Wild

by Foster, Lori

  Tamara turned. “Stay back, all of you.” Incredibly, she included Zane in her order. Her uncle and aunts obediently stopped in midstep. Zane gave her a ferocious scowl.

  “This time,” Tamara said with relish, “I’ll catch him for sure.”

  Zane snared a fistful of her shirt and jerked her up short just as she started to turn away. “The hell you will!”

  She tried to shush him, which only made him angrier. “You mean to tell me,” he growled, his other hand now wrapped securely around her upper arm, making sure she wouldn’t slip away from him, “that you think someone has broken in downstairs and you’re determined to go investigate?”

  “Someone is downstairs,” she whispered anxiously, “unless your big mouth has just scared him away.”

  His big mouth? Zane couldn’t remember a woman ever outright insulting him before. Usually they showered him with sweet compliments.

  He’d never met a woman with a more stubborn independent streak, either. Most females would have had enough sense to send an available male downstairs to check things out. But not Tamara. No, she ignored Zane’s presence—except when it came to the subject of sex.

  His scowl turned a little blacker. He glared at Tamara, then thrust her toward Thanos. “Hang onto her. I’ll be right back.”

  Olga and Eva looked at him like he was true hero material.

  Thanos, beaming at him in approval, asked, “What will you do if it is a ghost?”

  Knowing the big man deliberately baited him, Zane said, “I’ll kick his ass,” and he trotted down the steps. “Just keep the women upstairs.”

  He was surely in bedlam, Zane decided, hearing Thanos laugh as Tamara insisted on being turned loose. But with the mood Zane was in, any intruder, ghost or otherwise, would be smart to get the hell out of his way.

  Zane fully expected to walk through the downstairs without a single disturbance.

  Unfortunately, things didn’t quite turn out that way.

  Four

  Tamara heard a loud thump, then a husky groan. Her heart shot straight into her throat, nearly strangling her. “Zane!”

  In his sudden concern for Zane, Thanos became preoccupied and loosened his grip just enough. Tamara didn’t even think twice; she bolted away, intent only on getting to Zane.

  “Damn it, Tamara,” Thanos groused as he made a wild grab for her and missed, “come back here this second!”

  Tamara ignored him, leaping down the stairs two and three at a time. Behind her, she heard Olga chanting and Eva cursing.

  Zane hadn’t flipped on any lights, but the moon was bright enough that the shadows were gray rather than black, and large objects were outlined by an opalescent sheen. Tamara knew her shop—every knickknack, curio, and tattered rug—without the benefit of lights.

  She also knew Zane Winston, much better than she’d thought. Her intuitive abilities were far from psychic, but every time Zane had looked at her, she’d felt him. She’d shared his feelings.

  She’d known his desires.

  And boy, was the man hot-blooded! Tamara hadn’t expected to be wanted like that—in fact, Zane’s graphic, blatant hunger alarmed her. She’d hoped he would agree to share sex with her, but she hadn’t expected him to crave her. She wasn’t exactly afraid of him, but his intensity was startling. And exciting.

  No way would she let some blasted intruder hurt him.

  Crouching by the long counter, she stopped and listened, but it was difficult to hear anything over the pounding of her heart and the racket of her relatives upstairs.

  Then a faint grunt reached her ears. Zane! She felt his pain, slight but nagging, and she accepted it, took it in, made it her own.

  Without hesitation, she followed her senses toward the backroom. She slithered past the counter, slipped through the partially open curtain.

  There was only one narrow window in the backroom, shadowed by the other buildings, and she didn’t dare turn on a light. It was so dark she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

  Reaching out, she felt for the wall, then the door frame. The door was wide open, and she darted inside—and promptly toppled over a large, hard object sprawled out around her feet.

  With a grunt, she landed hard. One of her elbows cracked on the concrete floor, making her wince, and the other....

  The lump on the floor reared up with a bellow, then collapsed with a long, shuddering, pain-filled moan.

  “Zane?” Tamara twisted around, trying to find his head so she could see how badly he was hurt.

  His hand caught her bare foot, stilling her movements. “Christ almighty, woman! Are you trying to make me a choirboy?”

  Tamara’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and she realized she was facing the wrong end of Zane. He was the hard thing she’d tripped over, sprawled flat on his back in the middle of the floor. “Zane? What in the world are you doing? Are you hurt?” Then, with extreme menace: “Did someone hit you?”

  Zane laughed. “I’m just bruised.” His fingers were still around her foot. “There’s no one here. I fell over a damn box of books.”

  “You’re bruised?” She tried to turn so she could evaluate his injuries.

  Zane tightened his hold. “Bruised, and getting more so by the second. Will you hold still?”

  Tamara froze. She’d just realized her head was directly over his lap.

  Her hands twitched. She squinted hard, trying to see more clearly through the inky blackness. “Um ... I guess that wasn’t your stomach I elbowed.”

  He growled. “My stomach is not soft.”

  No, she knew it wasn’t. She’d seen his washboard abs a few times when he’d been helping unload a truck behind his shop. Watching Zane Winston lose his shirt, seeing the sweat dampen his upper body as he worked, had been a particular kind of provocation, doing much to embellish her fantasies. His chest was lightly covered with springy dark hair, and his jeans always rode low, showing off his navel, occasionally even his hipbones.

  Groaning, she gave in to temptation and put both hands on his fly. He jerked, and a low, raw groan reverberated softly in the room. Tonight he wore casual khaki slacks, which did nothing to hinder her inquisitive fingers.

  He filled her hands.

  Eyes closed so her senses could fully absorb him, her stomach flip-flopped, heat pulsed and swelled beneath her skin. He was soft down low—probably where her sharp elbow had landed—and hot and hard and heavy above. She traced the rigid length of his erect penis with her palm and felt his legs flex, shift. Her breath shuddered in and out. So hard, so long. So very nice.

  Zane lifted his hips just a bit, then made another low sound, this one more pain-filled than any of the others. It struck Tamara that she was copping a feel off an injured man! She wanted him, but she didn’t want to take advantage of him. Not like this.

  Mortified by her uncharacteristically brash behavior, she was just about to lever herself up—never mind that his hard body felt very nice beneath hers—when the bare lightbulb overhead clicked on.

  There was a startled moment of silence before Thanos roared at Zane, “What the hell do you think you’re doing with her, man?”

  Tamara started to object, but Zane just dropped his head back and laughed. He still held her foot, his long fingers fastened around her ankle so tightly she knew she couldn’t do a thing until he let her.

  She looked down at his erection, appreciating the bird’s-eye view now that she could see him, and regretting the interruption.

  Thanos took a step forward, his eyes almost red. Zane said, “She’s on top, Thanos. All I’m doing is trying to protect my more vulnerable body parts from elbows and knees.”

  No sooner did he say it than she moved again and her heel made sharp contact with his chin.

  Thanos chuckled.

  Zane didn’t find anything humorous in the situation. He sat up and used her leg to drag her around to face him, then held her cradled on his lap. The new position effectively hid his arousal from her uncle, and it felt really nice aga
inst her backside.

  Using the tip of one finger, Zane brought her gaze around to his. His brown eyes, shadowed by his lashes, were dark with annoyance. “Do you have a problem following orders?”

  Unsure whether she should be outraged or incredulous, Tamara leveled a look on him. “You’ve got to be kidding, right?”

  His brows snapped down. “I specifically told you to wait upstairs.”

  Tamara leaned back to stare at him in disbelief. “Surely you never, for one second, thought you could give me orders?”

  Zane glanced up at her uncle, who held out both hands, wisely refusing him any help. Tamara waited.

  With an exaggerated sigh, Zane said, “I can see we’re going to have to work out a few ground rules.”

  “Absolutely, but later.” She was beginning to notice the mess around her. An enormous box of erotic books she’d purchased from an estate sale had fallen from a top shelf. They were everywhere, a few of the spines broken, some pages torn.

  She hadn’t had a chance to assess the value of all the books yet. Some of them seemed very old, maybe even antique. A collector might pay a high price for them—if they hadn’t been destroyed by the fall.

  Thank God she’d already moved the journal upstairs. In truth, it was probably worth less than any of the other books. But Tamara found it fascinating reading, and beyond value to her personally. “What happened here? Are you sure no one hit you?”

  Zane worked his jaw as if only the clench of his teeth held his temper at bay. “No, there was no one here. No intruder, no spirit. You must have put the books too close to the edge of the shelf, and they fell. That’s the racket you heard. I tripped over the damn things, and you tripped over me.”

  It seemed very unlikely to her that the books would have fallen suddenly. She’d bought the box of books almost two months ago, and they’d been on the shelf ever since. They hadn’t shown any sign of toppling before now.

  Tamara rubbed her bruised elbow. “Where are you hurt?”

  “I conked my head is all. It dazed me for a second.” Zane took her hand and pulled her arm straight so he could examine her elbow. “At least you landed on me rather than the hard floor.”

  Tamara blinked at him. “News flash, Zane. You’re not exactly cushiony.”

  To her amazement, he brushed off her elbow, ran his thumb over it twice, then pressed a soft kiss to the red spot. In a voice far too intimate, considering her uncle stood close by at full alert, he asked, “Does it hurt?”

  She nearly melted on the spot. Her insides turned to liquid, problems faded away under the impact of his touch.

  The intruder had been at it again, she just knew it. But for the first time since the trouble had started, she really didn’t give a damn.

  Zane Winston wanted her. For tonight, that was enough.

  Thanos bauled them to their feet. “None of that, now,” he said to Zane. “You keep your lips to yourself until Tamara’s aunts and I have had time to consider this.”

  Zane raised a brow at Tamara, who sighed theatrically. “There’s nothing to consider, Uncle Thanos, so back off.”

  “Not this time, sweetie. There’s a lot going on here, what with the trouble and ghosts.” He eyed Zane. “How do we know who’s involved and who isn’t?”

  “Thanos!” Tamara looked prepared to have a full-fledged fit, and Zane meant to forestall that occurrence. Already his head ached from connecting with the concrete floor, and other parts of him ached, thanks to Tamara’s bold curiosity and soft little hands. He couldn’t take a family brawl right now.

  “I’m here because she asked me to be,” Zane pointed out, “and I wouldn’t do anything to her that she didn’t want me to do.” He hoped to reassure Thanos, and at the same time spoke only the truth. From what Tamara had said to him, she wanted a lot, all of it sexual. That suited Zane just fine.

  Tamara gasped as if she’d known his exact thought, but Thanos laughed out loud. “Ah, now there’s the rub. What our little Gypsy lacks in dark looks, she makes up for with darker passion and an imagination that boggles the mind.”

  Zane eyed her. “Dark passion, huh?” He wasn’t sure he liked hearing that. How many men had come before him? Had she seduced them as the Gypsy, or as the angel? And exactly what had her imagination dredged up that could boggle the mind? His mind was pretty damn creative, all on its own.

  “That’s enough out of both of you!” Tamara looked beyond Thanos, then put her hands to her head. “Here come Eva and Olga. This night is never going to end.”

  Zane felt his smile slip. Did she mean her relatives intended to hang around a little longer? That wouldn’t do. He wanted her now. Right this instant. He was willing to wait a few minutes more ... but the whole night? He snorted.

  Tamara gave him a pathetic, helpless look, and nodded. Damn it, if she didn’t stop reading his thoughts, he’d—

  Olga suddenly came around Thanos and threw her skinny arms around Zane with an exuberant hug. “Zane! Thank God you were here, young man.” Then she thrust him back and demanded shrilly, “What did you see? What did Hubert look like? Is he well?”

  Eva shook her head. “Olga, Hubert is dead. How can he be well, for pity’s sake?” Then to Zane, “Was he ethereal ? Wispy? Or was he as solid and substantial as ever?”

  She turned to Tamara without waiting for Zane to answer. “You know Hubert always was a stocky man. Thick in the chest.”

  He’d landed in bedlam, Zane decided. In precise tones, so no one would misunderstand, he said, “There was no ghost. No Uncle Hubert. No intruder.” Waving a hand, he indicated the books scattered everywhere. They were dusty and old, some of the yellowed pages lying loose. “The books fell, that’s all.”

  Olga peered at the books. “Wonder if Hubert pushed them down.”

  Eva nodded enthusiastically. “Probably did. Hubert never was one much for reading.”

  “No.” Tamara stood like a small amazon, hands on her hips. “For the last time, it’s not Hubert. It’s a ... well, a man, probably, though I suppose it could be a woman.”

  Zane surveyed her serious expression and swallowed his impatience. “What makes you think a man would break in here? For what purpose? To steal your books?”

  “No, of course not. But....” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Never mind. It’s not your concern, and I don’t want to involve you.”

  Zane felt like he’d been slapped. Damn her, he hadn’t even wanted to be involved, not until she tried to exclude him. First she’d propositioned him, then insulted him, and now she was shutting him out. He matched her stance, fists on his hips, legs braced apart. “I’m making it my concern.”

  “No.”

  That did it. Zane’s temper exploded and he glared down at her. In a near shout, he said, “You’re saying that cursed word more and more! I think I liked it better when you stayed quiet and mysterious.”

  Eva clapped her hands together. “That’s what we keep telling her! She’s not nearly mysterious enough.”

  Olga agreed. “She’s too ... blonde.”

  Laughing to himself, Thanos added, “And green-eyed.”

  Zane wished her meddlesome relatives elsewhere, but obviously his wishes meant very little.

  “That’s enough on my appearance.” Tamara’s tone was stem, bordering on brittle. She started to smooth her wayward curls, then caught herself and sent Zane a crooked smile meant to placate. “I guess you should be going.” She nodded toward her aunts. “The family and I have a lot to discuss.”

  Now she hoped to dismiss him. Crossing his arms over his chest, Zane propped himself against the door frame and stared impassively.

  Tamara frowned. She turned and took two steps toward the door. “C’mon, Zane.” She sounded like she was enticing a pet. “It’s time to go.” She took two more steps.

  Zane yawned, then asked Thanos, “So what’s been going on?”

  “Mischief,” Thanos told him without hesitation. Tamara rushed back to her uncle’s side.

  “Uncle
Thanos, our family problems don’t concern anyone else. I’ll thank you—”

  Thanos threw a meaty arm around her shoulders and squeezed her till she squeaked. Zane started to protest, but Tamara had a long-suffering look on her face, as if she was quite used to the rough affection. “You can thank me later, little one. For now, why don’t you take your aunts upstairs and get them settled while Zane and I talk things over? They’ve had an upset.”

  “Tea,” Olga hinted elaborately, “would be just the thing to settle the nerves.”

  “Oh, no.” Tamara pried herself out of Thanos’s embrace and glared at him. “I’m not going to be dismissed like a ... a....”

  “Female?” Zane supplied.

  “That’s right!” Going on her tiptoes, she poked a finger into Thanos’s chest and said, “You can take them upstairs. I’m sure the three of you can manage a pot of tea. I’ll pick up this mess.”

  “I can’t leave you alone here with the young lothario.” Thanos shrugged. “He’s looking at you like a hungry man looks at a juicy tart.”

  “He is?” Tamara turned to Zane and examined his gaze. Now that she was the one feeling rattled, Zane relaxed a little. In fact, he tried for a leer so she wouldn’t be disappointed.

  Tamara blushed as she turned back to her uncle and pushed on his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I can take care of myself, you know that.”

  “Right.” Thanos, ignoring her meager effort to shove him out of the room, looked over her head at Zane. “Give me your word there won’t be any hanky-panky going on down here.”

  Zane smiled lazily. He and Thanos were off to a fair start. “I never begin things I can’t finish properly.”

  For a moment, Thanos looked outraged, then his frown lifted and he laughed heartily. He thwacked Zane, nearly knocking him off his feet. “A man after my own heart.”

  Catching Tamara under the chin, Thanos lifted her face and said, “I think he may just do for you, little one.” He kissed her forehead. “But you do as I say. Mind your manners, and remember that your aunts and I will be right upstairs.”

  Zane thought it would be near impossible to forget, considering they butted in more often than not. He imagined if they were anywhere in the vicinity, he wouldn’t have guaranteed privacy. Which meant he’d have to wait tonight, no matter how it pained him. When he took Tamara, he wanted the whole night to enjoy himself, to indulge her every need. Soon, he promised himself. Very soon.