by Foster, Lori
“It’s not ridiculous. In fact, it was the words in the journal that encouraged me to approach you. If I hadn’t found that book, we wouldn’t be here now.”
That was an unbearable thought, and he immediately rejected it. “I’d have approached you.”
“Ha!” She tossed her head, flipping her bangs away from her forehead, and glared up at him. “I doubt you’d have even noticed I was leaving until after I was gone—if you noticed even then. I’d have sold my place and moved away and we’d never have shared a kiss, much less anything else.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“If it wasn’t for that book,” she went on, “we’d never have had a chance to enjoy each other. I’d say the book is far from ridiculous. In fact, I’d say we should use it as a guide.”
Zane drew back. “A guide? You think I need a goddamn guide to make love to a woman?”
“Don’t shout at me. And we’re going to have sex, not make love.”
Her insistence on that point infuriated him. “I’m not shouting,” he shouted.
“You need something,” she said, ignoring his temper, “at least where I’m concerned, because it’s for certain you hadn’t made a move on your own.”
Zane growled. Now that he had kissed her and touched her and planned to do so much more, he couldn’t believe he’d ever overlooked her. And he damn sure didn’t like having her remind him of his oversight.
But he wouldn’t admit that to her. He was used to being the one calling the shots. He was used to wielding all the power. But she had instigated things, damn it. She’d been quiet and intriguing and she’d lured him in with three little words. I want you.
She was far from quiet now. In fact, he’d call her argumentative. Perhaps if he got her back into costume, she’d revert to form and settle back into her mysterious silence. Zane shook his head. He actually liked her much better this way.
In an effort to draw her fire away from him, Zane asked, “Why the hell are you moving, anyway?”
Tamara hesitated, and he said quickly, “Oh, no, you don’t. Don’t lie to me.”
When she looked surprised, he said, “I can see the intent plain in your eyes.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Like hell it is.” He caught her shoulders and pulled her close. “You don’t want to tell me what’s going on.” He kissed her pursed mouth hard, leaving her bemused, then added, “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.”
Tamara pulled away and turned her back on him, her spine rigid, her shoulders stiff. “You can’t get around me with sex, Zane.”
“Wanna bet?”
She flashed him a glance, then narrowed her eyes. “My problems are my own,” she insisted. “I don’t want or need to drag you into them.”
“You just want me for physical pleasure?” There was a slight acerbity to his tone that he couldn’t hide.
“That’s right. And I haven’t even gotten that yet, so there’s nothing more to talk about.”
Zane stepped up behind her, close enough that his groin nestled against her soft, rounded bottom. He clasped her shoulders and squeezed gently. “We’ll get there soon enough, honey, but not until you tell me what’s going on. Fair’s fair. We agreed, remember?”
Almost against her will, she leaned into him. “Blackmail ? You’ll hold out until I ’fess up?”
It was his turn to shrug. “Think of it as concern, not coercion.”
“I’m not used to sharing with anyone. I’ve been the leader of the family for a long time; my aunts and uncle depend on me, not the other way around.”
“Your parents died?”
She kept her head down, her face averted. “Yes, like yours, when I was young. Thanos and my aunts took me in.”
He noticed that she hadn’t claimed they raised her. Because he’d met them, he had to wonder if Tamara hadn’t always been the logical, responsible one. “What happened to them?”
Shifting, she finally looked at him. “From what I remember and from what everyone has always told me, they liked to live on the edge. They were daredevils, true Tremaynes, and they got a rush from taking risks and accepting challenges. One night after a celebration, my father raced his car against a friend on a deserted road and.... Well, it was dark, and rainy. He crashed.” She looked wistful, and resigned, as if she still couldn’t understand it, but had long ago accepted it. “Thanos is the one who told me.”
“Thank God you weren’t with them.” A sizzle of anger stirred along Zane’s nerve endings. How could any parent behave so irresponsibly? He imagined what Tamara must had felt, felt a little of it himself, and it nearly smothered him with compassion.
“Oh, no. They realized when I was very young that I was different—the white sheep, as you’ve already heard Thanos call me. They never took me with them when they ... did dangerous things. Thanos explained that they had wild blood, and that’s why they died. He and my aunts were there for me from that moment on.”
There was an indefinable sorrow in her eyes as she told that story. The people who should have put her welfare first had instead been out partying and playing with their lives. It sounded to Zane as if they’d totally shirked their duty to her, and in the end, they’d left her alone. He discounted Thanos and the aunts as appropriate supervision. “How old were you?”
“Ten.” She shrugged. “But Thanos likes to say I was ten going on twenty-five. He says I no sooner got over my grief than I started organizing everything.”
She gave him a small smile. “Try to understand, Zane. I’ve always been the one in charge, the one who handles problems. It’s my way, and Thanos understood that. He helped me to find my place in my new family by letting me take charge. As a child, it made me feel useful, less of a burden. As an adult, it’s what I’m used to. My relatives come to me to fix things. All this ... sharing stuff, your concern, it’s not what I was asking for.”
“And it’s not what you wanted?” He wondered then if she was afraid to share. That possibility struck him deep in his soul.
She looked uncertain. “That’s right.”
Zane turned her around and looped his arms around her waist. There were some things he intended to be firm on, so she might as well understand that right now. “It’s all part and parcel with involvement, sweetheart, at least as far as I’m concerned, so you might as well get used to it. Until you do move, we’ve got something going on, and I’m not good at standing in the background. Understand?”
She shook her head in exasperation. “You don’t have to act like a caveman.”
There she went, insulting him again. “Tamara—”
On impulse, she kissed his chin, licked her lips, then kissed his chin again. “Mmmm.” Her voice softened, but her meaning didn’t. “Spare me the threats, Zane. They won’t work.”
The spot tingled where her lips had touched, and it was no more than two simple pecks. On his chin. “I do not,” he stated emphatically, ignoring how intimate those innocent little pecks had felt, “threaten women.”
She patted his chest. “Then what would you call it?”
With ruthless determination, Zane reined in his temper and managed to say—with only a partial growl—“You’re reneging on a deal. We agreed that if I answered your questions, you’d answer mine.”
“I answered your questions on the book.”
She was right, damn it. “You’re just trying to distract me.”
This time her patting was a little harder, tinged with her own temper. She glared up at him. “I can’t believe you’re being so insistent! It has nothing to do with you.”
His control slipped another notch. “As long as we’re sleeping together, anything that concerns you, concerns me.”
“We’re not sleeping together yet.”
“Stop stalling and tell me.”
“Oh, all right.” She wrenched herself out of his hold and paced three steps away.
Zane thought about hauling her back; he liked holding her, liked having
her snuggled in his arms.
He was just reaching for her when she spoke. And her first words stopped him cold.
Six
“Someone has been trying to drive us away.”
Zane stared at Tamara, not sure he’d heard her correctly.
“I don’t know who,” she explained hastily, “and I don’t know why. But there’s been too many small crises for me to write them off as coincidence the way the police have.”
“You’re not just moving to ... move?”
“No, why would I? I love it here.” A poignant yearning colored her words. “I had a small inheritance from my parents, money they’d earned in the circus and on the road. My uncle put it away for me until I turned eighteen. As my guardian he could have used the money, and there were plenty of times through the years when we needed it.” She smiled at that, as if being broke was part of a series of fond memories.
“I used it to buy their small house. They griped about that, because they’d always considered the money mine and they wanted me to spend it on myself.” She glanced at Zane. “They never realized that I wanted to be by myself for a change, so buying the house for them was for me, too.”
“How old were you then?”
“Eighteen. Plenty old enough.”
Zane shook his head. Hell, at eighteen he’d still been living with Cole, working for him and getting a lot of help as he started college. He couldn’t imagine being so completely alone at that age. “How’d you buy this place?”
“I’d saved up money from the jobs we did. I used all my savings for the down payment, and it was just enough.”
He imagined she had a very frugal lifestyle, without a lot of room for luxuries or extravagance. Yet, she didn’t seem to want for anything—except him. That thought caused a tightness in his chest, and in his groin.
Unaware of his private turmoil, she continued matter-of-factly. “My family is settled and this house is perfect for me. When I was younger and we were on the road so much, I used to dream of a house just like this. I love the wooden floors and the rusty pipes and the high moldings.” Sadness invaded her expression before she shook her head, as if bringing herself back to reality.
She clearly thought she had no option except to sell, and just as clearly wasn’t going to dwell on what couldn’t be. She was too sensible to bemoan things she couldn’t change. It was that sensibility, Zane thought, which had enabled her to get a band of loony Gypsies settled in the first place.
“I’m leaving,” she told him, “because I don’t know what else to do. Everything that happens costs money—money that I can’t spare.” She shrugged. “So we’re ... moving.”
Zane crossed his arms. If there was any way to help her, he damn well would. But first he had to know all the details. “Start with the first crisis.”
“A fire.”
He cocked a brow and waited.
“That’s right. A fire here in my shop. It had been a busy day with people in and out, so I hadn’t had a chance to eat all day. When I closed the shop, I went to your bar to get a sandwich and a drink. But you weren’t there. I guess you had a date or something, because you weren’t at your store either.”
“You were looking for me?”
She shrugged and waved a hand in airy explanation. “I’ve admired you from afar for some time now. But as I said, you weren’t at the bar, so I wrapped up the sandwich, finished my drink, and came home early.”
“You’ve admired me from afar?”
“Do you want to hear this story or not?” she demanded.
“Yeah.” A feeling of contentment settled over him. “I want to hear the story.”
“Then stop interrupting.”
Bossy little woman, Zane thought, this time with humor. He realized he was starting to get used to her. And he was liking her more with each minute that passed.
Wondering if she’d be that bossy in bed, he smiled and said, “Yes ma’am.”
She eyed him, and must have decided he was sincere, because she continued with her tale. “I always use the outside stairs when I’m going straight home instead of into the shop. But this time I felt that something was wrong.”
“You felt it? Like a premonition or something?” She kept claiming she didn’t have powers, but Zane was sure she did. How else did he explain his obsession?
“I didn’t mean it like that! I already told you I’m not psychic.” She looked flustered, then went on. “I just used the shop door this time is all. And as soon as I stepped inside, I smelled the smoke. It came from this room, which was a good thing since the door was shut and it kept the damage from reaching most of the rest of the shop.”
Zane looked around and only then noticed the blackened comers of the ceiling. The room was small, square, with a shallow closet where Tamara had hung a jacket, and a minuscule bathroom that boasted a plain white toilet and white enamel sink with the pipes exposed. A single bare bulb, hanging in the center of the room, supplied light. It was a storage area in every sense of the word, and at the moment it was packed full of boxes and bags and odds and ends. A fire could have really taken off, with plenty of paper and cardboard to feed on. “Do you know what started it?”
“An old chair that I’d bought at an auction caught fire. The material was threadbare and dry so it went up like kindling. I had planned to reupholster it because I liked the wood trim. It was dark and ornate, and went well with the rest of the decor.”
“Eclectic hodgepodge?”
“Exactly.”
Zane shook off another smile. He’d have to quit smiling like a fool over every inane thing she said. Otherwise, she’d think he was besotted. And that would never do. “How’d it catch on fire?”
She shrugged. “Supposedly a cigarette. The fire department found a butt down in the seat. Only I don’t smoke and no one who works for me does either. I don’t allow it.”
“A customer?”
“Not that I know of. I have a prominent NO SMOKING sign. Besides, customers aren’t allowed in the backroom and they’re never left unsupervised, so it’s not likely someone could have snuck in there to take a cigarette break.”
“Could someone have asked to use the bathroom?”
She shook her head. “I send them to the diner across the street.” She began pacing again, her movements punctuated by her explanations. “Luckily I caught the fire early because I can only imagine the amount of damage that might have been done otherwise. As it was, it took me a week to get things cleaned up and the smell out.”
She could have been killed, Zane realized. What if she hadn’t gone out that night? Or what if she hadn’t come home early? If he’d been at the bar when she was there, would she have hung around admiring him from afar and then gotten home too late to stop the fire—or perhaps even been caught in it?
A sick feeling stirred in his stomach; it felt remarkably like fear. For her.
Damn it, it had to be just a fluke. He couldn’t think of a single reason why anyone would want to burn down her small establishment. She wasn’t a threat to anyone, didn’t offer any great competition to the other businesses in the area. None of it made sense, unless it was all personal. “You’re certain your assistant—what’s her name?”
“Luna Clark.”
Zane did a double take. “Luna?”
Smiling, making her voice deliberately mystical, she said, “Luna, goddess of the moon.”
Zane stared. “Uh-huh. Right. So you’re certain your assistant goddess doesn’t smoke?”
“Just because Luna is a little different doesn’t mean she’d lie to me.”
“Don’t get in a snit. I didn’t mean to suggest she would.” Then he asked, “Different how? I’ve never met her.”
Tamara grinned. “Except for her coloring, Luna could have been born into my family. She fits right in with them. She believes all the crazy stuff they believe about fortune-telling and fate and ghosts. She’s beautiful, naturally flamboyant without a wig or contacts. Half the time I believe she’s got min
d powers. She usually knows what I’m thinking.”
“Does that bother you?” Zane figured one mystical woman was more than enough for him. He’d be happy never to meet Luna face-to-face.
“No. Being around Luna is a riot. The customers love her.”
Luna, Zane thought, sounded more than a little flaky. “How long has she worked for you?”
“Around a year. I trust her completely. Besides, she wasn’t here that day. She’s only part-time.”
Zane strode toward her, inexplicably drawn nearer. “Who did work that day?”
“Just me.”
“All day?” The sense of fear intensified, only Zane didn’t know where it was coming from, or why. He just knew that it was very real, as real as the need to protect Tamara, to claim her. “By yourself?”
“You don’t have to say it like that.” She rolled her eyes. “My shop is hardly as busy as yours. I can and do work alone quite often. It’s no big deal.”
A deep breath didn’t help. Silently counting to ten didn’t help, either. “Are you telling me,” Zane asked quietly, “that you still work alone? Even though you think someone is out to hurt you?”
She inched back, warily moving away from the bite of his restrained temper. “I never said anyone wanted to hurt me. The problems have all been related to the shop somehow. The fire, a dead rat in the toilet that caused all the plumbing to clog up and overflow—”
“Whoa.” Zane held up a hand, halting her in midsentence. “A dead rat in the toilet?”
She shifted on her bare feet. “The police said it crawled into the pipes and died somehow, but ... well, if you’d seen it, you’d know that rat was roadkill. It was disgusting, and I’m convinced it was put there deliberately. Same as the cigarette.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. That’s just it. The window in here is too small for a man to crawl through, and the rest of the place is always locked up.”
Zane looked at the window. It was high, narrow. “A kid could probably fit through.”