Wild

by Foster, Lori

  His chin jutted forward. After a heavy silence and a look that could scorch, he growled, “Because I said I would and I’m not a liar.”

  No, he wasn’t lying. His earnestness beat at her, wearing her down.

  More than anything, Tamara wanted to ask him why. Why would he change his habits for her, especially after he’d first turned her down? He’d avoided her, had made his disinterest clear, and now he wanted their agreement to be exclusive?

  She wasn’t sure the answer would be one she wanted to hear. Slowly, she nodded. “Okay.”

  “No more doubting?”

  “No.”

  Zane caught her shoulders. “Now that that’s out of the way, tell me what spooked you.”

  Damn, how had he taken her full circle back to the subject she wanted to avoid? “I never said anything spooked me,” she hedged.

  “You walked in here, soaked to the skin, your blouse all but transparent—”

  Gasping, Tamara looked down, but Zane caught her chin and lifted it. Once she met his hot gaze, her blouse was forgotten. “We’ll deal with your distracting state of undress in a moment,” he murmured. “For now, tell me what happened. And no more lying.”

  You just had to throw that last in, she thought, scowling at him. He knew she’d lied about not caring if he saw other women. “I thought someone was following me.”

  Zane stared at her a second more, then cursed as he set her aside. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me right away?”

  He stalked over to the door, jerked it open, and marched straight into the pounding rain. Tamara ran after him.

  “Zane!” The storm had become more violent, rain coming down in a deluge. “Aren’t you the one who called me an idiot for running around in the rain? At least I had a good reason!”

  He looked between and behind the remaining parked cars in the lot. Finding no one there, he turned and stalked over to the alley between their buildings. Alarmed, Tamara wondered what he intended to do if he found someone.

  Lightning pierced the dark sky, briefly lighting the lot. The air sizzled and popped with electricity, while dread churned in her belly. Zane was safe for now, but what if the man had still been hanging around? She would not let Zane be hurt because of her.

  Tamara grabbed the back of Zane’s shirt. He was soaked through, and now, so was she. “Zane, whoever he was, he’s gone.”

  “You don’t know that,” he shouted over a loud explosion of thunder that arrived only seconds after the lightning.

  “Yes I do,” she yelled back. Zane froze.

  Slowly, so slowly it was apparent he had no care of the freezing rain, Zane turned to face her. Water ran in rivulets from his nose to his chin, and dripped off his dark hair, now stuck to his skull. “What do you mean, you know he’s gone?”

  Tamara twisted her hands together. The rain battered her skin with stinging force. She began shivering. “I just ... know.”

  Zane eyed her from top to toes, and his expression hardened. “I’ll call the cops.” But he didn’t move.

  “No. It wouldn’t do any good.” She watched Zane absorb her words, accept them, while her teeth began to chatter. “It’s okay now.”

  Zane looked like a savage, every harshly carved muscle delineated beneath the clinging wet clothes, his dark eyes burning, his jaw tight, his lashes clumped together. Primitive emotions shimmered off him like waves of heat. “That’s what I thought,” he growled. “Come on.”

  Despite her assurances and his apparent belief, Zane looked around as he led her into the store, his gaze watchful. This was a side of him she’d never seen, never anticipated, and in a way it was as exciting as it was alarming. He wasn’t just a playboy, civilized to the point of urbanity. No, at that moment he was pure, basic male and she couldn’t help but respond.

  Tamara tried to stop on the welcome mat, thinking to do most of her dripping there, but Zane didn’t even slow—and given that he had hold of her arm, she got dragged along with him.

  His anger was strong and turbulent, surging against her in forceful ripples. Was it because he realized she was intuitive? Or was it entirely focused on the man who’d followed her? She watched his broad back expand with deep breaths as he led her to a storage room so neatly organized in comparison to her own, it put her to shame.

  Tamara was swept along on his emotions, some of them clear, some not so clear. She knew she should be searching her mind for a way to explain the inexplicable, but it was difficult at the moment.

  If she told Zane exactly what had happened, would he believe her, or would he accuse her of being a card-carrying swami? His ridicule would he unforgivable. She’d still want him, but she’d never be able to put aside her hurt.

  He stopped just over the threshold, shoved the door closed with his foot, and backed Tamara into it. She caught her breath when his hard hips pressed against hers; he was fully aroused, his erection a long, hard ridge between their bodies.

  Heat rolled off him, despite the sodden state of their clothes. Tamara followed the progress of a raindrop as it trailed along his firm jaw, down his throat and into the open collar of his shirt. Her belly clenched in sexual awareness—his or hers?

  Involuntarily, she licked her lips. Bombarded by sensations, she couldn’t quite pinpoint the most prevalent. Desire? Worry? Fear? She tried to draw a deep breath, and drew in the humid smell of Zane’s heated body instead. A fine trembling started in her limbs and gained strength the longer she stared at him. “Zane?”

  Watching her, holding her gaze captive with his own, he closed his large hand over her breast. His lids dropped to half-mast, his jaw tightened. The feeling was so indescribable, so overwhelming, she tried to flinch away from it. Zane held her secure.

  Gently he caressed her, learned her, shaped her in his palm and with his long, hard fingers. When he touched her beaded nipple, his eyes shut briefly. He groaned softly before he opened them again, watching her with a concentration that invaded her soul.

  His voice low and rough, he said, “Your blouse and bra are so wet, I can see through them. I can even see your nipples.”

  Contentment swelled inside her, because he didn’t want to question her about the masked man or her intuition. He wanted her, as savagely as she wanted him.

  Relieved of that worry, she was better able to focus on what he did to her, to give her full attention to her body. His hand cuddling her breast felt better than she had ever expected. His touch radiated out to make her legs shaky, her fingers tingly. She arched into the steady press of his hips, blindly seeking more. She rubbed her belly against his erection, and moaned at the pleasure of it. With her movements, his breathing came faster, rougher.

  Their clothes stuck, cold and uncomfortable, but not a deterrent to the anticipation swelling inside her.

  “That’s it,” Zane crooned with deep satisfaction. He kissed her throat, her shoulder. In contrast to the cold, wet clothes, his mouth was hot, his tongue hotter, leaving behind a burning trail. The clinging material of her blouse bunched in his fist, then rasped across her sensitive breasts as he peeled it away. He kissed her collarbone, lower, dipped his tongue into her cleavage. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

  Tamara laced both hands into his dripping hair, urging him toward her nipple. The combination of her excitement, the rain, and the cooling temperatures had caused both of her nipples to tighten almost painfully. She needed his mouth on her. “Zane. ”

  “Take it easy.” He nuzzled closer while tugging at the blouse and her thin lace bra until he’d bared both breasts completely. She felt physically snared, the material restricting her movements as he pushed it over her shoulders to her upper arms. Her breasts were forced higher by the bunched material and his callused hands.

  He continued to kiss her throat, her ear, his mouth open on her as if he couldn’t get enough, while his hands caressed and teased. The dual assault was more than she could stand. She made an urgent sound that he responded to by rubbing his thumbs over her nipples and murmur
ing low, “Damn, you’re so soft. I love touching you.”

  “I can’t bear it.”

  He carefully closed his finger and thumb over one taut nipple and tugged. Her body arched hard as she cried out.

  “You like that? You’ll like this too.” His right arm circled her back and his mouth moved lower. Tamara tilted her head back, breath held in impatience, and still she jumped when his tongue stroked over her throbbing nipple.

  She groaned.

  “I know.” He licked again. “You’re very sweet, Tamara.”

  Even the touch of his breath was a torment. “Zane, please.”

  His low laugh, gruff with triumph, stroked over her. “Okay, sweetheart.” And then he drew her nipple into his mouth with a soft, wet suction that devastated her senses. Her body drew tight, her legs felt liquid.

  He sucked, teased. His tongue curled around her, his mouth pulling at her insistently. All she could do was gasp in pleasure and hold on to him.

  Zane’s arm hooked beneath her bottom and she found herself lifted so that he could reach her more easily. Caught between his solid body and the wall, her stiff, wet clothes tangled around her, she couldn’t move. He switched to her other nipple, treating it to the same delicious torment, and just when she didn’t think she could bear it a second more, his thick thigh thrust between her legs. With one hand opened wide on her behind, he began moving her against him in a slow hard rhythm that drove her wild. She tried to wiggle away, startled and not just a little alarmed by how quickly she spun out of control. But Zane didn’t let her retreat. His dark head stayed bent to her breasts, and his hold on her body was secure, unrelenting, his long fingers pressed deep against her buttocks.

  She hadn’t been prepared for him, she realized wildly. She had no idea how to react, how to contain herself. Sensations roiled inside her with unstoppable force, and she accepted that she was on the verge of a climax.

  The book had said that the first time, a climax was difficult for a woman to achieve. Zane was managing it with distressing ease, and she could do no more than hang onto him.

  Then her feet touched the floor again and Zane’s mouth was on her own, smothering her cry of disappointment. She’d been so close!

  “I know,” he muttered gently, again and again. “I know, baby. It’s okay.”

  He fumbled with her wet skirt, shoving it out of the way. She always wore voluminous layered skirts for work, and now she cursed the excess of material as she tried to help bare herself for Zane. She wanted what he wanted, whatever it might be, as long as he didn’t let the incredible feelings fade.

  When his hand slid over her thighs, her belly, she stilled, frozen with the newness of it, the excitement of it. He wedged his large hand between her thighs, covering her mound in an almost protective way. He didn’t move, didn’t stroke her. He simply held her that way, the heat of his hard palm both comforting and more tantalizing, and it was so erotic she felt tears sting her eyes.

  “I need you now, Tamara,” he growled, nipping at her jaw. “Tell me you’re ready.”

  Ready? She’d almost finished without him. If he didn’t get on with it, she’d lose her fragile grasp on her emotions and cry with the wonder of it. “Whatever....” she started to say, then had to swallow and try again. “Whatever you want, Zane.”

  She caught his face, kissing his chin, his jaw, biting at his throat. “Just touch me again. Please.”

  “Jesus.” He panted as he reached for his belt, jerking at it, frenzied—and someone called his name.

  They both froze.

  “No,” Zane groaned, the word slurred. His face pressed into her neck, his body held rigid as he struggled for control. Their frantic heartbeats mingled, matched. His shoulders looked like sleek steel as he braced himself away from her. “No, goddammit, no.”

  “Zane?” the voice called again. “Where are you?”

  “I’ll kill him,” Zane announced as he pushed himself away from her. Looking at his face, Tamara believed him. His eyes were glittering bright, heavy-lidded, his cheekbones dark with aroused color. His deep chest rose and fell with uneven breaths.

  He didn’t say a word to Tamara as he turned away.

  She watched him jerk the door open and stalk out of the room, menace emanating from every hard inch of his body. She dropped her head back to the wall with a thunk, while her heart continued to rap sharply in her chest. Holy moly. Shew. She fanned herself, took several deep breaths, but it didn’t help. Her body pulsed with unfulfilled need, leaving her shaken and wobbly.

  “You better have a damn good reason,” Zane all but shouted, “for this impromptu visit.”

  A different voice, this one amused, said, “What the hell? Did you fall into a puddle, Zane?”

  Curiosity was one of her less auspicious character traits. Tamara leaned around the door frame, peeking to see who had come to call. Zane had his back to her, hands on his hips, facing away, but the others weren’t—and two male faces locked onto her.

  Mack Winston gave a start of surprise, then whistled. “Zane,” he asked, “what have you been up to?”

  Chase Winston just grinned, a cocky, crooked grin that showed he had accurately guessed the answer to Mack’s question. He knew exactly what his brother had been doing.

  Zane whirled to face her, his scowl dark and deadly, his expression black. She bit her lip.

  Busted.

  Eight

  Zane couldn’t believe it. He bad a boner that would have made Superman proud, and Tamara had gone up like a flame the second he’d touched her. She’d been ready, damn it, so ready.

  But now he was stuck with his brothers. Oh, he knew good and well they wouldn’t just back out politely, regardless of the fact they knew what they’d interrupted. If anything, they’d be more determined to hang around now than ever. Curiosity, and the perverse need to drive him crazy, would guarantee they extended their visit.

  He wanted to kick himself. Hard. He’d been caught romping during business hours, his store unattended, his door unlocked. He’d taken total leave of his senses, no doubt about that. His own disbelief was extreme, but he knew his brothers would love ribbing him till doomsday over his lack of discretion. Damn.

  Tamara, her face flushed and her lips swollen, stared at the three of them with wide, dark eyes. Zane wanted to erupt in frustration, but he wouldn’t give his brothers the satisfaction. With women, he was always controlled. Now would be no different.

  He drew a deep breath that didn’t do a damn thing to relax him, and said, “Tamara, you might as well come on out.”

  Looking horrified by that prospect, she ducked back behind the door.

  Mack turned to Zane. “You were hiding her?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Unconvinced, Mack said, “She looks like she’s hiding.”

  Zane knew that’d be enough to bring her out. His independent little Gypsy wouldn’t want anyone to think her a coward.

  Chase crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. “Who is she?”

  Waving toward the adjacent building, Zane went for the easiest explanation. “She’s the Gypsy next door.”

  Mack, who had seen her several times in the past, whistled again.

  “Will you stop that!” Zane no sooner barked at Mack, than he again drew a breath, reaching for that damn elusive control. But it was too late, both Mack and Chase eyed him with satisfied curiosity.

  “A Gypsy, huh?”

  Chase was having a fine time of it. Zane reigned in his temper with an effort. “Not a real Gypsy, of course. But she looks the part.”

  At that moment, the jingling of her bell-laden ankle bracelets drew everyone’s attention, and Tamara stepped out. All three of them turned toward her. Zane immediately wanted to hide her again.

  She was a wreck.

  Her wig was sodden, looking blacker than usual, coarser. It hung in crooked clumps, probably because of his hands when he’d been holding her still for his kiss. He could still taste her, how
sweet and hot her mouth had been, how stiff her nipple had gotten when he’d drawn on her. His head had nearly erupted with the pleasure of it. He wanted to taste her everywhere—but now he’d have to wait.

  Her nose was red, and her makeup was everywhere except where it should have been. Her clothes had been rearranged and overlapped in an awkward way that at least had her decently covered. But it made her look ... clumpy.

  She stood there, narrow shoulders hunched, shivering, the rain dripping off her to form an expanding puddle around her beringed toes.

  Looking beyond miserable, she attempted a smile.

  Like mute fools, his damn brothers looked at him in disbelief.

  Struggling with himself, Zane tried to figure out how to throw his brothers off the scent. At the moment, Tamara looked more like a drowned urchin than a woman who could make a man mad with lust to the point he’d leave his store unattended. They’d never understand why he had lost his head enough to seduce her in his storage room while his business was still open. Hell, he barely understood it.

  Then suddenly Tamara’s embarrassment hit him. It was such a heavy wave of awareness, pushing at him, smothering him, that he nearly lost his breath. She was mortified, more by his reaction than anything else, and he knew it bone deep.

  He looked at her, and saw that she was ready to excuse herself, to claim to be no more than a friend. Her turmoil shamed him, proving his shallowness. He’d dragged her inside, stripped her blouse away from her breasts and touched her and tasted her, and now he was ready to deny it all. He felt like the biggest bastard alive.

  Without giving it another thought, he strode forward and threw his arm possessively, protectively, around her shoulders.

  She appeared floored that he’d done so, and that gave him a small measure of gratification. It was nice to be able to take her by surprise now and then. It helped to balance the constant state of shock she kept him in.

  “Chase, Mack, this is Tamara Tremayne, my neighbor next door.” The bold way he edged her into his side proved she was much more than a neighbor; he didn’t need to say the words.

  Her shivers were so severe, they rattled Zane’s ribs where she pressed against him. He needed to get her to her place so she could change. Some hot coffee wouldn’t hurt, either. “Tamara, these are my pain-in-the-ass brothers.”