by Lori Foster
Shaking his head to clear it, Zane looked at Mack. "What did you say?"
Mack smiled.
"Stop needling him, Mack." Chase sat in the chair facing his youngest brother. "And Zane, stop staring down the hall with such a pathetically lustful expression. Mack's right. It's embarrassing."
Zane sat. There was a lot he needed to discuss with his brothers. And now, while Tamara was busy, seemed like the best possible time. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, to address his brothers. "I may need your help."
Nine
"You definitely need help," Mack informed Zane, referring more to his lovelorn expression than to the real issue at hand. "But what can we do?"
Rather than strangle his brother, Zane explained the situation. He told them all about Tamara's troubles, the skeptical police, her nutty family. He skipped the finer details and merely hit the highlights. It was enough. Both Mack and Chase looked incredulous.
Zane heard the shower turn off and the blow-dryer start. He was running out of time. "So what do you think?"
"You're sure she's not just imagining the vandalism?" Chase asked. "I'm not suggesting she'd lie. But the police have a point. Everything that's happened could have been simple pranks or happenstance."
"I had a few lingering doubts myself, until today," Zane admitted. "But when she came through my door—well, I knew then that she was right. Someone was out there. She was really afraid, and from what I've discovered about her so far, she's not exactly a faint heart. She's got a backbone made of iron."
Mack had lost his casual pose and now frowned. "What do her relatives say?"
Zane shook his head. "They think it's a ghost. Their deceased uncle Hubert. Can you believe that crap?"
To his surprise, Chase straightened. "Well now, I wouldn't rule out the possibility."
Both Zane and Mack stared at Chase.
"What?" Chase shifted. "Ghosts exist."
"Whatever you say, Chase." Zane sent a look to Mack which clearly said, Yeah, right.
"I'm just saying not to rule it out."
"Trust me, this is a flesh-and-blood person. I'm positive of it." He went on to explain about Hubert and the eccentricities of the relatives, why they might prefer to believe in a ghost than any tangible threat.
"Yeah," Chase said, nodding, "sounds like they fabricated the ghost."
"Don't sound so disappointed, damn it." Sometimes, Zane didn't understand his second oldest brother at all. Chase was the quietest, the most thoughtful—and what ran through his mind was anyone's guess. More often than not, Zane suspected, his thoughts were occupied with his wife, Allison.
"The thing is," Chase explained, "if her relatives really do believe it's a ghost, I wouldn't alienate them with ridicule. Believe me, if you piss off the relatives, you could piss off Tamara, too. They obviously mean a lot to her, given how she's taken care of them."
Zane curled his hands into fists. "How do I help her, damn it, especially when she doesn't want my help?"
They all grew silent, thinking. Finally, Mack leaned forward. He didn't quite look at Zane when he said, "You know who you need to call."
It wasn't a question, but a statement. And Zane did know, damn it. But still he tried to refuse. "No way. I've considered him, but he's usually more trouble than not. And more trouble is something I don't need right now."
"Joe is trained for this sort of thing," Mack argued.
"Joe is trained to seduce women." Their cousin, Joe Winston, was a big, mean son-of-a-bitch. He was between Cole and Chase in age, almost thirty-six now, but age had only made him leaner, harder, stronger. Nastier.
He'd given up on law enforcement after a stray bullet had damaged his knee. But even when he'd been on crutches, the women had flocked to him. He had danger written all over him, and for some reason, women seemed to love it.
Joe had played at being a bounty hunter for a few years, a private dick, a bodyguard, and he'd been successful at each job. But he'd been a ladies' man almost from birth.
"He could look out for her," Mack continued, "and she'd never even know he was there."
"Forget it." The thought of his disreputable cousin spying on Tamara, possibly seeing her at vulnerable moments, made him want to howl with possessive fury. Joe would go after her simply because she was different, and because she'd be a challenge.
Chase started laughing and almost couldn't stop. "Oh, this is priceless, Zane. You're worried your little Gypsy will succumb."
Shooting to his feet, Zane barked, "I am not!"
Mack said very softly, "Am too."
Zane squared his shoulders and pointed a finger at Mack. "I'll have you know—"
"What," Tamara said from the doorway, "is all the yelling about?"
Chase and Mack looked up, then their expressions went comically blank, before turning warm and admiring. Zane wanted to groan. He most definitely didn't want to look. But like a magnet, his gaze was drawn to her.
He turned, and there stood Tamara, hair brushed into soft golden curls, exotic green eyes bright. She wore a pair of skinny beige jeans and a long-sleeve, emerald green shirt. A narrow strip of her belly showed between the waistband of the pants and the shirt's hem. Her makeup was gone, her jewelry was gone. He gulped.
Zane was vaguely aware of Mack and Chase slowly coming to their feet. He wanted to knock their heads together. They acted like they'd never seen a woman before. He could almost feel them sorting through their thoughts, trying to decide if the bedraggled, rain-washed Gypsy and the adorable woman before them now could really be one and the same.
It wasn't that she was beautiful, Zane reasoned, attempting to study her dispassionately, from a purely male perspective rather than that of a man already involved.
True, she was cute. Especially now with her expression so disgruntled, her soft mouth set in mulish lines. But her appearance certainly wasn't enough to turn his grown brothers into leering idiots.
Yet there they stood, ogling her.
Zane cleared his throat, but the only one to notice was Tamara.
"Well?" she asked, eyeing him with accusation and suspicion.
Zane shoved Mack in the shoulder, which made him stumble into Chase. Neither of them fell, but it was a close thing.
Returned to his senses, Chase said, "I'm sorry. It's just.... You look so . . . different."
Mack bobbed his head. "Different."
Tamara scowled at Zane. "You didn't tell them I wear a costume?"
He rolled one shoulder. "Hey, you told me to sit quietly, so I did."
Mack choked over that tale, and while Chase pounded him on the back, Zane moved to stand at Tamara's side. "Are you okay?"
She bristled, casting conspicuous glances at his brothers. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
Zane wanted to shake her. "You were chased by a guy in a ski mask."
"Zane. . . ." She attempted to give him a shut up look.
He ignored her. "And drenched to the skin."
"Zane...."
"And scared half to death—"
"Get out."
"What?" He couldn't believe she'd ordered him out. He was worried. He wanted to hold her and comfort her.
"You heard me." She shoved against him, trying to make him move. He didn't budge, except to blink in disbelief.
He stared down at her, his temper starting to heat. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Oh, yes, you are. I've had it with your bulldozing." He leaned down to go nose to nose with her. "Hey, you came to me, remember?"
Her eyes widened, and she looked devastated. "You told them?"
Zane drew back, then realized how she'd misunderstood. "Not that, damn it!" He felt the searing intensity of his brothers' interest. The nosy bastards. "I meant today, at the shop. You got scared, so you came to me."
"Oh, that." She shook her head and quit trying to shove him away—probably because she wasn't making any headway. "I didn't think I'd be able to get my door unlocked in time, and I wasn't sure if any of the other stores in th
e mall were open."
His teeth ground together. "So I was the most convenient?"
"Well, you are right next door."
She sounded so logical, his temper ignited. "When I get you alone...."
Chase cleared his throat. "Hold that thought, okay?"
Mack made a face. "You're a spoilsport, Chase, you know that? I was all set to hear what grand retribution he had planned."
"You're too young to hear whatever Zane has planned, and you know it."
Zane had all but forgotten his brothers' presence. Tamara could so easily twist him in knots and make him forget himself and his surroundings. He glared at her, let-
ting her know where he placed the blame for his social faux pas.
"We'll discuss this later," he told her, in what he hoped sounded like a calmer, less emotionally charged tone.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Chase said, "Yeah, well, as to that.... It might need to be much later. That's why we're here. We were hoping you could close up the bar tonight."
Zane's expectations for the immediate future did a nosedive. "Tonight?"
"I wouldn't ask, except there's no one else."
Zane propped his hands on his hips. "Meaning I can't very well refuse?" Man, he hated it when family loyalty forced him to be noble.
Mack tried and failed to control a grin. "Sorry about that. It seems to be the night for kid distractions. Trista is having a sleepover, and I hate to leave Jessica to deal with that on her own."
Tamara politely asked, "Trista?"
"My daughter. She's fourteen, and her birthday is in a few days. She's celebrating with friends tonight—ten of them—and I don't want to miss it."
She blinked at him. "You have a fourteen-year-old daughter?"
Beaming with pride, Mack said, "Yeah. Smartest kid around, and beautiful to boot."
Zane put his arm around Tamara. He was well used to Mack's bloated pride. "Mack would never volunteer the information, since he thinks of Trista as his own, but she came part and parcel with his wife. Jessica had Trista from a previous marriage. I gotta agree with him on the smart and beautiful part, though. And she's so damn mature it's scary."
"Oh."
She still didn't sound like she understood, but Zane figured he could explain that Mack married an older woman later. When Mack wasn't around to object. Zane smiled. He liked Jessica a lot, and she certainly kept his goofy brother on his toes.
"So what are you doing?" Zane asked Chase, still hoping there might be some way out for him.
"Sammy's cutting teeth."
Zane winced in sympathy. "Rough. Did you try giving her something cold to chew on? That worked for me when Nate was doing the same."
"Yeah. It helps, but not for long. Allison hasn't had a quiet minute all week. She's made plans to go out with friends tonight, while I keep the little imp happy—and believe me, closing the bar would be easier than keeping a teething, bossy, female baby in good spirits."
Tamara, looking a little dazed, said, "Sammy?"
"Samantha Jane Winston, five months old and a hellion already." Zane grinned as he said it. He adored his niece, and his nephew. "When she wants to be held, you hold her. When she wants to be fed, it better be right now. She has a yell that could pierce your eardrums."
"Not that anyone lets her yell much," Chase explained. "Especially not Zane. She already knows she has him wrapped around her very tiny finger."
"She likes me the best," Zane confided, earning a scowl from Chase. It annoyed his brother no end that the second Sammy heard Zane's voice, she started squealing for him. "So let me guess," he said, before Chase could get really put out, "Sophie is going out with Allison, and Cole is watching Nate."
And before Tamara could ask, he told her, "Nate is Cole's little boy, eleven months old now, and not only walking but running—straight into trouble whenever he can accomplish it."
Mack leaned forward in a conspiratorial tone and said to Tamara, "He gets that from his uncle Zane."
Zane reached for Mack, but he ducked away. "Trista and the babies have been to the bar, but usually during the afternoon, which is probably why you haven't seen them. You only go there at night, right?"
Mack and Chase looked at her again, frowning in concentration.
"You've been to the bar?" Chase asked.
"I don't remember seeing you," Mack said.
Tamara muttered, "I try to . . . blend in."
No one knew what she meant by that, but Zane was beginning to understand her. She felt isolated by her family's eccentricities and her occupation. He could only imagine what her life as a child had been like. His arm around her shoulders tightened, and he gave both his brothers a look to let them know to drop it.
Chase was the first to catch on. "Actually," he told Zane, now smiling widely, "Sophie isn't going out with Allison. But we do have some other news for you."
Mack bobbed his head in agreement.
Warily, Zane eyed them both. "What?"
"Sophie is pregnant again."
"What!" A grin caught him by surprise. Another niece or nephew was on the way—it didn't matter to him which. He'd never suspected how incredible babies could be, but he'd found he liked being an uncle. "When's she due?"
"Around October." Chase chuckled. "Cole is a wreck, of course, and so we figured he deserved the night off."
Zane turned to Tamara and lifted her off her feet into a huge bear hug. She clung to his shoulders in startled surprise. "My oldest brother is like a mother hen at times," he told her as he set her back on her feet. The look on her face was priceless.
This time it was his family overwhelming her.
"Especially now that Sophie is expecting again," Mack added. "Her last delivery wasn't exactly easy, and Cole had swore one kid would be it. But Sophie won that argument."
Zane laughed. "Sophie wins all the arguments." He suspected that was because Cole, like the rest of them, hated to disappoint her about anything. "When did she find out?"
"Just this afternoon." Chase chuckled. "She came straight to the bar when Cole was opening up and gave him the news. He's been walking into the walls ever since then."
Glancing at his watch, Zane said, "Damn. I guess I better be heading over that way. I'm surprised he managed to stay there this long. I figured he'd be home, hovering over Sophie, fretting."
"He wanted to follow her out after she told him, but Sophie said she had stuff to do, and made me promise I'd keep him there until eight."
"She's planning a...." Mack glanced at Tamara and coughed. "A private celebration, and didn't want Cole home until she was ready."
"Sophie owns a lingerie shop." Zane winked at Tamara. "When she plans a private celebration, no telling what goes on."
Chase added helpfully, "You know, you have about fifteen minutes yet before you'd have to leave, if you want to--"
Zane looked at Tamara, observed her hopeful expression, and shook his head. Without looking away from her, he said, "You two go on. I'll be right behind you."
To Zane's annoyance, Chase walked right up to Tamara and folded her into a big hug. "It was very nice meeting you, Tamara."
Mack kissed her cheek, and even went so far as to bob eyebrows suggestively. "Very nice."
Flustered, she stammered, "It was nice meeting both of you, too."
It was still raining hard when they opened the door and went out, immediately popping open their umbrellas and pulling up their collars. Cool, damp air blew into the room, and then the door was closed and they were alone again.
Tamara touched his arm, her brows lifted in question. "Fifteen minutes . . . ?"
"Isn't near enough time." Looping his arms around her waist, Zane pulled her into his embrace and kissed her, a kiss of regret, gentle and undemanding. "I'm not a fifteen-minutes kind of guy, honey. When I get you naked, it's going to take me at least twice that long just to get my fill of looking at you."
Her eyes widened. Zane waited for her to blush, for her modesty to kick in. Instead, she blurt
ed, "The book said we should do that."
"Do what?"
She ran her fingers through the hair at his nape. "The journal I told you about? It said new lovers should spend a day just looking at each other, getting used to being naked together."
Zane nearly choked. It made him hot—and more frustrated—just to talk about it. "When you're naked," he informed her, "I can guarantee you I'm going to do more than just look."
Her smiled was pure female mischief. "Like what?"
Eyes gleaming, he whispered, "Like kiss you all over."
"Oh." Her head dropped to his chest and her arms tightened. Zane rubbed her back, wishing that he could stay, and not just to satisfy his lust. He was worried. Despite her show of bravado, he was certain she was a little worried, too. He wanted to hold her, to talk to her. To reassure her.
After a moment, she said, "I like your family a lot."
"They have their moments." Tonight definitely wasn't one of them. Knowing he had to go, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an ultrasmall cell phone. He pushed the buttons a few times, setting the phone, did a check, then tried to hand it to her.
She looked at it without taking it. "What is that?"
"Obviously it's a phone." She still didn't reach for it, and he sighed. "I want you to keep it with you." The phone was so slim and small, keeping it next to her person shouldn't be a problem. And that was where he wanted it—on her at all times. "You can push the talk button, and it'll automatically dial me."
Pulling away from the phone as if it might bite her, she asked, "Why?"
He'd expected an argument; everything with Tamara was an argument when she felt he was trying to protect her or help her. He respected her self-reliant nature, especially since he knew it was so important to her. But at the moment, he wished she were just a little less stubborn.
"I don't feel right leaving you after what happened." She shook her head, and he added, "I had planned on spending the night. Tomorrow we could have discussed how to handle this problem."
"My problem, not yours."
