Wild

by Foster, Lori

  Tamara had read the whole article—which wasn’t the first one on the Winstons. She’d saved them all in an album. “Yep, and Zane refused, saying the bride would never go through with the wedding if she viewed him in the buff.”

  Both women laughed out loud. Luna pushed away from the counter. “You be careful with him tonight, okay? Guys like that are walking, talking heartbreakers.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Yeah, right.” Luna sent her a knowing look. “Honey, I know what I’m doing. You’re still trying to figure out what it is you want to do.”

  “I want to do Zane Winston.”

  Luna did a double take at that bold statement, then chuckled. “I’d wish you luck, but I doubt you’ll need any. That one would jump any female who held still long enough.”

  Tamara didn’t bother to explain that at first Zane had unequivocally turned her down. It was too mortifying. She tucked the money bag into the pocket of her long skirt and patted it. “Well, I better get going. I have to get back in time to do a makeover before I go over there.”

  “He’s open late tonight?”

  “Nearly every night. He’s a workaholic, if you ask me.”

  “Oh, speaking of work.” Luna plucked the appointment book from the counter. “Arkin Devane called and wants to come in again tomorrow. I think the guy is hooked—on you.”

  Tamara halted on her way to the door. “Me?”

  “He insisted on having an hour and a half of your time.”

  “But ... that’s triple the time I usually spend with a customer.”

  “According to him, there’s a lot he wants to talk about.” Luna bobbed her eyebrows suggestively. “And he’s willing to pay for it.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Hmmm nothing. Looks like Zane might have some competition.”

  That comment didn’t deserve a response. No one could compete with Zane. Not that Arkin was a bad-looking man, just not in the same league with Zane.

  Tamara pictured Arkin: mid-thirties, rangy muscles, light brown hair and light blue eyes. He was somewhat bookish and overly intense. But she’d liked him on sight and felt a strange affinity with him. He hadn’t said as much, but she knew he was in love and was desperately hoping to find a way to win his lady.

  She also knew she wasn’t that lady.

  “I feel a little guilty,” Tamara said, “taking money from the sincere ones, you know?”

  Luna slipped on her jacket, then gave Tamara a hug. “Deny it all you like, sweetie, but you’re a sincere one, too, so I know he’s in good hands.”

  Luna had the annoying habit of seeing through everyone. She insisted endlessly that Tamara had real intuitive abilities. It bugged Tamara that she was partially right, even though she’d never admit it.

  Luna grinned her I know all, I see all grin, the one the customers ate up. “Don’t forget your umbrella. It looks like rain.”

  Luna went out, leaving Tamara alone with her thoughts. Seconds later, a crack of thunder intruded, proving Luna did at least know her weather. Shaking herself out of her reverie, Tamara slipped on her slicker and grabbed her bright green umbrella. After one last look around the shop, she stepped outside and secured all the locks.

  Bloated purple clouds rolled across the sky and the streetlights flickered on. The sharp nip of cold damp air that almost always accompanied a storm made Tamara’s slicker insufficient. The first drops of rain began to fall—and Tamara felt an unwelcome gaze watching her. Chills tingled up her arms, her spine.

  The bank was only a short walk away, so she never drove there, but today she wished she’d gotten the car from Uncle Thanos.

  With the rain coming a little harder now, the sidewalks were slick and all but deserted. Tamara kept a tight grip on the umbrella as wind tried to tear it from her hands. The bottom of her long skirt was quickly soaked, as were her sandals. She cursed the weatherman who had predicted no more than the possibility of a sprinkle.

  The bank was in sight when she thought she heard footsteps behind her. Just as when she’d sensed trouble in her shop, an eerie foreboding raced over her nerve endings. She jerked around.

  There was no one there, but the feeling didn’t abate. Tamara searched the darkened street, trying to see behind parked cars and into the shadows of alleys between tall buildings. Heart racing, lungs compressed with nervousness, she finally turned and jogged the rest of the way to the bank. She was panting by the time she came through the doors.

  She did her business quickly, constantly peeking out the wide front window, but she perceived nothing more alarming than hot bright lightning licking across the dark violet sky. Briefly, she considered calling Thanos to come pick her up, but it was almost six and the bank would be closing in just a few minutes. By the time Thanos could arrive, she’d be left standing outside anyway.

  Thoughts of Zane whispered through her subconscious, but she shook them off. She would not start imposing on him. He was busy with his own work and he wouldn’t close his shop for at least another hour. Somehow she knew he’d come if she called him, but that would seem so cowardly on her part. And she didn’t want to start off with Zane seeing her as a coward.

  Holding the umbrella steady, she stepped outside. Other than a few people racing to their parked cars, there was no one around. The sidewalk was well lit by streetlamps and security lights at the various businesses; they reflected brightly off the wet pavement and windows. She was not psychic, Tamara insisted to herself, and her premonitions tonight were nothing more than female foolishness. There was no reason to be on edge, to continue standing in the downpour, getting more sodden by the second.

  She drew in a deep breath and started off. Despite the assurances she’d just given herself, she couldn’t stop her gaze from darting left and right as she walked. Lucky thing, too, because she was only a few yards from her shop door when she saw the man move out of the shadows at the side of the building. He wore a dark ski mask over his face. Despite the gloom of early evening, his eyes shone bright—and he was looking right at her with an arrested expression.

  Panic slammed through her.

  Tamara didn’t think twice; instincts insisted that she run, so she did just that. The opposite side of the street seemed her best bet, so she managed to zigzag across the wet road, then angled back, giving the man in the mask a wide berth. A slick spot on the sidewalk made her stumble, and she dropped the umbrella as she fetched up against a parked van. Pain shot through her upper arm, but it didn’t slow her down. She quickly righted herself, darted a look over her shoulder, and took off again. She hadn’t seen anyone in that brief glimpse, but the sense of being followed, watched, was still a pounding beat in her heart. Had he followed her? Was he still after her?

  She was so anxious, she knew she couldn’t begin fumbling with the locked door of her shop; her hands, her entire body, shook uncontrollably. Besides, that would bring her entirely too close to where she’d seen him. She sprinted right past her shop to Zane’s. Because of the rain, his door was closed, and she jerked at it, too afraid to look back, for what felt like a lifetime before it opened and she threw herself inside.

  Breathing hard, her heart galloping wildly, she collapsed back against the door. Her gaze sought Zane, and then locked on him in stunned disbelief.

  He stood by his counter with a beautiful blonde woman in his arms. They both stared at Tamara, shock replacing whatever expressions they had worn before her entrance.

  The furious drumming of her heartbeat slowed and then almost ceased entirely as she took in the incriminating sight before her.

  Zane’s hands were on the woman’s shoulders, her arms were around his neck, her fingers laced in his dark, silky hair. They stood very close together, upper bodies touching. Intimate. All but embracing.

  Shoving hanks of the wet wig out of her face, Tamara searched Zane’s eyes. She felt his confusion first, then his annoyance, and finally his unease.

  “Tamara....” He moved the blonde aside and started forward.<
br />
  He hadn’t been a willing participant in the embrace.

  Tamara suddenly knew that with a clarity that defied description. Never had an emotion from someone else hit her so strongly. She heaved a relieved sigh, and turned to look out at the darkened parking lot. Rain drubbing against the glass door made visibility difficult. She couldn’t see anybody, yet she knew he was still there, knew he was still watching. She felt his panic mixing with her own, confusing her, making her thoughts jumble. Oh God. What did he want?

  “Tamara,” Zane said again. He caught her shoulders, trying to turn her. “You’re early.”

  Tamara barely paid him any mind. She scanned the surrounding area—was that a shadow there? No ... well, maybe.

  “It’s not the way it looked,” Zane insisted, his hands tightening just the tiniest bit, caressing. Warmth radiated from him into her chilled bones. Having him close comforted her, and that was almost as scary as being pursued. She could not begin relying on Zane. He wasn’t the reliable sort. Oh, he was a good man, she had no doubts about that. But he wasn’t a man who would appreciate having a woman cling to him. She had to remember that.

  The blonde cleared her throat—loudly. Zane and Tamara ignored her.

  “Tamara, listen to me.”

  She allowed herself to be bodily shifted away from the door. Her breath was still coming in pants, from both nervousness and exertion. She could barely get her fractured attention to focus on what Zane said. She stared at him, wishing she knew who had been following her and why.

  She shivered.

  Zane made a disgusted sound. “Don’t look like that, damn it.” He lightly shook her. “I was just telling Claire that I was busy tonight. With you.”

  He sounded so ... concerned. Distracted, Tamara patted his chest while her thoughts spun off in different directions. Would the blasted police believe her this time? There was little enough she could tell them, really. She’d seen a man wearing a ski mask. So what? It was cool tonight, raining, miserable. Lots of people had probably bundled up.

  Doubt intruded, edging past her fear. Had he really followed her? Or was he just there, out on errands the same as she was? Tamara couldn’t be sure. She thought she’d heard his footsteps behind her, but mostly what had alarmed her was her feeling of being watched, of the man’s frustration—and no way would she try to convince the police that she’d been in danger based on a feeling. She could just imagine their reactions to that.

  For most of her life, she’d heard the jibes—Gypsies were charlatans, ripping off customers with no more than parlor tricks. And the jibes had been correct.

  No, she couldn’t tell the police. Something was wrong, she knew that for a fact. But if she went to the police now, they’d write her off as a nut. And then, if she needed their help later, they might think she was just crying wolf. Besides, what could they do now?

  Tamara rubbed her forehead, wondering how to proceed.

  Zane released her and stepped back. She heard him speaking to the other woman. “You should leave, Claire. Tamara and I have some talking to do.” He didn’t sound pleased.

  Claire said, “You can’t be serious. You’re turning me down for ... for this?”

  The insult was too blatant for her to miss, even in her distraught state. Eyes narrowed and mean, Tamara focused on the other woman. Oh, her relatives might tease her about being a white sheep, but she knew the power she had when she caught someone in her sights, when she locked her Gypsy eyes on them. The black contacts were great for effect, especially when they accompanied her present dark mood. And no matter what the color of her hair, she was still a Tremayne through and through.

  Claire took an alarmed step back.

  Though Tamara didn’t say a word, the woman quickly donned her raincoat and fled. Tamara briefly wondered if it was safe for Claire to be out there, what with some nefarious type person lurking around in the shadows wearing a ski mask, but the blonde made it safely to her car and drove away. Tamara watched her leave, just to be certain.

  Zane made a rough sound behind her. “Terrorizing the locals, Tamara?”

  She continued to study the parking lot. There weren’t too many places for a grown man to hide. If he was there, she’d have seen him by now. Had she imagined the whole thing? It sickened her to consider that possibility.

  “If you think I’m going to apologize, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  Zane’s tone drew her away from her concerns. She met his unwavering gaze as her nervousness began receding, replaced by awareness of him. “Okay.” Their relationship wasn’t the type that required explanations or apologies. She would force herself to remember that, no matter what.

  Then she realized that her slicker had blown open when she ran. She was soaked through and through and her makeup was badly botched. No wonder the blonde had been so disbelieving! “I don’t suppose you have a towel or anything handy?”

  Frowning at her, Zane retrieved a roll of paper towels from behind the counter. “Where the hell is your umbrella ?” he asked, as he watched her remove the slicker and drop it by the door.

  With the sleeve torn and the lining soaked, it would do nothing to protect her from the weather. She mopped at her dripping face and throat.

  “Don’t you have enough sense not to run around in the rain?”

  She understood him now. He was disgruntled with her and being foul-tempered because of it.

  “I dropped my umbrella.” Tamara gently wiped away most of the smudged makeup around her eyes and then got a new towel to blot her arms. “It’s pouring out there.”

  “What do you mean you dropped your umbrella?”

  Tamara glanced up and then away. Uh-oh. He looked suddenly ... angry. And suspiciously alert. The man had too many mood swings for her to keep up with.

  When she didn’t answer right away, Zane caught her arm and said, “What’s going on, Tamara?”

  “Going on?”

  His jaw tightened. “Don’t play games. Something is wrong. I can feel it.”

  Her brows lifted. Was it possible that he could read her as easily she read him? “No kidding?” It was not a reassuring thought. “Kinda like intuition or something?”

  Zane opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His frown turned fierce. “It’s clear you’re upset about something.”

  Tamara racked her brain and came up with the obvious reply. “You were here in a heated embrace with another woman. Of course I was upset.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Startled, Tamara opened her mouth to reply, but this time it was her turn to play mute.

  “Seeing me with Claire didn’t bother you a bit.” He hesitated as he searched her face, his expression alert. “Did it?”

  She didn’t understand him at all. His attitude was curious, bordering on hopeful.

  “Did you want it to?” Tamara tried to peek over her shoulder again, to look out the door toward the parking lot. It was nearly abandoned. There were no lurking shadows, and even more than that, she had no lingering feelings of danger. Whoever had been there was gone, or at least far enough away that she couldn’t sense him anymore.

  She couldn’t quite muster any relief. In her head she might reason that she’d imagined the danger, but in her heart she knew it existed.

  With one finger on her chin, Zane turned her face back to him. “Claire asked me out, I said no because I planned to see you, and she tried to push the issue. That’s all there was to it.”

  Now she felt relief, even though she’d already concluded as much. It was still nice to have him admit it so openly. “Okay.”

  Exasperation laced his tone. “Just like that?”

  Now that the threat was over, Tamara felt safe devoting her full attention to Zane. And it looked like he definitely needed her full attention. He was all but demanding she give it to him.

  In a soothing tone, she reassured him. “You said it was nothing and I believe you.”

  How could she not believe him? She’d felt his sincerity right off. It had
been like that from the first. She read Zane more easily than she read others. Throughout her life, there had been people she’d been able to pick up feelings from. She wasn’t a mind reader, so she never knew exact thoughts or expectations. But fear, elation, worry—she could sense those emotions in a few people.

  When her parents had died, she’d known Uncle Thanos’s grief, as well as Olga’s and Eva’s determination to make her feel welcome as a member of their family. She’d sometimes felt the curiosity of customers, the hopefulness. The scorn.

  But it was more than an inkling with Zane. What he felt, she felt as if it were her own. Right now she felt his anticipation, and that brought with it another thought. “Do you plan to see her when you’re not seeing me?”

  He started to answer and she whirled away, appalled that she’d ask such a thing. “No! Forget I asked that. Really, it’s none of my business.”

  “Tamara—”

  “I mean it, Zane. I have no intention of trying to tie you down.” The words were hard to get out, but she knew she had to say them. Tamara swallowed hard and added, “If you want to see other women, that’s up to you.”

  Carefully, as if he’d never said such a thing before, Zane muttered, “That’s not how it works, Tamara. For as long as we’re ... involved, it’ll be exclusive.”

  Surprised, she stared at him.

  He leveled a harsh look on her. “For both of us.”

  Since she had no other prospects, Tamara just shrugged. She certainly had no one else she wanted to see, and she perceived no downside to telling him so. “Fine.”

  He looked first relieved, then suspicious. “You trust me on this?”

  “No, of course not.” Zane wasn’t a man who could or should be trusted. He was a man to be savored, but only by a woman who kept her wits and didn’t expect too much. Like fidelity.

  “Damn it, Tamara!” He ran a hand through his hair and glared at her.

  “Zane,” she said reasonably, “you dance topless on the tables at the bar. You date a different woman every night. You draw customers to your shop with your gorgeous bod alone. Why should you change all that for me?”