by Foster, Lori
Tamara gazed at him, her eyes burning.
Zane waited until Thanos had escorted both women from the room, then caught Tamara’s arm and turned her toward him. “Are you reading my mind?”
She looked startled, laughed a little too exuberantly. “First you accuse me of casting spells, and now I’m a mind reader?”
Put that way, he felt just a little foolish. Until he looked into her eyes.
She had the most incredible green eyes he’d ever seen. They were both sharp with intelligence and soft with innocence. It was a potent combination. Her lashes, a dusky brown, were thick and long, leaving exaggerated shadows over her high cheekbones. Her skin looked and felt incredibly soft, and her mouth.... Zane groaned softly and bent to kiss her.
She opened her mouth right away, but Zane kept the kiss simple, light. He’d promised Thanos—and besides, he’d meant what he said. There was no point in making this more difficult on either of them.
Against her lips, he said, “Tell me about this imagined intruder.”
Her small hands clung to his shoulders. “Not imagined.”
He let that pass. “Tell me, Tamara.”
She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. “I can think of a dozen things I’d rather talk about.”
“Such as?” Zane coasted a hand up and down her slender back. She was so sweet, so delicate. Her curves were subtle, but there, and very enticing.
With his fingers spread, Zane’s large hand spanned her back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. That fact was oddly exciting, exemplifying his harsh maleness to her elegant femininity. He imagined his rough hands on her breasts, her smooth belly, her silky inner thighs.
Damn! Zane stroked her, his fingers barely touching her rounded hip—and he forced himself to stop. He drew a deep breath. “Tell me what you’d rather talk about.”
Tamara kissed his collarbone. “I’d like to talk about all the things I want to do to you.” Her fingers felt cool on his heated skin, slipping over the nape of his neck, the top of his shoulder. “I’ve been lying awake at night, thinking about how I’d like to—”
To save himself, Zane pressed a finger to her lips. His forehead touched hers. “Shh. Baby, if you talk like that, I’m not going to be able to keep my promise to Thanos.”
Tamara clutched at him, urging him on without even realizing it. “He shouldn’t have asked for such a horrible promise.”
Zane laughed. “A horrible promise, huh?” He stroked her lips, then sighed. “Unfortunately, he’s right, and you know it. Your downstairs is no place for an orgy when the upstairs is overloaded with relatives.”
A delicate little shudder went through her, and Tamara breathed, “Orgy?”
Zane couldn’t resist one more small kiss. He had a feeling he’d be dreaming about kissing her, and more, all night long. “An orgy of pleasure,” he explained. “Any thoughts you’ve got, any sexual curiosities you want to appease, I’m all for it. Remember that.”
He deliberately stepped away from her and temptation. “But for now, I’ll help you pick up this mess while you tell me why you’re so set on believing an intruder is responsible. And don’t leave anything out.”
Five
Zane glanced at Tamara as he began gathering books. Her quick mood swings were almost amusing. Contrary to what he’d told her, he liked her honest reactions far more than the mysterious silence of her Gypsy self.
Right now, she looked disgruntled and rebellious, but he knew in the end he’d win. He always did. His feelings for Tamara were too extreme for him to do less than maintain absolute authority. Considering the nature of their involvement, it’d be best for both of them that way.
He had a stack of books back in the box before Tamara reluctantly began helping. “I don’t have any positive proof of an intruder,” she admitted, “or else my aunts wouldn’t be convinced that it’s Uncle Hubert come to haunt us.”
“Why would your uncle want to haunt you?” Zane gathered up one old relic that had more torn pages than not. He tried to get them back inside the cover in order, then gave up and just held them in his hand.
“Uncle Hubert strongly believed our family has psychic power.” She made a face. “Like the rest of the family, he was really into that sort of thing. We don’t, of course, but he thought we did. My aunts are assuming he’s haunting us because he thinks we could have predicted his death—so that he could avoid dying—but we didn’t.”
Zane sat down and propped his back against the shelf where the box of books had been stacked. The shelf shifted slightly, obviously not sitting level. The old floor had sloped with age, and large cracks ran along the outside wall. “How did he die, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Tamara sat, too, crossing her legs tailor-style. “Hubert was a ladies’ man, sort of a guru with a following. He got stuck in the sixties and never quite came out.”
“Ah. A flower child?”
“Sort of. He was into tie-dye and tattoos and piercings and sex and ... whatever felt good.” She shrugged, but her disapproval was plain on her face. For a Gypsy, she was a prim little thing. “I told him time and again that he’d come to a bad end if he didn’t clean up his act. My aunts think I cursed him somehow by saying it.”
Zane held himself very still. “But you can’t curse anyone?”
“Nope.” She held up both hands. “You can stop fretting,” she said with a frown. “I already told you, I’m incapable of any real powers.”
Looking at her, Zane wasn’t at all sure he believed her. Whether she admitted it or not, she’d done something to him. Figuring out what was going to take some time.
Tamara barely managed to control her annoyance. He silently applauded her restraint.
“Still,” she said, “they think Hubert believes he was cursed, because he was at a rock concert by his favorite group when a freak storm blew in.”
“He died in the storm?”
“Actually, he died in a portable toilet, one of those little plastic houses they use on construction sites. The wind was fierce and knocked it over. He was inside and well ... when they righted the Porta-Potti the next day, they found Hubert.”
Zane tapped the crumbling book on his knee. It wasn’t really funny, yet he had the nearly uncontrollable urge to smile. Part of his mood was due to Tamara’s expression. She looked so disapproving of her uncle. “Not exactly an auspicious way to go, huh?”
“No.” She glanced down at the book literally falling apart in his hands and reached for it. “I guess this one didn’t hold up through the fall.”
An illustrated page fell out, and she stared. Zane released the smile he’d been holding, and grabbed the page before Tamara could. He lifted it for a closer look. “Ah. Exactly what have you been buying, Miss Tremayne?”
Though her cheeks were bright pink, Zane gave her credit for trying to brazen out the situation. “I buy at estate sales in bulk, so sometimes I get things I hadn’t planned on. Obviously what I got this time is erotica, as you can see.”
He turned the page, holding it eye level for her, and asked silkily, “Is this something you’re interested in trying?”
The illustration was an exaggerated depiction of a man and woman stretched out in the woods atop leaves and flowers, sharing oral pleasure. The ink sketch showed legs and arms in impossible positions, but there was no question about the enjoyment each derived; their eyes, the only facial features visible due to their carnal activity, were glazed with rapture.
Tamara looked like she couldn’t breathe, but then her gaze darkened and she peeked up at Zane. Before the words left her mouth, he knew what she would say. And still, hearing her say it, hearing the deepened timbre of her voice, shook him.
“Would you ... be interested in that?”
Hell, yes, he’d be interested. The thought of tasting Tamara, of her tasting him.... Thinking it had almost the same effect as doing it. He felt burned.
Zane stuck the picture inside the book and closed it. His heart thumped wildly in h
is chest, annoying him with the proof of his weakness where she was concerned. She left him breathless with just a few words. What the hell would it be like when he got inside her, when he could feel her squeezing him, hear her moaning, taste her excitement ?
“I already told you,” he rasped, hoping she wouldn’t detect the dark hunger in his tone, “anything you want to do is fine with me.”
Her gaze sharpened at his agreement, devouring him, easily sharing with him the images going through her mind.
Her sensual curiosity engulfed him. Everything with Tamara, every word, every conversation, somehow seemed more acute.
She picked up a few more books and packed them away. Idly, as if she wasn’t anxious to hear his answer, she asked, “Do you read a lot of erotica?”
He laughed, he couldn’t help it. “No. Not since I was a kid and stole Chase’s stash to share with Mack.” His grin lingered as memories crowded in. He and Mack had spent a week hiding out in the woods behind their home, engrossed in the books—the most reading either of them had ever done—before Cole busted them.
“Chase had some pretty ... risque stuff. I remember Mack and I had a hard time not snickering around him after that.”
Tamara smiled. “You were young, I gather.”
“Old enough to appreciate what I’d found.”
“Was Chase mad when he realized you’d gotten into his personal belongings?”
“Mad?” Zane could barely recall ever seeing Chase really angry. He was usually the quietest, but not when it came to Allison. Around his wife, he was an entirely different man. “No, I’d say he was more disgruntled, and determined to make Mack and me understand the differences between fantasies and reality.” Before she could ask, he said, “Fantasy is anything that gets you hot, no matter how raunchy or ribald it might be. But reality is only what your partner will accept, what will make her happy, too.”
Her green eyes glittered at him, filled with questions. “Do you ... have any fantasies that your partners haven’t accepted?”
“A few.” Zane shook a finger at her. “And no, I’m not listing them for you.”
Tamara bit her lip, then nodded. “Maybe later?”
“Maybe.” Damn, but she was killing him in small degrees. A change of topic proved vital. “Chase is pretty laid back most of the time, but Cole, well, he’s another matter entirely.”
Tamara settled herself comfortably and asked, “What did he do?”
“You have to understand, after our parents died, Cole took over raising us, and he was pretty serious about the whole thing. Whenever he thought we’d gotten into mischief, he lectured. Annoyed the hell out of us, and we’d do our best not to earn a lecture. But God, when Cole got to talking about sex and women, he could go on for hours. And it always came down to the same thing, so most of what he said wasn’t even necessary. He could have summed it up in a few sentences, but we always suspected that Cole liked to lecture.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Nothing you need to hear.”
She straightened. “That’s not fair! Why bring it up if you won’t tell me?”
Zane leaned forward. “I’ll tell if you’ll tell.”
“You did it on purpose!”
He shrugged. “You answer my questions and I’ll answer yours.”
Tamara huffed, “Well, since I have a feeling you’re going to badger me until I do, sure. Why not?”
“Don’t be mad, sweetheart.” She ignored him, gathering up more books. Zane didn’t like being ignored, not even a little. “Respect women,” he said abruptly, determined to regain her attention. “No matter what, no matter where you met her, or what she’s done in her past, or who she’s been with or why, you give any woman you’re with respect.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much. Cole made it clear sex was well and good—”
She smiled.
“—but that sex should be for a reason beyond the physical.” Zane laughed, remembering how Cole had always harped on that point. “If you can’t at least respect a woman, you have no business being around her. It makes a man look pathetic to go screwing around with a woman he doesn’t even like, just to get laid. Cole always said you might as well be paying a prostitute, which definitely smacks of desperation. Since Mack and I never wanted to look desperate, we listened.”
“Until now.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” Her lashes lowered, hiding her eyes. “I like your brothers.”
“Everyone does.” She’d said it matter-of-factly, as if she were well acquainted with them, which made Zane frown. “How do you know them?”
“I know of them. As I said, I’ve been to the bar. I’ve watched them.” Her brows lifted. “Your brothers would be pretty darned hard to miss.”
“They’re all married.” His frown became more severe.
“I know. Their wives always look very happy, even when they’re arguing with them.”
She seemed pleased by that, not at all covetous. Zane nodded. “Yeah, happy about covers it.”
“I have another book,” Tamara suddenly blurted, “one I took upstairs already.”
Zane paused. Her quick switch momentarily threw him. “Erotica?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he could handle another conversation on positions. He was already struggling with the last tenuous hold on his discipline.
She glanced at him, then away. “Not exactly.”
Aha. The book she’d mentioned earlier. Zane gentled his tone, anxious to hear this tale. “The book that told you to be bold? The one that stated men were slaves to their basic natures, or some such rot?”
“Yes.” Tamara picked up the last of the spilled books and shoved them awkwardly into the box. “Only it’s not rot. It’s a journal of sorts. Written by this amazing woman.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Well, I seriously doubt it! She was an elderly woman, and the journal was something she kept hidden from everyone. Not even her family knew about it. She says in the very beginning that what she’s writing will be of use to women with aggressive sexualities, women who want to be free, but that not everyone would understand. Certainly not anyone in her peer group. Though her name is nowhere in the book, I gather from what she said that she was from the social elite, and didn’t want her affairs to become public knowledge. She explained that her family had already disowned her and that in her social group such things, if they were ever discovered, would be broadcast in the scandal rags.”
Zane leaned forward. Much of what she’d just told him was intriguing, but one comment in particular drew his interest. “You fit in the category of ‘aggressive sexuality,’ do you?”
She floundered. “I ... well, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” What the hell did that mean? Zane wanted to come right out and ask her how many men she’d been with, but at the same time, he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to know. He’d always made it a rule not to get overly involved in women’s personal lives. Keep it light and friendly—that was his motto.
Her chin lifted. “I feel aggressive about wanting you. And since you were resisting me, I figured I could use some help.”
Zane snorted at that, seeing it as a deliberate avoidance of his question. “So you’re reading about the private, and evidently racy, sex life of some deceased old lady?”
“It’s not like that!” Obviously affronted, Tamara said, “It’s sort of a guide, explaining things that she found instrumental in building a wonderful sexual and emotional connection. The journal is divided into sections that detail ways to accomplish different relationships.
“She wanted to share what she’d learned with others, but she didn’t dare write a book that would be published, for fear of how society would react.” She stood and propped her hands on her slim hips, her expression challenging. “According to this woman, making an emotional connection helps amplify the sexual connection.”
“I’ll buy that.”
“You will?”
“Sure.” Zane smiled up at her, and admitted, “I never have sex with strangers. It’d be cold. And I have to at least like a woman to want to be with her, not just find her attractive.”
“But....” Tamara hesitated, then went on boldly, “You agreed to have sex with me, and you don’t like me. And for the most part, I’m still a stranger to you.”
Zane considered that for a long moment. “You figure all Cole’s preaching went in one of my ears and out the other?”
She shrugged. “At least where I’m concerned.”
“Well you’re wrong. I like you just fine.” He realized it was true, frowned. “You know, you don’t feel like a stranger to me. On some level it seems like I’ve known you ever since I opened my store. I know we never talked much—”
“You avoided me.”
“I didn’t exactly avoid you,” he said, annoyed at her insistence. Avoidance sounded like the act of a wary man. And he sure as hell wasn’t wary of her. He wasn’t wary of any woman.
“Yes, you did. Because you didn’t like me.”
Zane locked his jaw. Through his teeth, he said, “I didn’t know you well enough to like or dislike you. It’s just that you....” Affected my brain and made me antsy and hot and excited. “I was just busy getting my business started.”
“You found time to date a lot of other women. I saw them with you.”
“At the bar?”
“And at your store. You meet a lot of your women there.”
His annoyance peaked. “They’re not my women. We just date. You make it sound like I maintain a harem or something.”
She shrugged, unconcerned at insulting his finer sensibilities. “I thought you were proud of your way with women. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. I haven’t seen any of the women complaining.”
Zane pulled himself together once again. It seemed he did that a lot around Tamara. “How’d we get onto my dating habits? We were talking about you and that ridiculous journal.”
