by Lori Foster
Her gaze sharpened at his agreement, devouring him, easily sharing with him the images going through her mind.
Her sensual curiosity engulfed him. Everything with Tamara, every word, every conversation, somehow seemed more acute.
She picked up a few more books and packed them away. Idly, as if she wasn't anxious to hear his answer, she asked, "Do you read a lot of erotica?"
He laughed, he couldn't help it. "No. Not since I was a kid and stole Chase's stash to share with Mack." His grin lingered as memories crowded in. He and Mack had spent a week hiding out in the woods behind their home, engrossed in the books—the most reading either of them had ever done—before Cole busted them.
"Chase had some pretty . . . risqué stuff. I remember Mack and I had a hard time not snickering around him after that."
Tamara smiled. "You were young, I gather."
"Old enough to appreciate what I'd found."
"Was Chase mad when he realized you'd gotten into his personal belongings?"
"Mad?" Zane could barely recall ever seeing Chase really angry. He was usually the quietest, but not when it came to Allison. Around his wife, he was an entirely different man. "No, I'd say he was more disgruntled, and determined to make Mack and me understand the differences between fantasies and reality." Before she could ask, he said, "Fantasy is anything that gets you hot, no matter how raunchy or ribald it might be. But reality is only what your partner will accept, what will make her happy, too."
Her green eyes glittered at him, filled with questions. Do you ... have any fantasies that your partners haven't accepted?"
A few." Zane shook a finger at her. "And no, I'm not listing them for you."
Tamara bit her lip, then nodded. "Maybe later?"
"Maybe." Damn, but she was killing him in small degrees. A change of topic proved vital. "Chase is pretty laid back most of the time, but Cole, well, he's another matter entirely."
Tamara settled herself comfortably and asked, "What did he do?"
"You have to understand, after our parents died, Cole took over raising us, and he was pretty serious about the whole thing. Whenever he thought we'd gotten into mischief, he lectured. Annoyed the hell out of us, and we'd do our best not to earn a lecture. But God, when Cole got to talking about sex and women, he could go on for hours. And it always came down to the same thing, so most of what he said wasn't even necessary. He could have summed it up in a few sentences, but we always suspected that Cole liked to lecture."
"What did he tell you?"
"Nothing you need to hear."
She straightened. "That's not fair! Why bring it up if you won't tell me?"
Zane leaned forward. "I'll tell if you'll tell."
"You did it on purpose!"
He shrugged. "You answer my questions and I'll answer yours."
Tamara huffed, "Well, since I have a feeling you're going to badger me until I do, sure. Why not?"
"Don't be mad, sweetheart." She ignored him, gathering up more books. Zane didn't like being ignored, not even a little. "Respect women," he said abruptly, determined to regain her attention. "No matter what, no matter where you met her, or what she's done in her past, or who she's been with or why, you give any woman you're with respect."
"That's it?"
"Pretty much. Cole made it clear sex was well and good—"
She smiled.
"—but that sex should be for a reason beyond the physical." Zane laughed, remembering how Cole had always harped on that point. "If you can't at least respect a woman, you have no business being around her. It makes a man look pathetic to go screwing around with a woman he doesn't even like, just to get laid. Cole always said you might as well be paying a prostitute, which definitely smacks of desperation. Since Mack and I never wanted to look desperate, we listened."
"Until now."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing." Her lashes lowered, hiding her eyes. "I like your brothers."
"Everyone does." She'd said it matter-of-factly, as if she were well acquainted with them, which made Zane frown. "How do you know them?"
"I know of them. As I said, I've been to the bar. I've watched them." Her brows lifted. "Your brothers would be pretty darned hard to miss."
"They're all married." His frown became more severe. "I know. Their wives always look very happy, even when they're arguing with them."
She seemed pleased by that, not at all covetous. Zane nodded. "Yeah, happy about covers it."
"I have another book," Tamara suddenly blurted, "one I took upstairs already."
Zane paused. Her quick switch momentarily threw him. "Erotica?" he asked. He wasn't sure he could handle another conversation on positions. He was already struggling with the last tenuous hold on his discipline.
She glanced at him, then away. "Not exactly."
Aha. The book she'd mentioned earlier. Zane gentled his tone, anxious to hear this tale. "The book that told you to be bold? The one that stated men were slaves to their basic natures, or some such rot?"
"Yes." Tamara picked up the last of the spilled books and shoved them awkwardly into the box. "Only it's not rot. It's a journal of sorts. Written by this amazing woman."
"Anyone I know?"
"Well, I seriously doubt it! She was an elderly woman, and the journal was something she kept hidden from everyone. Not even her family knew about it. She says in the very beginning that what she's writing will be of use to women with aggressive sexualities, women who want to be free, but that not everyone would understand. Certainly not anyone in her peer group. Though her name is nowhere in the book, I gather from what she said that she was from the social elite, and didn't want her affairs to become public knowledge. She explained that her family had already disowned her and that in her social group such things, if they were ever discovered, would be broadcast in the scandal rags."
Zane leaned forward. Much of what she'd just told him was intriguing, but one comment in particular drew his interest. "You fit in the category of `aggressive sexuality,' do you?"
She floundered. "I . . . well, I don't know."
"You don't know?" What the hell did that mean? Zane wanted to come right out and ask her how many men she'd been with, but at the same time, he wasn't at all sure he wanted to know. He'd always made it a rule not to get overly involved in women's personal lives. Keep it light and friendly—that was his motto.
Her chin lifted. "I feel aggressive about wanting you. And since you were resisting me, I figured I could use some help."
Zane snorted at that, seeing it as a deliberate avoidance of his question. "So you're reading about the private, and evidently racy, sex life of some deceased old lady?"
"It's not like that!" Obviously affronted, Tamara said. "It's sort of a guide, explaining things that she found instrumental in building a wonderful sexual and emotional connection. The journal is divided into sections that detail ways to accomplish different relationships.
"She wanted to share what she'd learned with others, but she didn't dare write a book that would be published, for fear of how society would react." She stood and propped her hands on her slim hips, her expression challenging. "According to this woman, making an emotional connection helps amplify the sexual connection."
"I'll buy that."
"You will?"
"Sure." Zane smiled up at her, and admitted, "I never have sex with strangers. It'd be cold. And I have to at least like a woman to want to be with her, not just find her attractive."
"But...." Tamara hesitated, then went on boldly, "You agreed to have sex with me, and you don't like me. And for the most part, I'm still a stranger to you."
Zane considered that for a long moment. "You figure all Cole's preaching went in one of my ears and out the other?"
She shrugged. "At least where I'm concerned."
"Well you're wrong. I like you just fine." He realized it was true, frowned. "You know, you don't feel like a stranger to me. On some level it seems like I've known you ever since I open
ed my store. I know we never talked much—"
"You avoided me."
"I didn't exactly avoid you," he said, annoyed at her insistence. Avoidance sounded like the act of a wary man. And he sure as hell wasn't wary of her. He wasn't wary of any woman.
"Yes, you did. Because you didn't like me."
Zane locked his jaw. Through his teeth, he said, "I didn't know you well enough to like or dislike you. It's just that you...." Affected my brain and made me antsy and hot and excited. "I was just busy getting my business started."
"You found time to date a lot of other women. I saw them with you."
"At the bar?"
"And at your store. You meet a lot of your women there."
His annoyance peaked. "They're not my women. We just date. You make it sound like I maintain a harem or something."
She shrugged, unconcerned at insulting his finer sensibilities. "I thought you were proud of your way with women. It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. I haven't seen any of the women complaining."
Zane pulled himself together once again. It seemed he did that a lot around Tamara. "How'd we get onto my dating habits? We were talking about you and that ridiculous journal."
"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.
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?"
