funny?"

  His breath swirled against her skin; his thumb feathered across her earlobe. And an out-of-control dancer crashed into her, propelling her forward.

  Hard up against Zane.

  For a long while she didn't think to breathe—she couldn't think. Full stop. Her head spun with sensation. Thighs pressed flush against his thighs, her breasts flattened against the solid wall of his chest, his hands firm on her shoulders, steadying her. Her hands at his hard-muscled waist, right where his soft cotton shirt tucked into snug-fitting jeans.

  And everywhere they touched, heat. Incredible, bone-melting heat.

  She took a long ragged breath, but instead of oxygen her lungs filled with the scent of clean shirt and hot man. Longing, pure and elemental, flooded her senses. She wanted to wrap her arms around his hard body, to burrow her nose into that soft shirt. She wanted time to savor the intense pleasure of man-woman contact.

  As if party to her thoughts, his body tensed beneath her hands, and she knew he was about to set her back in her own dancing space. Disappointment settled as heavily as the crashing denouement to the band's current number. He backed up enough for hands to slide away, enough for eyes to meet and hold. The song ended with a flurry of drums and cymbals, leaving a silence as thick as the preceding noise, as intense as his unfathomable gaze.

  "You didn't say what you were laughing about."

  "Oh, just me. Dancing. It's not something I do often." With a sweeping gesture, she indicated the room at large. "Not like this."

  "I told you this place wasn't your style."

  That wasn't what she'd meant, at least not in the way he'd obviously interpreted it. But before she could explain, the strobing lights cut out, leaving the glow from one slowly spinning orb to illuminate the floor. A lone guitar struck the opening chords to the next song.

  A ballad…

  Couples shuffled into slow-dancing clinches, singles shuffled back to the bar, and Julia's pulse shuffled into a quick-step beat. It was way out of time with the slow torchy song. She felt Zane's hand at her back, firmly guiding her forward, ushering her from the floor.

  No. She stopped so suddenly, turned so quickly, that he almost bumped into her. She couldn't look at him, not into that hard, closed expression, not when she was about to tell a small fib. So she focused on his chest, on the top button of his shirt, and crossed the fingers of both hands. "This is more my style."

  "You want to dance to this?" he asked slowly.

  "Yes."

  It took forever, that moment of total immobility, of not even breathing, of silent pleading. Dance with me, Zane. Please don't walk away. All that moved, eventually, were a few strands of her hair, stirred by his heavy exhalation. As if he, too, had been holding his breath.

  He muttered something low and rough, but to Julia it sounded like a good answer. Especially when she felt his hands on her shoulders, moving down her back, pulling her right in close to his body. When she felt the touch of his thighs as he started to dance, she let her hands slide up his chest and loop around his neck, and released her own backed-up breath in a long, slow, sigh of relief.

  Thank you, God.

  With a small, satisfied smile, she rested her cheek against his chest and settled into the slow sway. It had been two years since her divorce, three since Paul had left her, much longer since she had been this close to a man. It shouldn't have felt so instantly right, so intensely good. There should have been a few minutes of awkwardness, of trodden toes and bumped knees, but they seemed to adjust instinctively, to fit perfectly.

  Eyes closed, she hummed along to the song, one she'd never particularly liked but now wished would never end. When the lyrics implored her to hold on tight, she tangled her fingers in the ends of his hair and obeyed. And when the third in the series of slow numbers ended, she didn't want to let go. She might never have let go if Zane hadn't done the job for her.

  Slowly she blinked her eyes back into focus and her mind back into reality.

  People were leaving the floor, some edging around them and a nearby couple. Completely oblivious, they remained locked from knee to chest … and mouth to mouth. Julia felt a betraying heat in her ears, her neck, the pit of her stomach. She felt Zane watching, reading her face with his sharp silver gaze, knowing.

  She wanted to be kissed. As thoroughly as that other girl. By him.

  And when his gaze slid to her mouth, she knew he wanted it, too. Her pulse thundered as she watched his hand lift, reach for her, then check. The backs of his fingers brushed against her cheek, and delicious shivers of sensation rioted through her body.

  "You want to get out of here?"

  In a heartbeat.

  But before she could reply, voices intruded, one of them coming into clear focus when it repeated her name.

  "Julia? It is you! I said it was, but Kerrie said no, not here. Not in this bar. Who'd have thought it?"

  Obviously not Mel McLaren and Kerrie Hall. Julia acknowledged her workmates with a wan smile. Not that they noticed—both were too busy gaping at Zane. Hadn't their mothers taught them it was rude to stare?

  Engrossed eyes still locked on Zane, Mel continued. "We've all got a big table over by the stage. You wanna join us?"

  Julia cleared her throat. "We had a spot at the bar—"

  "Which undoubtedly disappeared two seconds after your butt left the seat," Kerrie interjected. "The ole Cat hasn't seen a crowd like this since the millennium bash."

  "So, how 'bout it?" Mel persisted.

  Judging by Zane's closed expression, it was her call. She bit her lip. If she admitted she was about to leave with Zane O'Sullivan, all of Gracey's would know by nine-o’five tomorrow morning, all of Plenty a few hours later. But she did want to leave with him—now, before she lost her nerve.

  "I wasn't staying long," she prevaricated, while her eyes appealed to Zane for help.

  "Count me out," he said shortly. "Thanks for the dance."

  He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Julia the focus of inquisitive attention.

  "You got to rub bellies with Bad-ass O'Sullivan? Hubba-hubba!"

  "Thanks a bunch for the introduction, mate!"

  Mel sounded awed, Kerrie peeved. And for once Julia didn't much care what anyone thought. She stood there watching Bad-ass O'Sullivan walk away without a by-your-leave and she felt … cheated.

  Yes, cheated. This time the description really did fit. She hadn't gone to all this trouble just to be abandoned after five minutes on the dance floor.

  So when Mel linked arms with her, imploring her to, "Come and join the dots, you dark horse," she carefully but politely reclaimed her arm.

  "I'm sorry but I can't stay. I'm on early shift tomorrow."

  * * *

  At first she thought she'd lost him—those long-striding legs had carried him out the side door with astonishing speed—but then she caught a glimpse of movement on the outside stairs leading to the hotel's accommodation wing. A figure moved from dark shadow into a pool of light on the second-story landing, and surprise steadied the simmering irritation that had triggered Julia's chase.

  Did he have a room here?

  "Zane?"

  Halfway up the second flight, he didn't just stop, he completely stilled.

  "When you mentioned getting out of here, I thought you meant us, as in you and me."

  She didn't raise her voice, yet it carried clear and strong across the deserted courtyard. It sounded like the voice of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing, not a woman whose stomach churned with trepidation.

  She didn't hear his sigh, but his body language told her there was one. "Go back inside, Julia. Back to your friends."

  "They're not my friends. We work together at Gracey's, but I never see them socially, and I certainly don't want to go and sit with them. Not when they only want to grill me about you."

  "Huh."

  Imagine that. An answer that revealed nothing except a mild derision. Julia's irritation flared anew
, and she found herself crossing the courtyard to glare up at him. And, God help her, she never glared. "So far I have nothing to tell them."

  "Tell them I sent you home where you belong."

  His harsh dismissive tone hurt, but insinuating she had no right to be there … that just aggravated the scratchy edges of her temper. Until that minute she'd never thought she had a temper, either, but there it was, forcing her to declare, "I have as much right to be here as you or Mel or anyone else!"

  Inside, the band started into its next song, and she didn't hear his answer. If he answered.

  Frustration seethed through her blood. She hated the tricky light that disguised his reaction, hated being down there cricking her neck to look up at him, hated how she would need to raise her voice to be heard. "I'll go—if you come back down here and answer one question."

  The singer warbled two full lines of a shabby old standard before Zane shrugged, muttered something indecipherable and started down the stairs. She met him at the bottom, where the reflected radiance from a nearby neon sign painted the darkness with an eerie sheen.

  "Well?" He almost grunted the question, but when he tilted his head she caught the silvery glint of his eyes. Guarded, yes, but there was more. Wariness? Apprehension? She scoffed at the notion. What did he have to fear? She was the one with stage fright. She was the one in urgent need of a clever script, or at least enough cleverness to improvise.

  "Are you staying here?"

  "Yes."

  "Why? I mean, I thought you'd be staying with Bill."

  "Yeah, well, he always offers the invitation, but a midget wouldn't be comfortable sleeping on his couch."

  She hadn't thought much about it, but the residence attached to the garage was probably one-bedroom. Ideal for a bachelor like Bill, but not for company, especially company as large as the package standing in front of her, turning as if to leave.

  Without thinking, Julia lunged for him, grabbing at his arm to prevent his departure. "Where are you going?"

  "Upstairs. To bed. You asked for one question, I've already answered three."

  Julia felt something resembling a snarl building in her throat. "None of them was the question, and you know it!"

  With pointed deliberation, his gaze skimmed down to where she still held on to his arm. Fiercely.

  "Oh. I'm sorry." Horrified that she hadn't noticed her grip turn forceful, she let go, then rubbed her hand over his forearm, over where her nails had probably scored his skin. "I didn't realize. I really am so sorry."

  "The question?" he asked tersely.

  She sucked up a draft of bravery, crossed her fingers for luck and hoped she wasn't about to make a first-class fool of herself. "Why did you change your mind?"

  "About?"

  "Whatever you were thinking when you asked if I wanted to get out of there."

  His gaze flicked to her mouth. She felt it tingle with awareness, felt a heavy heat settle low in her stomach.

  "That wasn't my mind doing the thinking," Zane admitted. If he'd been using his brain, he wouldn't have danced with her, wouldn't have let his body decide it was in with a chance. And he sure wouldn't have felt such biting regret when her workmates happened along.

  Hell, he should go shout them all a great big thank-you drink for gawking from her to him as if they were as mismatched as … as they were. Forget how perfect she felt in his arms. Forget the kiss-me message in the molten warmth of her eyes. Forget dragging her out of that crowd and—

  "You haven't answered my question."

  "Yeah, I did. If you didn't like my answer, tough."

  "That was not an answer. Why can't you just talk straight to me, Zane? I'm a big girl—I can take the truth. If you're not interested, then why did you lead me on? Why did you look at me like you couldn't wait to get me somewhere private, like you couldn't wait to get your hands and your mouth on me?"

  The words spilled from her tongue, tumbling one on top of the other like ball bearings from an overturned tub. And he could tell she regretted knocking that tub over. Her eyes widened; her mouth hung open a second, then compressed as tight as a zipper. So much for straight speak, Zane thought with a cynical twist of his lips. Next she'll start apologizing and biting her damn lip, and that'll really piss—

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

  "Why?" He took a step closer. "What happened to talking straight?"

  Biting her lip, she took an even longer step away. That was it! Zane advanced, she retreated, until he'd crowded her against the wall, until his palms were planted against the brick wall on either side of her head.

  "Is that what you want, Julia? My hands on you?"

  He touched her hair, sifted it through his fingers, dragged silken handfuls up from her neck. Looked right into those amazing eyes that seemed to draw color from her mood. Right now they shone amber with desire.

  "Is that why you followed me out here?" he whispered roughly. "Because you want my mouth on you?"

  The oh-yes-please sound low in her throat was about the sexiest thing he'd ever heard, so that was where he put his mouth. Right there on skin so pale it almost glowed in the pearlescent light. One touch, lips against skin, and the slow burn in his gut combusted like a gasoline fire.

  Releasing her hair, he touched thumb to bottom lip, sampling its soft moisture as he dipped his head. A whisper away, he paused, wanting to savor the keen edge of anticipation. Needing to know he could contain the fire. An impatient growl resonated in her throat. Then her hands fisted in his shirt and she was pressing her mouth to his, a mouth both soft with welcoming warmth and strong with determined demands.

  He opened his mouth over hers and immediately found the perfect angle to access all that heat, all those flavors of desire. When his tongue touched hers, he groaned and pressed her closer to the wall, and something that felt like a smile of deepest primitive satisfaction rose up in him, something stronger than the physical demands that pressed his body against hers.

  Because she not only wanted this kiss, she seemed to want it as badly as he did.

  Her hands caressed his back in restless circles; his tongue stroked across her inner lip; her leg climbed the side of his thigh, and the hotel door immediately to their left crashed open. Zane barely had time to register surprise—it was a rarely used exit—before a rowdy trio reeled out into the courtyard. His groan was heartfelt, although Julia took it as a sign of encouragement and tried to reclaim his lips. He'd managed to peel half her fingers from his shirt and was trying to quiet her throaty protests when one of the drunks wavered to a halt.

  "Who's there?" He peered in their direction then called to his friend. "Hey, Jeddo, there's folks over here."

  Zane presumed it was Jeddo who conjectured, crudely, what folks might be doing in the dark, but he ground his teeth to hold his tongue in check. Lecturing a drunk was less than pointless, less than futile. They came closer, and Zane stepped in front of Julia, shielding her from their view.

  "Who you got there, man? Somebody's missus?"

  With a sinking feeling, Zane recognized his bar-stool neighbor from earlier in the night, the one he'd told to take a hike. He took only a few seconds longer to identify Zane.

  "Well looky here, if it ain't Mista Congee—Mr. Congeenee—"

  He broke off with a curse, and Zane shook his head. He didn't strike Zane as a man who could handle six-syllable words sober, let alone in his current condition.

  "Holy—it's Julia. You know her, Jeddo, the mayor's little girl."

  Hell. While he'd been concentrating on Mr. Congeniality, his mates had edged into a position to see Julia.

  "What're you doin' out here, Joo-lee-ah Goodwin?"

  "Shoot, Bart, ain't it obvious?"

  Jeddo put the obvious into words of one syllable, and after that everything happened in a blur of fury. Zane seized him by the shirtfront and suggested he wash his mouth out. Bart attached himself, leechlike, to Zane's back. With his mates hooting encouragement, the third managed to land a glan
cing blow to Zane's face, and he would have returned the compliment if Julia hadn't been there.

  It was enough that she'd been insulted—that he'd allowed these jerks to insult her—without starting a brawl.

  What the… Zane's heart leapfrogged into his throat Arms held wide, she had stepped in front of the guy with his fists drawn and was calmly asking if he really wanted to punch Mayor Goodwin's little girl.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  Almost numb with fear, he roared the words, knocked both parasites from his body in one savage motion and wrestled her out of harm's way. When he turned, all three were backing up. One of them yelled a final obscenity that had him revving to go after him.

  "Later, bud."

  The soft promise held more menace than he'd intended, and they scampered out of the yard and disappeared into the darkness.

  Adrenaline still coursed through his body as he whirled on Julia. "You want to answer my question now?"

  Unlike the drunks, she didn't back away from his furious countenance. She lifted her chin and faced him squarely. "I was dealing with the situation in a reasonable manner."

  Zane snorted. "You can't reason with drunks. Didn't Mayor Goodwin teach you that?"

  "Who says you can't?"

  He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "I say you can't, and unlike you, I know from experience."

  Her eyes narrowed a little, and Zane silently cursed himself He didn't want her questioning him on his experience of drunks. He didn't want to go there. And he had no right yelling at her. He let go a long, fractured breath. "Come on. I'll walk you home."

  "Thank you."

  She started walking, her posture a little stiff, defensive. He raked a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you. It wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have put you in a position where you needed to reason with drunks in the first place."

  "I don't recall you dragging those idiots out here. Or me, for that matter. I made that choice, Zane."

  He smiled wryly. "Bad choice, huh?"