by Lori Foster
Heart racing, Tamara dared a quick look at Zane. She expected immediate denials, a resurgence of his anger, something volatile.
He surprised her. No longer rigid, a mocking cynicism lit his eyes and a smirk made his sexy mouth go crooked. Let me guess. This your way of helping out, Joe?"
Joe shrugged. "Just call me your guardian angel. Left to your own devices, I was afraid she'd throw your sorry ass out."
"He's staying here tonight," Tamara announced. She was uncertain what the two of them were prattling on about but she felt it necessary to defend Zane just the same.
"Not smart," Joe said immediately.
"She refuses to come home with me." Zane caught her hand and pulled her to his side. "She doesn't want to leave the house unprotected. I can understand that."
"Ah." Joe tipped his head at Tamara and said with a shrug of acceptance, "Then I suppose it makes sense after all. Zane definitely shouldn't leave you here alone. But," he added, "we'll have to set up a few safeguards first."
"Tonight, and more tomorrow."
"That's what I was thinking."
Tamara leveled a look on both men. "You're thinking without my input, and I won't have it."
Joe laughed, and she had the suspicion it was at her expense. "I should get out of here and let you both get to sleep." His gaze warmed. "You have to be exhausted."
"Joe .. .
"I gather there's no point calling the police."
Zane again looked ready to brawl, but he subsided. "I'm calling them. I just don't think they'll do anything."
"Any idea who might be behind this?"
"An idea, yeah. It'd have to be someone with access to a key, someone with a motive."
"Someone you already don't like?"
"That's right. But my not liking him is incidental to the facts."
Joe pondered the possibility. "The bad guys don't always look bad or act bad, you know. Don't get it set in your head or you're liable to miss other more likely possibilities."
Zane nodded. Standing beside him, Tamara bristled. "You have about two seconds, Zane Winston, to tell me who you think tried to break in here."
His grin wasn't at all nice this time. It was predatory. "He wanted to see you, and you turned him down. He knows your relatives—"
Tamara picked up on his train of thought. "And my family has keys for emergency use. He could have gotten one from them without them knowing."
Their gazes locked, and they said together, "Boris Sandor."
Sixteen
Zane held the tattered journal against his bent knee. Next to him, Tamara stirred just a little. He soothed her with a hand on her hip, stroking slow and easy. He loved the feel of her, both under his hand and beside him in bed. Warm and sleep-heavy, she sighed.
The chapters on sexual satisfaction had been incredible. They'd gone through most of them last night when Zane realized Tamara was too upset to sleep. Joe had promised to hang around outside until sunup, even though they were both relatively certain their visitor wouldn't be back that night. Tamara had seemed stunned by such an offer, but Joe assured her that surveillance was nothing new to him.
The police, as Zane had suspected, could do no more than make out a report and promise to drive by occasionally. Since Joe was already there, the offer was unnecessary.
Zane smiled now, reluctantly admitting to himself that Joe had been the hero of the night. If it hadn't been for him, the intruder might have been the one to stumble onto Tamara naked. The thought made Zane shudder. Deep down, he trusted Joe implicitly, or he'd never have asked him for help. If it had been a stranger ogling her, he'd have been tempted to kill the man.
He supposed he'd have to thank his cousin. Zane grinned as he imagined Joe's reaction to sincere gratitude. Coming from Zane, it was liable to give Joe a heart attack.
Zane chuckled softly, looking over at Tamara's tousled hair and slightly parted lips. In a very short time, she'd become so special to him, so precious.
As per the damn book's instruction, she would accept sexual satisfaction from him. Accept, demand, revel in. In all his mature years, he'd never met a woman who more equally balanced his sexual drive, taking and giving. During the night, he'd suggested things in a heated whisper, and she'd accepted openly, hungrily, drowning in anything and everything he wanted to do.
His body reacted now to the memory, and that was nothing short of a miracle. He'd let her drift off to sleep only a few hours ago. He should have been dead to the world, carnal activity beyond him, for at least a day. Possibly two. But just feeling the heat of her next to him, hearing her soft breathing, made his sex stir in anticipation.
He wanted her again.
He wanted her always.
Zane turned another page and skimmed the text. This was the part of the book Tamara hadn't bothered to share with him. It detailed ways to make your lover fall in love. But she didn't want love from him. She'd asked him for sex, and like the most noble of negotiators, she refused to try to take more.
Tough.
Zane had never needed much sleep, usually five hours tops, but now he was nearing exhaustion. Still, he didn't want to sleep, didn't want to waste a single second of this opportunity. Getting Tamara to lean on him, to trust him and accept him in every way, wasn't going to be easy. Because, he realized, she didn't know how.
She knew how to stand on her own, how to take care of others and get through life any way she could, but she didn't know how to ask for help, or how to accept it, because she'd never been given the opportunity to learn.
He discounted what her relatives had done for her as a child. Of course they'd taken her in; she was family and that's what family did. He'd bend over backward and walk on his hands for his brothers if that's what they needed from him. And now, by association, his brother's wives and children had the same loyalty. That was life, that was the course you took when you had family. There wasn't a single doubt in his mind that any of his brothers would do the same for him.
Which reminded him. Joe now had an inkling of what Tamara meant to him, but he should clear it up with Cole. Chase, and Mack, too. Just on the off chance something happened to him, he wanted her taken care of. He didn't want her to have to sell and start over. He didn't want her to be on her own, ever again.
Share your fears, your dreams, your hopes for the future.
The journal held a lot of insight, not only on sexual satisfaction, but also on falling in love. After reading it, Zane felt he knew the woman who'd written it. Her loneliness and her determination were there on the page, seeping through the words, sharing personal things if only someone cared to see them. Things Tamara could relate to because she was alone and lonely as well.
His heart ached.
He'd never said those three incredible little words that could change a man's life. Now they burned in his throat, wanting out. But Tamara wasn't ready for that. He needed to woo her, he decided with a smile. He needed to follow the instructions of the manual and share his heart bit by bit, before making it an offering.
All his ruminations had brought his mind and body into agreement. He did indeed need Tamara again. Was she sore? She sure as hell hadn't complained last night, and he knew she could use the sleep now. But the combination of love burning behind his eyes and in his heart, joined with the slower, hotter pulse of desire, had his hands shaking.
He'd never been in love and he wanted, needed, some form of confirmation from her, even if only physical.
With infinite care, he eased the sheet off her body.
Being accommodating, she turned to her back, put one arm over her head, and snuggled her sweet bottom into the mattress. Looking at her brought all the swirling emotions and sensations together into a razor-sharp point.
His hand on her pale, slender thigh, urging her legs wide, looked dark and rough. The contrast maddened him, made it hard to breathe.
Her scent clung to the sheets, to him, to the cool morning air around them. Drifting his long fingers through her crisp pubic curls,
he watched her body shift, awaken. Her belly sucked in a little, and he had to kiss her there, had to dip his tongue into her cute little navel.
Her hand settled in his hair, and in a sleep-foggy voice she said, "Zane."
There was satisfaction in her tone and he chose to think affection as well.
"I missed you," he whispered, kissing his way up her torso, nibbling on her hips, each rib, until she squirmed and he could hear the growing excitement in her sigh.
She twisted to see the bedside clock. "It's been only a few hours since you ..."
Her voice trailed off, delighting him with her continued reserve when she opened her body so completely to him. "Since I loved you silly?" he asked, and kissed the small vertical worry lines between her slim brows. "I love loving you."
Her frown deepened. Zane hid his grin, knowing he'd confused her, that she was unsure how to take him or the words he'd slipped in. Sate yourself, the journal said, on the pleasure you give your lover. Wise words from an obviously wise, caring woman. He intended to follow the instructions to the letter, and all the while he'd talk to her,
tell her things that she'd be unable to respond to.
Light as a breeze, his fingers continued to tease her, dipping every so often through her curls to touch warm, moist flesh. Teasing. Tempting her into that whirlwind of carnality.
"You are so soft."
"You're not," she said, and reached down to circle her hand around his throbbing cock where it pressed into her thigh.
Zane let her hold him, squeeze him; God, he loved her touch. He loved her frowns and her independence and her vulnerability. He loved everything about her.
Her breath caught, then her gaze skittered to the journal, open on the bedside table. "You've been . . . reading?"
Uncertainty warred with her growing pleasure. He could see it in her beautiful green eyes. "You read it," he explained, "and I wanted to know what you'd found there."
Balanced on his side, he put his right leg over hers and pinned her down, keeping her legs open. She was wet now, her tender vulva swelling, readying for him. Slowly, with infinite care because he knew he'd been excessive through the night, he pushed his middle finger into her.
Her back arched and a small catch in her breath thrilled him. "Does that feel good, sweetheart?"
"Yes."
"You're not too raw?" He worked his finger in and out, pressing deep so that his knuckles rubbed against her distended clitoris, then withdrawing to tease the soft swollen lips, before pressing in again.
She tangled her fingers in his hair. "Kiss me."
He withdrew again, readjusted his hand, and caught her small clitoris with his fingertips. He tugged very lightly. "Here?"
"Zane!" Her thighs opened more, struggled against the restraint of his.
"Or here?" He leaned down and licked one begging nipple. His tongue swirled around and around until he heard her long, broken moan. "Like this?" He sucked her deep.
"Shhh," he said against her breast. "My tongue is softer. It'll be easier for you."
No...."
He wasn't sure what she protested, the pleasure he'd given her, the use of his mouth, or her own wavering uncertainty.
Zane sat up and threw the sheets completely from the bed. Tamara's body, flushed and taut, stretched out like a sacrifice before him. He wanted to devour her until she screamed his name and said those three words he felt bound to hold inside.
Kneeling between her thighs, he caught her breasts in his hands and roughly caressed them. "You have the most delectable body I've ever seen, Tamara."
Neck arched, eyes closed, she whispered, "Yes."
She wasn't even aware of what she said, he realized, pleased with the results he'd gained. He thumbed her nipples and watched her strain for more. Her breasts flushed, swelled in his hands.
"So sweet," he whispered, and bent to take her into his mouth again. She lifted, the open juncture of her thighs pressing into his abdomen, warm, silky wet, making him insane. He drew on her nipple while he caught her thighs and held them. It would be so easy to slide into her now. It wouldn't take more than six hard, fast pumps to put him into nirvana.
He wanted more.
Blindly groping across the head of the bed, Zane found his pillow and snagged it with a fist. He lifted away from her delicious breasts, leaving her nipples darkened, glistening wet. He caught her slim hips and lifted, pressing the pillow beneath her, making an offering of her lush heated sex. Moisture gathered in his mouth as he looked at her, hungry for the taste of her, for her pleasure.
He traced the delicate pink flesh with one fingertip, his chest working like a bellows, never able to get enough air. "Open your legs wider for me, sweetheart."
She moaned softly, squirmed, fisted her hands in the sheet next to her hips.
"Do it, Tamara."
"It's too much."
"And not enough. I know. Do it."
Tentatively, in small degrees, her legs spread open. Zane stared at her lovely face, eyes squeezed shut, teeth sunk into her bottom lip. The hair at her temples was damp with sweat.
God, he loved waking her like this.
"Wider," he ordered and saw her mouth open on a groan. Her thighs quivered, stretched wide.
"Yes." He lowered his head and took one long, leisurely lick, swirling around her clitoris so that her hips left the cushioning pillow and she cried out.
He did it again, and again, teasing her, giving her just a little, but not enough. Anchoring her in place, he kept her legs spread with his hands tight on her upper thighs. On the sixth lick he lingered, suckled, and she screamed out her climax, making him shudder with the pleasure of it.
She felt boneless, her limbs limp, her body dewy. He rested his head on her thigh and continued to toy with her—light, gentle touches that kept her aroused but didn't cause discomfort to her sensitized nerve endings.
After a while her long, deep breaths began to quicken once more. Satisfied, Zane turned his head, seeking her again with his mouth. This time he was gentler, slower, nuzzling into her, nibbling, until her long ragged groan, hoarse with nearly painful pleasure, split the quiet morning.
He blew on her, cooling her, teasing again. Moving up her body, he kissed her lax mouth, smiling against her lips. "You're incredible."
No response. But that didn't bother him. He rolled to his back and pulled her atop him, letting her body drape over his chest and hips like a blanket. He spread her thighs in one smooth movement and pushed his erection into her heat. She was so wet, she accepted him easily, and he was content to simply hold her like that for a time, connected physically in all ways.
The journal had emphasized the importance of holding. He'd never had a predilection for difficult women, but he wanted this difficult woman to love him. He wanted her to feel everything he felt, and hoped she understood it when she did.
Sexual tension vibrated in his every pore, but a lot of the urgency he'd felt earlier, prompted by a need to claim her, had diminished. She was his; he'd made up his mind and now he just wanted to enjoy her in every way he could think of.
She mumbled into his chest, her heated breath a taunt his skin, "You're not wearing a condom."
Zane kissed the top of her head. Because he loved her, he wanted to give her choices. Now wasn't really fair because she was literally spent, limp as a drugged fish, but fairness seldom came into play when you were in love. His reasoning sounded weak even to his own mind, but he didn't give a damn.
"I want to feel you, and just you," he explained. Still, he asked, "Do you care?"
She hesitated, and he held his breath. Her soft hair tickled his chin, her heartbeat thumped in time to his own. Her body welcomed him, holding him snug in slippery wetness and sizzling heat.
"No."
That one simple word broke his control. It said and meant so much, more than he'd dared to hope for so soon.
He cupped her bottom, held her steady while he began to thrust.
Tamara struggled to sit up, in
advertently deepening his penetration. They both groaned. He felt her womb, felt all of her. She braced her small hands on his chest and like a siren, whispered, "Let me."
Keeping still was about the hardest thing he'd ever done. Her every movement enflamed him, the way she shook her fair hair over her shoulders, arched her neck, pushed her breasts forward.
With concentrated deliberation, Zane forced his fingers to unclench on her hips and raised them to her breasts. He cuddled them, stroked her nipples as she lifted, fell, lifted, fell. Her movements were unpracticed, but enthusiastic.
"Roll your hips," he told her in a rasp, knowing it would increase her pleasure.
"Like this?"
It was his turn to arch, and they both moaned at how deeply he entered her.
Her thighs strained, the sleek muscles pulled taut. She clasped him, her sex pulling at him like a voracious mouth. He fought hard not to come yet, to hold off until she'd taken her own orgasm one more time.
"I don't believe this," she whispered a few minutes later when he felt her tightening around him, milking him.
He clenched his teeth to keep words of love unsaid. Watching her, seeing her beautiful face twisted and real with the savage pleasure of their lovemaking, was a gift he'd never forget.
She cried when the last spasms had left her, and Zane turned her beneath him, licking at her tears and driving into her hard and deep and rough, once, twice ... He threw his head back and shouted as he came.
Tamara managed to get one arm around him when he fell heavily atop her. They were both sweaty, heat pouring off their bodies, adhering them together. She made a sound, like wonder or disbelief or . . . love.
God, let it be the start of love.
Puckering required more dexterity than he could summon, but he moved his lips against her neck, the only reply he could muster.
He was just thinking life couldn't get any better when a fist rattled the bedroom door and Thanos's voice rang out, imperative and angry.
"Tamara! Are you all right? Answer me, damn it."
