by Lori Foster
Zane curled his free hand around her nape and held her still as he bent to kiss her. Her mouth immediately softened and he thrust his tongue inside, tasting her deeply, stealing her breath. Branding her.
When he pulled back, her beautiful green eyes were heavy, and her lips were wet, open. "I'm not taking any chances with you, sweetheart. Now promise me you'll call me if anything happens, or I'll let Cole know I won't be closing the bar after all."
Slowly the fog of desire cleared from her gaze. She heaved a disgruntled sigh, then held out her hand.
Zane placed the phone in her palm and curled her fingers around it, holding her hand in his own. "Keep it with you," he insisted. "In bed, if you go to the bathroom, if you...."
"I got it. Keep it with me."
"If you hear anything, anything at all, just push the Talk button."
"You won't be at home."
"I set it to automatically dial another cell phone I have. It's one I normally keep plugged into my car, but I'll carry it with me now."
Tamara nodded, then slipped the tiny phone into her back jeans pocket. "You should go."
"Yeah." He didn't want to leave, damn it.
Staring at her feet, she asked, "What time will the bar close?"
"Tonight? Not until two."
She groaned, then offered suggestively, "I don't open my shop until ten on Saturdays."
Zane almost smiled. "You need to get some sleep. If I come back here, neither one of us will sleep tonight." He again thought of Joe. His cousin would be able to keep her safe when Zane was busy—like tonight. But damn, Joe had always rubbed him the wrong way.
He clasped Tamara's arms just above her elbows and lifted her up, promising himself it would be the very last kiss, and then he'd go.
Though she tried to cover it, he caught her small wince of pain.
He instantly gentled his hold. "What is it?"
She shook her head. "Nothing, I just—"
"I hurt you."
"No you didn't!" She shifted her shoulder, her expression sulky before she admitted, "I kind of bumped into a van when I was running to your shop."
Going rigid, Zane demanded, "Where are you hurt?"
"It's just a small scratch."
"Where, Tamara?"
"On my arm."
He'd specifically asked her about the rip in her blouse. Why hadn't she told him she was hurt? Dumb question. She would consider it none of his business, something to be dealt with on her own.
He stared at her, trying not to let his anger show. "Let me see."
Smug, she told him, "I can't. I'm wearing long sleeves."
No doubt so he wouldn't see her injury. Zane locked his jaw, and solved that problem by catching the hem of her shirt and pulling it up over her head. Tamara tried to stop him with a lot of squawking and complaining and slapping, but she wasn't a match for him. As gently as he could, he relieved her of the shirt and left her standing there in her bra and jeans.
Damn, she was a temptation. Her jeans fit her body perfectly, and her bra, though plain, white cotton, was low-cut and very enticing.
Tamara protested her unveiling, until she realized he was bent on ignoring her luscious little breasts to center his concentration on her injury.
Then she became indignant.
Zane took one look at the long red scratch and bruised skin on her upper arm and wanted to bellow. Someone had hurt her, whether deliberately or inadvertently, and there was no way Zane would let it happen again. He made up his mind. He'd call Joe. Tonight.
But he'd also give his disreputable cousin a warning. Tamara was off-limits—and there'd be hell to pay if he forgot that.
Ten
How dare he ignore her when she was half-naked?
Tamara stalked through her quiet house, holding her shirt bunched in her fist as she made certain everything was secured. The latches on the windows were loose and rusted, but thanks to how warped the old windows were, they were tough to open even when they weren't locked. Cold air seeped in around the wooden frames, and made goose bumps rise on her exposed shoulders and midriff as she pulled down every shade.
She barely noticed, she was still so annoyed.
Zane had stripped her shirt off as if she was a child. That had been bad enough, and she fully intended to raise hell with him about it when she saw him again. But worse, he'd ignored her partially exposed body to examine one measly scratch.
Annoyance and stung pride carried her through her house with a stomping gait.
The living room door had a dead bolt, and Zane had listened from the metal landing until he'd heard her click it into place. The door leading to the downstairs, and the door closing off the part of the house she didn't use, both required a skeleton key. She jiggled each of them, making certain they were closed tight.
It had taken her almost five minutes to convince Zane she was fine and she could damn well tend to a scratch without his help. She'd never expected him to be so .. . mollycoddling. Not that she disliked it, because she didn't. And that was part of the problem.
It felt so nice to be tended to, to have someone care.
Zane had surprised her at every turn. She was no longer certain what she'd expected, what she'd hoped for. He seemed so genuine. So concerned and sincere. He wasn't at all like the man she'd read about in the local papers, the outrageous man who bordered on being an exhibitionist, the lady-killer, and the risqué brother. He was those things, no way around it. But he was so much more than that.
His happiness over the thought of a new nephew or niece had astounded her. She'd never pictured him with kids, never considered that he might know how to handle himself with children, or be comfortable around them. Yet both his brothers had agreed Zane was a favorite uncle. Sammy squealed at his presence, and Nate emulated him.
Kids were a good judge of character. They knew when someone was innately kind, generous.
Oh damn, she was falling in love with him. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to deny the truth, but it was impossible. She'd probably been half in love with him even before he'd accepted her proposition. She knew her heart had always thumped erratically whenever she caught sight of him. His laugh had the power to make her stomach flip-flop. And his eyes ... she often felt like she was melting when she met his eyes.
She'd written all that off as sexual attraction. Every woman who looked at him wanted him, so why should she have been any different, except that he hadn't wanted her in return?
But now she knew it was more. Damn and double damn!
Tamara stopped dead in the hallway and stared blankly at a wall. Love Zane Winston? It was beyond foolish, yet. . . . Yet how could she not?
No one had ever tried to take care of her before. She could take care of herself, so it had never been necessary. But it felt nice that he wanted to, that he tried.
Her aunts and uncle had accepted her with open arms, but they were like overgrown children, wallowing in the freedom of their Gypsy spirits, disinclined toward anything that hinted of normalcy, while she'd always craved the mundane. She'd quickly adopted the roll of caretaker, and that setup had suited them all.
But now Zane coddled her, wanting to protect her, worrying about her. He touched her and set her on fire, making her experience things she hadn't even known were possible. He argued with her, but didn't hold a grudge. He put his brothers above his lust, and loved his niece and nephew.
He ignored her body to fret over a scratch.
Oh, he was a very lovable man, and she wasn't immune. Hiding her feelings from him was the key, if she wanted him to stick around. Zane was a bachelor with a capital B. It had taken quite an effort just to get him to agree to have sex with her. If he ever suspected what was in her heart, he'd bolt, she was sure of it.
A clinging woman spouting words of love was guaranteed to drive him away.
Tamara sighed and forced her feet to unglue themselves from the carpet. She couldn't solve any of her dilemmas about Zane tonight, so she might as well quit fretting ove
r it. She had more important things to take care of.
It was still fairly early, but she wouldn't be going back out, so she changed into a sleep shirt and eyed the pile of work on her desk. The sooner she turned in the work, the sooner she'd get paid. It would be a few hours before she could go to bed.
She headed for the kitchen to make a sandwich. On her way past the family room she noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. She pushed the Replay button and listened while she opened the refrigerator.
The voice of her Realtor came on the line. Tamara froze, turning to stare at the machine in horror. There had been an offer on the building. A good one. The Realtor expected her to show up at his office the next day, during her lunch hour, to look it over.
Her hunger gave way to cramps, caused by distress. If the building sold now, she wouldn't have time to spend with Zane. There might not be an opportunity for intimacy.
Could she have gotten so close, only to miss getting to love him?
Zane entered the bar in a rush. He was a few minutes late because he'd had to go home and change. As he darted past the tables to the bar where Cole played bartender, several women whistled to him, a few even reaching out, trying to get hold of him. He was too distracted to pay them much mind, and barely managed a smile.
Cole eyed him as he slipped around the bar. "You just disappointed a lot of ladies."
"What?"
"Your admirers. They're not too pleased to have you breeze by without a notice. First last night, then again today. You ready to tell me what's going on?"
Glancing over his shoulder, Zane eyed the table of sulking women. They waved to him, and this time he winked. When he looked at Cole again, he shook his head. "Sorry, I guess I'm distracted. I've been rushing like hell. I got here as quick as I could."
He hated that he'd kept Cole waiting on such a special night. He knew his brother well, and Cole was likely going nuts wanting to be home with his wife. "Go ahead and take off. I've got it covered."
The place was packed, but that wasn't unusual for a
Friday night. They did a hell of a business on the weekends.
Cole finished filling an order, then turned as Zane hung his coat on a hook. Leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, Cole said, "Chase and Mack filled me in."
Zane wanted to groan. Instead, he kept his expression carefully impassive. "They told you about Tamara?"
"In great detail." Cole looked Zane over, and smiled. His most outrageous brother was doing his best to look indifferent. Zane obviously didn't realize it, but that in itself was telling. "They took turns grabbing the phone from each other and shouting into my ear. Around all the laughing, I gathered the Winston curse has taken a nibble out of your stubborn hide."
More like it had bitten off a huge chunk, but Zane wasn't about to admit that. He said noncommittally, "Maybe."
"So that's what had you acting so odd last night."
"I was not acting odd." Zane shifted, his tension growing. "I was just...."
"I know, distracted."
Chin out, hands fisted, he said, "Yeah," and his stance dared Cole to press him on it.
Far from intimidated, Cole appeared to be barely holding in his laughter. "She sounds . . . unique."
There was just enough inflection in his brother's tone to set Zane's teeth on edge. "You all don't have to keep referring to her as if she's an oddity."
Giving up with a chuckle, Cole held up both hands. "Ho! I didn't mean it that way."
"The hell you didn't. Mack and Chase acted the same." Zane glared at a customer who loudly demanded service, then turned back to Cole. "She is different, okay? But in a really nice way."
"That's exactly what Mack and Chase said."
"Bullshit. I bet they told you about the wig, didn't they?"
The customer leaned over the bar. "A wig?"
Zane filled his beer glass and shoved it at him with a glare. "Mind your own damn business."
Still grinning, Cole said, "That's a great way to keep the business healthy, Zane."
Zane was just harassed enough to growl, "Would I be seeing a woman who was odd, damn it?"
"Of course not." Cole's tone was soothing—and filled with barely suppressed humor. "You did say a wig?"
Zane felt his face heat. He hadn't blushed since he'd been a boy. "Sophie's plans for the night are going to be ruined," he growled, "if you don't stop needling me."
In a stage whisper, Zane heard the nosy customer grumbling about women and wigs and curses. Great. Now he had everyone gossiping.
He barely stifled a groan. "Go home, Cole."
"In a minute." Cole refilled two more drinks. He'd hired a couple of new guys, but they hadn't quite gotten a handle on things yet, and were slow to fill orders.
When Cole finished, he reached for his coat. Zane put a hand on his shoulder. "Damn it, I didn't mean to act like a bastard."
"No?" Cole looked amused, not insulted.
"No. I meant to tell you congratulations."
Shaking his head, Cole said, "I swear, Zane, I don't know if I can live through this again."
Zane knew exactly what he was talking about. "You'll be fine. And so will Sophie. She's a trooper."
"Hell, she doesn't even remember how much pain she was in. She talks about the birth like it was a breeze. And I'll be damned if I'm going to remind her otherwise."
Zane felt sympathy for his oldest brother. "You're happy about the baby, aren't you?"
"Hell, yes!" Then he looked around, realized that he'd shouted, and rubbed his hands over his face. "Yes, I'm happy to have another baby, but you can't imagine what it's like to see someone you love hurting that much."
Tamara had only had a scratch, and he'd wanted to beat
someone to a pulp. The thought of her going through labor . . . . Zane broke out in a sweat and quickly shook off that thought. "Now they know she delivers fast," he assured Cole. "They'll be ready for her."
"They better be, or I'm going to knock some heads together."
Zane patted him on the back, giving in to a reluctant grin. "You know what you need?"
Cole eyed him. "What?"
"To go home and let your wife soothe you."
Smiling, Cole said, "Yeah." Then, "I am sorry I interrupted your plans tonight."
Zane was sorry, too. "Are you kidding? I interrupted your plans for most of my life. You were always there for me, so I'm glad to get to pay you back a little now and then."
"Ah, shit." Cole looked away and grumbled, "I just found out I'm going to be a father again, Zane. If you start getting all emotional on me, tonight of all nights, I may have to flatten you just to keep my manly consequence."
Zane laughed. His brother was about the best man he knew. When their parents had died, Cole had taken over without a single complaint. It wasn't until the rest of them were in college that Cole started taking care of his own needs—which included falling in love with Sophie.
Long before he and Sophie had their first child, Cole had learned all the parenting skills he needed by raising his brothers single-handedly.
Zane gave Cole a slight shove. "Get out of here. You're embarrassing me."
Cole turned up his collar. "I'm embarrassing myself." He started to walk away, but paused. "Don't let her get away, Zane."
Zane played stupid by saying, "Who?"
Not in the least fooled, Cole pointed at him. "I didn't raise any dummies. Judging by last night and tonight, you're hooked. Don't do something stupid to blow it." He strode away.
Zane was busy for the next three hours, nonstop. He sometimes missed working at the bar, the activity and loud camaraderie, even though he loved having his computer store. Cole had never expected any of them to stay on at the bar, but he'd made it a very welcome place to be.
The second things slowed down, Zane called Tamara. He didn't think she'd be asleep yet, and he wanted to make certain she was okay. Fretting over a woman was a new experience, and he didn't like it worth a d
amn.
She answered on the third ring.
She sounded weary, and a bit uncertain. "Zane?"
"What took you so long?" Zane demanded, thinking here he was, worrying like an old woman and she couldn't even be bothered to do as he'd asked.
She yawned into his ear. "Sorry. I was working on some stuff and the phone was buried under papers."
"I thought I told you to keep it on you."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because...." She sighed in exasperation. "Zane, I'm almost ready for bed."
"So?"
"So I'm ... not wearing anything with pockets."
Awareness kicked in, and he lowered his voice to ask, "What are you wearing?"
Her voice lowered, too. "Just a T-shirt."
His heart punched hard. "Panties?"
"Well, yeah."
His thighs tightened. "What color are they?"
She laughed. "Zane!"
"Tell me. Otherwise I'll go crazy all night wondering."
"They're beige."
"Same color as your skin?"
"Almost."
He groaned, picturing her curled in her bed, the sheet
gone, maybe in his T-shirt instead of her own. "Have you been thinking about me?" he whispered.
"You want the truth?" He heard the smile in her voice. "I'm having a hard time doing anything else."
"Good." A slow heat began filling him. "It's crazy here tonight. Cole's hired two new guys, but they're green-horns and slow as molasses. I've about run my ass off or I'd have called sooner."
"Zane." She said his name in soft rebuke. "I don't need you to call and check up on me."
"But you'll let me do it anyway," he said with insistence.
There was a long hesitation before she answered, re-signed. "Yes. I'll let you do it anyway."
"Good girl." Damn, he should be with her. Regardless of what she said, she still had to be a little rattled after what had happened. Zane wished like hell he could get his hands on the man who'd chased her. Every time he thought of her running in a panic—to him, despite her protests on that—it made him nuts.
"You know, honey," he said with gentle persistence, "you don't have to be tough with me."
"I'm fine," she said again, and Zane gave up. Sooner or later, he'd get her to let down her guard, to stop shutting him out. He refused to accept any other possibility.
