Winston Brothers 04 Wild

by Lori Foster

  "You'd stay out too late," Cole continued, on a damn roll for some reason, "go places you shouldn't, like parking, and then break things off as soon as she got serious...."

  As if a light went off, Cole straightened. "That's it! You're after a new woman, aren't you?"

  "No!" He wasn't after Tamara. Good God, just the opposite. She was after him. Of course, he was the one who'd been insistent... .

  "I can see it in your face," Cole said with a nod. "She's got you hooked, doesn't she?"

  "No." That was just plain laughable. No way did Tamara have him hooked; he wouldn't let himself be hooked. No woman could affect him to the point that it'd be plain on his face, to the point his brother could take one look at him and... .

  "If she's a nice woman, Zane, leave her alone."

  Leave her alone! Zane couldn't quite hide his irritation. "I know what I'm doing, Cole." At least, he thought he did. But Tamara had a way of keeping him guessing, keeping him on edge.

  Affecting him, damn her.

  God, maybe he was hooked.

  "There are plenty of interested females around without seducing one who's hesitant." Cole nodded to the room at large. "Just look around you. Hell, half a dozen are ready and waiting as we speak."

  Zane peered over his shoulder and was met with a lot of seductive looks. Beyond feeding his ego, however, they didn't move him one bit. He plain wasn't interested. The only woman he could think of right now was Tamara, and he wanted her bad.

  He turned back to Cole and caught his brother's speculative gaze. "Now you can just stop that."

  "Stop what?" Cole asked innocently.

  "Stop imagining things." Given half a chance, Cole would come up with all kinds of ridiculous notions.

  Cole laughed, forced a shrug, and began wiping off the bar. "If you say so."

  Gritting his teeth, Zane said, "I am not hooked, damn it!"

  Several people looked up, making Cole lift his brows and Zane cringe. Zane ran a hand through his hair and then stood. "I'm heading home."

  "Don't leave mad," Cole admonished.

  "I'm not mad."

  This time Cole laughed. "Not hooked, not mad, and not protesting too much, huh?" He hesitated, then said, "Bring her around. I'd like to meet her."

  "Not yet." Zane realized what he'd said the second the words left his mouth. He scowled at Cole.

  "Well, at least remember what I told you."

  "About seducing the unwilling? Ha! I . . . no, forget that." Zane frowned. No way in hell would he explain to his oldest brother that Tamara only wanted him for sex. Not only was it none of his business, it was embarrassing besides.

  Cole took pity on him and leaned across the bar to clap on the shoulder. "You look exhausted. Get on home and get some sleep."

  "Yeah, I think I will." If he stayed any longer, he'd be making confessions and telling more than he should. Give Sophie a hug from me."

  Zane made his way out, dodging women and suggestions and invitations. The fresh air felt good, and the thought of his bed sounded great. But Zane knew he wouldn't sleep. He knew he'd think about Tamara, and if by chance he did doze off, he'd dream about her. He had to get a grip.

  Tomorrow he'd prove to her that he was still in charge. And before the day was over, they'd both believe it.

  Seven

  They had made plans to get together for a late dinner that night. Because she closed up earlier than Zane, she could take care of a few errands first, shower and change, and replace her garish makeup with something more suitable. She could hardly wait.

  Tamara couldn't remember floating through a workday before, but no matter how busy it got, no matter how harried, she felt elated.

  Zane had said he wanted to discuss things. She didn't know if he meant her proposition or her problems, but she'd vote for the first. The last thing she wanted was to involve him further in her problems. It was humiliating for one thing; she'd worked long and hard to find a settled life, and she didn't want him to know her financial position was still precarious. A few more setbacks, like the fire and the water damage, could wipe her out completely.

  And for another, the book had said to be independent. A man should know you want him before he thinks you need him, otherwise you give him an edge. Tamara thought the book was right, and she intended to keep every edge she could that was the only way she could deal with Zane Winston and not get her heart permanently squashed.

  Luna, who had worked with her that day, eyed her suspiciously. "You've been grinning ever since I arrived."

  Tamara tried, and failed, to suppress another smile. "Have I?" She felt like laughing out loud. After all the recent troubles, it was good to be able to concentrate on something else, something positive, especially when that something was tall, dark, and outrageous.

  "Uh-huh." Luna looked her over. "Whatever it is, you're glowing—and impatient. You want me to take the money to the bank for you, so you can get freed up a little earlier?"

  It wasn't something Luna did often, and Tamara shook her head. "No, that's okay. I can do it. You probably have a date or something tonight, don't you?"

  Today Luna had red hair in three stubby braids. The last time she'd worked, her hair had been brown and gelled into a severe bun. Luna changed her appearance from day to day, and the regular customers found her fascinating.

  "I have a date," Luna said with a wink, "but waiting is good for him. Keeps him on his toes."

  Tamara wished she could be so cavalier. She had no intention of keeping Zane Winston waiting for her. Not only was she far too anxious to stay away from him longer than she actually had to, but she just didn't have the time to waste playing games.

  Smiling like a devout sinner, Tamara said, "I have a sort of a date, too."

  "What the heck is a sort of a date? You meeting a guy in an alley or something?" As she spoke, Luna went through the routine of snuffing out candles and incense while Tamara took care of the cash register. After counting out enough money for the next day and locking it away, Tamara stuffed the checks and excess cash into a zippered plastic bag. Luna had already run the credit slips and closed out on them.

  Keeping her gaze on the money bag, Tamara admitted, "I'm having dinner with Zane Winston tonight."

  Luna halted, then let out a long, low whistle. She propped her hands on her rounded hips and fought with a grin. The grin won. "I'll be damned."

  "You know who he is?"

  "Honey, there isn't a woman alive in or around Thomasville who doesn't know the Winstons, especially that one." She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. Her black leather pants gleamed in the dimmed light. "It's Zane's antics that have given the Winstons celebrity status."

  "Not entirely. Heck, they're all gorgeous. and that's probably reason enough for them to be so popular."

  "Maybe," Luna conceded. "But I saw the article the local paper did on him recently. He made the family tavern topless when he stripped off his shirt to serve drinks to a group of women organizing a wedding shower."

  "They goaded him into it!"

  Luna's eyebrows bobbed theatrically. "The guy's got a stellar chest."

  Tamara knew that. She blushed just thinking about how great that chest had felt against her hands and her breasts. "Yeah, he does. His brother assured the reporter that from now on, Zane would be wearing a shirt when he worked there." She couldn't help laughing. "I have the feeling keeping Zane in line is a full-time job for his brothers."

  "You know those women asked him to be a stripper at the wedding shower, to surprise the bride."

  Tamara had read the whole article—which wasn't the first one on the Winstons. She'd saved them all in an album. "Yep, and Zane refused, saying the bride would never go through with the wedding if she viewed him in the buff."

  Both women laughed out loud. Luna pushed away from the counter. "You be careful with him tonight, okay? Guys like that are walking, talking heartbreakers."

  "I know what I'm doing."

  "Yeah, right." Luna sent her a
knowing look. "Honey, I what I'm doing. You're still trying to figure out what it is you want to do."

  "I want to do Zane Winston."

  Luna did a double take at that bold statement, then chuckled. "I'd wish you luck, but I doubt you'll need any. That one would jump any female who held still long enough."

  Tamara didn't bother to explain that at first Zane had unequivocally turned her down. It was too mortifying. She tucked the money bag into the pocket of her long skirt and patted it. "Well, I better get going. I have to get back in time to do a makeover before I go over there."

  "He's open late tonight?"

  "Nearly every night. He's a workaholic, if you ask me."

  "Oh, speaking of work." Luna plucked the appointment book from the counter. "Arkin Devane called and wants to come in again tomorrow. I think the guy is hooked—on you."

  Tamara halted on her way to the door. "Me?"

  "He insisted on having an hour and a half of your time."

  "But . . . that's triple the time I usually spend with a customer."

  "According to him, there's a lot he wants to talk about." Luna bobbed her eyebrows suggestively. "And he's willing to pay for it."

  "Hmmm."

  "Hmmm nothing. Looks like Zane might have some competition."

  That comment didn't deserve a response. No one could compete with Zane. Not that Arkin was a bad-looking man, just not in the same league with Zane.

  Tamara pictured Arkin: mid-thirties, rangy muscles, light brown hair and light blue eyes. He was somewhat bookish and overly intense. But she'd liked him on sight and felt a strange affinity with him. He hadn't said as much, but she knew he was in love and was desperately hoping to find a way to win his lady.

  She also knew she wasn't that lady.

  "I feel a little guilty," Tamara said, "taking money from the sincere ones, you know?"

  Luna slipped on her jacket, then gave Tamara a hug. "Deny it all you like, sweetie, but you're a sincere one, too, so I know he's in good hands."

  Luna had the annoying habit of seeing through everyone. She insisted endlessly that Tamara had real intuitive abilities. It bugged Tamara that she was partially right, even though she'd never admit it.

  Luna grinned her I know all, I see all grin, the one the customers ate up. "Don't forget your umbrella. It looks like rain."

  Luna went out, leaving Tamara alone with her thoughts. Seconds later, a crack of thunder intruded, proving Luna did at least know her weather. Shaking herself out of her reverie, Tamara slipped on her slicker and grabbed her bright green umbrella. After one last look around the shop, she stepped outside and secured all the locks.

  Bloated purple clouds rolled across the sky and the streetlights flickered on. The sharp nip of cold damp air that almost always accompanied a storm made Tamara's slicker insufficient. The first drops of rain began to fall—and Tamara felt an unwelcome gaze watching her. Chills tingled up her arms, her spine.

  The bank was only a short walk away, so she never drove there, but today she wished she'd gotten the car from Uncle Thanos.

  With the rain coming a little harder now, the sidewalks were slick and all but deserted. Tamara kept a tight grip on the umbrella as wind tried to tear it from her hands. The bottom of her long skirt was quickly soaked, as were her sandals. She cursed the weatherman who had predicted no more than the possibility of a sprinkle.

  The bank was in sight when she thought she heard footsteps behind her. Just as when she'd sensed trouble in her shop, an eerie foreboding raced over her nerve endings. She jerked around.

  There was no one there, but the feeling didn't abate. Tamara searched the darkened street, trying to see behind parked cars and into the shadows of alleys between tall buildings. Heart racing, lungs compressed with nervousness, she finally turned and jogged the rest of the way to the bank. She was panting by the time she came through the doors.

  She did her business quickly, constantly peeking out the wide front window, but she perceived nothing more alarming than hot bright lightning licking across the dark violet sky. Briefly, she considered calling Thanos to come pick her up, but it was almost six and the bank would be closing in just a few minutes. By the time Thanos could arrive, she'd be left standing outside anyway.

  Thoughts of Zane whispered through her subconscious, but she shook them off. She would not start imposing on him. He was busy with his own work and he wouldn't close his shop for at least another hour. Somehow she knew he'd come if she called him, but that would seem so cowardly on her part. And she didn't want to start off with Zane seeing her as a coward.

  Holding the umbrella steady, she stepped outside. Other than a few people racing to their parked cars, there was no one around. The sidewalk was well lit by streetlamps and security lights at the various businesses; they reflected brightly off the wet pavement and windows. She was not psychic, Tamara insisted to herself, and her premonitions tonight were nothing more than female foolishness. There was no reason to be on edge, to continue standing in the downpour, getting more sodden by the second.

  She drew in a deep breath and started off. Despite the assurances she'd just given herself, she couldn't stop her gaze from darting left and right as she walked. Lucky thing, too, because she was only a few yards from her shop door when she saw the man move out of the shadows at the side of the building. He wore a dark ski mask over his face. Despite the gloom of early evening, his eyes shone bright—and he was looking right at her with an arrested expression.

  Panic slammed through her.

  Tamara didn't think twice; instincts insisted that she run, so she did just that. The opposite side of the street seemed her best bet, so she managed to zigzag across the wet road, then angled back, giving the man in the mask a wide berth. A slick spot on the sidewalk made her stumble, and she dropped the umbrella as she fetched up against a parked van. Pain shot through her upper arm, but it didn't slow her down. She quickly righted herself, darted a look over her shoulder, and took off again. She hadn't seen anyone in that brief glimpse, but the sense of being followed, watched, was still a pounding beat in her heart. Had he followed her? Was he still after her?

  She was so anxious, she knew she couldn't begin fumbling with the locked door of her shop; her hands, her entire body, shook uncontrollably. Besides, that would bring her entirely too close to where she'd seen him. She sprinted right past her shop to Zane's. Because of the rain, his door was closed, and she jerked at it, too afraid to look back, for what felt like a lifetime before it opened and she threw herself inside.

  Breathing hard, her heart galloping wildly, she collapsed back against the door. Her gaze sought Zane, and then locked on him in stunned disbelief.

  He stood by his counter with a beautiful blonde woman in his arms. They both stared at Tamara, shock replacing whatever expressions they had worn before her entrance.

  The furious drumming of her heartbeat slowed and then almost ceased entirely as she took in the incriminating sight before her.

  Zane's hands were on the woman's shoulders, her arms were around his neck, her fingers laced in his dark, silky hair. They stood very close together, upper bodies touching. Intimate. All but embracing.

  Shoving hanks of the wet wig out of her face, Tamara searched Zane's eyes. She felt his confusion first, then his annoyance, and finally his unease.

  Tamara...." He moved the blonde aside and started forward.

  He hadn't been a willing participant in the embrace. Tamara suddenly knew that with a clarity that defied description. Never had an emotion from someone else hit her so strongly. She heaved a relieved sigh, and turned to look out at the darkened parking lot. Rain drubbing against the glass door made visibility difficult. She couldn't see anybody, yet she knew he was still there, knew he was still watching. She felt his panic mixing with her own, confusing her, making her thoughts jumble. Oh God. What did he want?

  "Tamara," Zane said again. He caught her shoulders, trying to turn her. "You're early."

  Tamara barely paid him any mind.
She scanned the surrounding area—was that a shadow there? No . . . well, maybe.

  "It's not the way it looked," Zane insisted, his hands tightening just the tiniest bit, caressing. Warmth radiated from him into her chilled bones. Having him close comforted her, and that was almost as scary as being pursued. She could not begin relying on Zane. He wasn't the reliable sort. Oh, he was a good man, she had no doubts about that. But he wasn't a man who would appreciate having a woman cling to him. She had to remember that.

  The blonde cleared her throat—loudly. Zane and Tamara ignored her.

  "Tamara, listen to me."

  She allowed herself to be bodily shifted away from the door. Her breath was still coming in pants, from both nervousness and exertion. She could barely get her fractured attention to focus on what Zane said. She stared at him, wishing she knew who had been following her and why.

  She shivered.

  Zane made a disgusted sound. "Don't look like that,

  damn it." He lightly shook her. "I was just telling Claire that I was busy tonight. With you."

  He sounded so . . . concerned. Distracted, Tamara patted his chest while her thoughts spun off in different directions. Would the blasted police believe her this time? There was little enough she could tell them, really. She'd seen a man wearing a ski mask. So what? It was cool tonight, raining, miserable. Lots of people had probably bundled up.

  Doubt intruded, edging past her fear. Had he really followed her? Or was he just there, out on errands the same as she was? Tamara couldn't be sure. She thought she'd heard his footsteps behind her, but mostly what had alarmed her was her feeling of being watched, of the man's frustration—and no way would she try to convince the police that she'd been in danger based on a feeling. She could just imagine their reactions to that.

  For most of her life, she'd heard the jibes—Gypsies were charlatans, ripping off customers with no more than parlor tricks. And the jibes had been correct.

  No, she couldn't tell the police. Something was wrong, she knew that for a fact. But if she went to the police now, they'd write her off as a nut. And then, if she needed their help later, they might think she was just crying wolf. Besides, what could they do now?