Beyond Possession (Beyond #5.5)

by Kit Rocha

  He held on to her for a heartbeat longer, then opened his hand. "Complicated, huh?"

  She could still feel his touch, the heat and memory of his grip lingering on her wrist even after she strode to the sink to wash her hands. "Things are tense right now, you know that. I'm trying to talk my sister around, but..."

  Too late, she realized she was talking to him like he was a friend. Like he was a part of her life, someone who could be trusted, someone whose loyalties didn't lie in direct conflict with Catalina's.

  Her sister was being stupid, for sure. Wallace had known just how to work her, and Tatiana's initial attempts to intervene had done more harm than good. After years of driving herself past the point of exhaustion to ensure an easier life for her baby sister, it seemed all Tatiana had managed to do was raise a spoiled princess even more sheltered than she'd been.

  Zan's gaze softened, and he rose in front of her, a solid wall of muscle and bare, bronzed skin. "I can help you with that, Tatiana."

  It could be a trap. A beautifully baited one. Dallas might not have the subtlety for this, but he had Lex at his side now, a woman trained in manipulation and deception in the most elite brothel in the sectors. They could woo her into their camp with a clean conscience, because it wasn't like they couldn't deliver on their promises. They'd give her a soft life as a kept woman, no doubt about it.

  All she'd have to do was shatter her sister's trust and probably lose her forever.

  She stared up into Zan's eyes and saw no hint of deception. No sign he was working an angle or here just to fuck her into orgasm-addled compliance. But that didn't mean a damn thing. Zan could have come to her in all earnestness and still be part of the trap.

  Or he could know exactly what he was doing.

  "I need to think," she whispered, holding his gaze. She couldn't look at the rest of him because, trap or not, she was tired. Tired and lonely and all too susceptible to heroes. The last time she'd let one rescue her, she'd ended up with a badly bruised heart.

  This time would be so much worse.

  Zan gave her a short nod and reached for his shirt. "You should. You think long and hard, and do it now. Before next time."

  Something in the words stirred a dangerous echo in her. They weren't quite menacing enough to be a warning, but they held an edge of irresistible challenge. "Why, Zan? What happens next time?"

  "You make a decision," he answered simply. "Whether I'm worth it or not."

  "Tell me something first. Why me?"

  He had his hand on the door already, even though his shirt was still hanging open over his bare chest, revealing hints of the ink on his skin. He paused and looked back at her. "You know better than to ask me that. And not because of Dallas or your sister or anyone else."

  She'd been a fool not to ask him that, and a bigger fool to expect an honest answer. Zan had been collecting her payments and coming around the store for years without taking off his shirt and doing his damnedest to melt her knees.

  He was a trap, all right. And she was a Stone. Reckless, greedy, and self-destructive. She could stare at him, knowing full well that he signaled the end of her carefully ordered world, and still be tempted.

  Still be stupid. "Why me?" she repeated, all that Stone recklessness turning it into a challenge.

  He met her gaze, unflinching and unabashed. "Because I don't just look at you," he murmured. "I see you. I've been seeing you for months."

  If it was a calculated lie, it was the sweetest one she'd ever heard—and that was proof enough that she was in trouble. She'd built her defenses to protect her from the harsh realities of sector life. Men who coerced and intimidated, who tried to take and dominate.

  She could weather a little seduction. But the sweetness would break her, if she gave it half a chance.

  Tatiana turned back to her desk to hide her uncertainty and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Get out of here. And don't come back without jasmine oil."

  "You don't mean that."

  She didn't know what she meant right now, which made getting rid of him all the more important. She schooled her expression with care—something she had too much practice doing—and smiled at him over her shoulder. "If you're sure, come back without it and find out."

  "Yes, ma'am." The bell clanged softly as he pulled the door shut behind him.

  Tatiana tried to relax into her chair with the rest of her lunch, but she was too unsettled. Fear, anticipation, arousal, anger—the last for herself alone. She knew better. She knew better. Sector politics were off-limits to her. Every choice she made carried the weight of history—at least until enough of the old guard had died off or slunk away.

  She was still young, just a few years into her twenties. If she survived to thirty, maybe she could indulge in stupid, pointless fantasies. She could sleep with whoever the hell got her blood pumping and not care what the world thought of her.

  Until then, she couldn't publicly pick a side. Not just for her sister—for herself. Her father's supporters would risk their lives to punish her for a public betrayal. It would be the end of her independence.

  Zan couldn't understand what he was asking. So she'd explain it to him and see for herself how deep that sweetness went. After all, her first, reckless love affair had taught her one painful lesson—a lover who brushed aside your need for independence was never worth it.

  Chapter Three

  Hitting the bags didn't hurt as much today.

  Or maybe Zan just couldn't feel it through the mad jumble of nerves twisting in his gut. He was sitting here with his thumb up his ass, wasting time Dallas didn't fucking have, but he had to. He had to, or he'd blow the whole fucking thing, and Tatiana would never speak to him again.

  Three days. He'd stayed away for three days, hoping to make his point—that she had nothing to fear from him. He wouldn't push, he wouldn't force her.

  No matter what.

  He nailed the heavy bag again and ground out a curse when a bolt of pain shot up his arm and caught fire in his shoulder. He dragged off his gloves and clutched at the aching joint until he could breathe. The slicing agony subsided into nauseating waves as Ace's voice rose behind him. "Go easy there, brother."

  Of course Ace had to witness his moment of weakness. Zan mentally kicked himself and turned to face his friend. When he spoke, his voice was breathless, strained, and he cursed himself again. "Did you make the delivery?"

  "Mmm." Ace made no further comment on his shoulder, though Zan could see his concern. Instead, Ace leaned against a table and crossed his arms over his chest. "She gave me a message for you."

  Of course she did. Part of Zan didn't really want to hear it, but he held out both hands in invitation anyway. He was a lot of things, but he wasn't a coward. "Let's have it."

  "That if all it took was extravagant gifts, she'd still be—" Ace broke off and tilted his head. "You know she had a thing with Gia, right?"

  Of course he did. He knew everything about Tatiana. "Oh yeah?"

  Ace shrugged. "You know Gia. She's intense. Hell, she's a lot like Dallas, fucks up in all the same ways. Like wanting people you can't buy with pretty things and still trying to buy them."

  Intense was an understatement when it came to describing Gia. Some people thought the O'Kane men were domineering, even controlling. Those people changed their minds when they met Gia. Whatever relationship she and Tatiana had, it had undoubtedly been full of the kinds of power games most people reserved for the bedroom.

  But that was entirely beside the point, and not what prompted the vague thread of warning in Ace's words. "It's not about the gifts or the money," Zan explained. "I could be showing up myself. I'm not. I'm giving her time to think, but making sure she knows I haven't forgotten. She might not get that right now. She will."

  "Well, you might wanna show up yourself." All humor had left Ace's expression. "Someone needs to keep an eye on her. I don't like how shit feels in the marketplace. Things haven't been this charged in years."

  Zan's finge
rs clenched without his permission, squeezing tight around the laces of his gloves. "Is Wallace making more trouble? Did you run into him? See him?" If that bastard got within fifty feet of Tatiana...

  "Oh, he ducks out of sight fast if he catches a glimpse of me, but he's down there. Scurrying from shop to shop like the rat he is."

  Zan dropped his gloves and snatched up a towel. "I'm heading over soon. I had planned on it anyway. Three days is long enough to wait."

  "Watch your back." Ace straightened and shot Zan a serious look. "Watch the rest of you, too. Sweet or not, that's Matthew Stone's daughter. And she did a number on Gia."

  "Because Gia doesn't like to lose."

  "Because Gia doesn't like to lose control," Ace corrected. "Why else do you think she cut Tatiana loose? I'm just saying...know what game you're playing."

  "I've got this." But he gave Ace a slap on the back as he passed. "Thanks."

  Ace let him get to the door before calling after him. "Just drag your ass home before dawn. Cruz'll be waiting to punch you around the ring."

  The courtyard was deserted, and Zan took advantage of the solitude by leaning his good shoulder against the pitted brick wall and taking a few deep breaths.

  He wasn't worried about Tatiana's feelings toward him—he wasn't an expert on women, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew when one wanted him. No, he was worried about her security. This game of seduction had to take a back seat to her well-being, in every way. Keeping his distance, at least for a little while, might be the right move when it came to their budding relationship, but he couldn't sacrifice her safety.

  Woo and protect. Anything less than both equaled failure.

  The thought carried him upstairs and into the shower, where he stood beneath the stinging spray, his mind racing. Would giving her the truth be so bad? She suspected already. Maybe the trick would be to get ahead of the crash, let her know that she might be a job, but she was more than that, too.

  By the time he finished showering, his shoulder had started to seize up. Grinding pain splintered through him as he pulled his T-shirt on over his damp skin, then again as he shrugged into his shoulder holster.

  Some hero he was. He was a fucking idiot, standing around wondering how he was going to get Tatiana in his bed when he'd probably wind up with a bullet in his head before he ever got the chance. He had to train harder, longer, or that punk Wallace would get the best of him.

  The walk to Tatiana's shop was uneventful, but Zan understood what Ace had meant. There was a heaviness in the air, like the pressure before an electrical storm, building and building until it reached the breaking point.

  They would all have to be so careful.

  Zan walked through the front door this time, the tinkling bell announcing his arrival. Tatiana was on the far side of the shop with a basket propped on one hip, lifting glass bottles out one by one to fill out a display.

  She glanced at him, her lips tugging up into a reluctant smile. "That didn't take long."

  She was wearing a leather vest that had to be Stuart's handiwork over a thin, flowing blouse and a long skirt. Her hair was pulled back from her face in some sort of messy, intricate braid. She looked good, damn good. Better than she had any right to, since she'd obviously been working all day.

  The ache in his shoulder was nothing compared to the new ache south of his belt.

  He arched an eyebrow at her. "You scared the hell out of Ace. You knew I'd show up after that."

  "Invoking Gia does tend to get men moving," she agreed lightly, turning back to her shelf. "But I always figured he'd be immune."

  "He took you pretty seriously." Zan crossed the room, took the basket from her, and held it where she could reach. "You know I wasn't trying to bribe you into my bed."

  "If you were, it's been a pretty long game." She went back down the row of bottles, straightening each one so that the labels faced forward, and he could tell she was gathering her words. Buying time.

  Finally, she sighed and turned to face him. "It is about Gia, though. I mean, not about her, but about why she got bored with me."

  "Is that what happened?" Somehow, he doubted it.

  Tatiana shrugged and began stocking the next shelf. "Bored, impatient, whatever. I was weak when she took me in. Wounded. She kept pushing me to be stronger, but in the end I don't think she liked me that way. Because there's something inside of me that's never going to heal, and it was a deal breaker for her. It'd be a deal breaker for an O'Kane, too."

  He kept his voice casual. "Would it?"

  "Yes," she said, the word soft and a little sad. "Gia wanted me to give up my independence. If I have an affair with an O'Kane, I'll lose it either way."

  "You think I want to take it from you?"

  "Maybe," she retorted. "Maybe not. What happens if it doesn't work out? Have you thought about that?"

  He'd thought of it the same way you thought about getting struck by lightning when you walked out into the rain. It's there, and you know it might happen, but it's such a distant possibility that it doesn't bother you. It can't.

  But now he knew what he needed to do. This was the flip side of his goal, the ugly underbelly of it all. He needed people to see them together, to understand that Tatiana supported Dallas, not Wallace. But all her attention was focused on what would happen to her when he was gone and she was alone.

  He could play it slow. For her, he would. "Who says anyone has to know?"

  Tatiana stilled, a glass bottle gripped in one hand. She rubbed her thumb along the neck of it, a nervous, restless gesture. "Are you asking me to have a secret affair with you?"

  A quaint term, and not really accurate. "I'm asking you to fuck me, Tatiana. If you want that to stay quiet, I've got no problem with it."

  Her breath caught. Color flooded her cheeks and crept down her throat. "And how do you like to fuck, Zan? Since we're being blunt."

  The wicker basket creaked in his grip. "Depends on my mood."

  She set the bottle on the shelf and turned, laying her hands over his. She held the basket between them, as if she didn't trust herself without that barrier. "I played Gia's games. Doesn't mean I was good at them. So if you just want someone to kneel at your feet..."

  He fixed her with a pointed look. "You make a lot of assumptions."

  Her fingers tightened, undercutting her easy calm. "Men come around looking to stick it to Matthew Stone's fallen princess. Or hoping Gia trained me up good. No one sees me."

  He blew out a breath. "I don't give a damn about your father or what you got up to with Gia. But I've been coming around here for more than a year—fourteen months, if we're getting picky. To see you, Tatiana."

  "Oh."

  "Uh-huh. Oh."

  She wet her lips and lifted her gaze to his. "Then I asked the wrong question, I guess."

  "I guess so." The basket was empty now. Zan tossed it aside, his patience unraveling, and dragged Tatiana to him. Her mouth still glistened from her tongue, and he bent his head to drink in the taste of her.

  She went stiff against him for a heartbeat before spearing her fingers into his hair. Then she stretched up on her toes, rubbing those generous curves against him. Her lips parted, and he dove deeper, driving his tongue inside.

  He'd waited so fucking long, and it wasn't enough. Zan wrapped one arm around her waist and lifted her to him as she broke the kiss with a breathless moan.

  "Me," she whispered against his lips, her fingernails digging into his scalp. "That's what I should have asked. How do you want to fuck me?"

  He leaned into her touch. "I don't know yet. You've said a lot about what doesn't work for you, but not a damn thing about what does."

  She laughed nervously. "I don't know. Dirty, sweaty sex? I've never fucked a man who really knows what he's doing. Is it different?"

  "Got me." He lifted her again, this time urging her legs around his hips. "I've never fucked a man who really knows what he's doing, either."

  "Really?" Her lips tickled over
the corner of his mouth before skipping to his cheek. "Does that mean all the rumors about debauched O'Kane orgies are another thing I shouldn't make assumptions about?"

  "Oh, they happen. And they're filthy."

  "But you don't join in?"

  Not as often as she probably imagined. "Being an O'Kane means something. Part of it is that we can be ourselves. We can do everything we want. It doesn't mean we do everything, full stop, all the time."

  She seemed to consider that as her lips brushed his earlobe. But in the next moment, she sighed. "Part of being me is not forgetting that the door's unlocked and someone could walk in. I'm sorry."

  He set her down immediately. This was one of her boundaries, a bit of trust he wouldn't violate. "When?"

  "I usually close at sundown." She smoothed her hair into place before bending to sweep up the basket. "Do you want to...?" She trailed off uncertainly.

  She was asking if he'd stay the night. "Why don't we see how things go?" And whether she still wanted him here after she'd thought about it for a while.

  But the expression on her face wasn't wary. It was almost wistful. "It's the thing I miss most, you know. The sectors are a terrible place to be alone at night."

  She wouldn't be alone, no matter what. But saying it out loud might seem like the first step toward losing the independence she treasured so much. "Just trust me. Can you do that?"

  Her answer was slow in coming. It didn't come easy. But when she inclined her head, her gaze never leaving his, it was an honest victory. "I can do that."

  "Then I'll be back." He dropped another kiss to her lips—a quick one, because he couldn't afford to get distracted. Then he backed off. "See you soon, Tatiana."

  "Zan," she called after him as his fingers touched the doorknob. When he looked back, she grinned. "Don't come back without whiskey."

  Her hair was disheveled now, deep brown locks spilling out of her already messy braid. He wanted to touch her again, not leave. "Wouldn't dream of it."