Eleven
Tamara heard the shop door chime the next morning. She looked up and saw Zane sauntering in, wearing dark slacks and a gray button-down shirt. He looked tired. She wondered if he’d gotten enough sleep, then immediately berated herself for the concern she felt. She would not start fussing over him. “Good morning.”
He kept coming, his long legs carrying him quickly past the reception area to the counter. Flattening both palms on the polished mahogany, he leaned forward and took her mouth in a warm, delicious kiss. Against her lips, he murmured, “Morning.”
“Mmmm.” Her head swam with the heady taste of him. Lazily lifting her eyelids, she said, “I like greeting the day this way.”
“Me, too.” Zane straightened, touched her cheek, and smiled. “Do you have the phone on you?”
Shaking her head at his persistence, Tamara patted her pocket. “Right here.”
He glanced at her hip, where the phone rested in her deep skirt pocket, and satisfaction mingled with a much warmer emotion. She saw the brief flare of desire in his eyes, before he masked it.
When he looked at her, it was with concern. “How are you feeling today?”
It irritated her that he thought her so weak and insubstantial that a small scratch might cause lingering effects. She pulled up the loose sleeve of her lavender and silver peasant blouse, baring her arm. “It’s fine, see? Hardly noticeable anymore.”
Zane held her arm, gently stroking with his thumb, then bent to brush it with a kiss. “Looks painful as hell to me, but I’m glad it’s not bothering you.” He smiled. “I was actually talking about your upset over being chased yesterday.”
“Oh.” Once it had been over, Tamara wasn’t sure what she’d felt. And she was no longer so certain she was chased. Yes, she’d seen a man, but once she’d started running, her fear had obliterated any other sensation. If the man had chased her, she hadn’t seen him. It was just as likely he’d run the opposite direction.
Not knowing made her uneasy. She’d thought she was fine. But off and on throughout the night, she’d jerked awake, startled and tense, as if she were being chased again. She felt unsettled, edgy. The whole thing was disconcerting.
Especially since she wasn’t positive she had been chased. The man in the ski mask might just have been another poor soul caught in the downpour. He’d looked at her, and there had been something unexpected in his gaze—not really sinister, but threatening in a subtle way.
But had he actually come after her? She couldn’t stop thinking about it, running the different scenarios through her mind. She didn’t explain any of her worries to Zane because it had felt like she’d been chased, and that would be impossible to put into words.
Zane’s eyes, dark with concern, met hers. “Did you sleep okay?”
She hadn’t—but it wasn’t entirely because of the man in the ski mask. It was partly Zane’s fault.
She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him and wishing his brothers hadn’t interrupted them. Though she had planned to go strictly by the book, upping the odds of her first time with Zane being all she had envisioned, she now thought making love against the wall of his storage room would have been wonderful, too. And that definitely wasn’t in the book. She knew. She’d read through it again last night, trying to put herself to sleep after he’d called.
It hadn’t worked. She’d lain awake for hours, burning up with the remembrance of his touch.
“Of course,” she lied. “I slept just fine.”
“You’d have slept better,” he promised, “if I could have stayed with you.”
Oh, the way he said that. She leaned closer, staring at his mouth. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His large hand slid around her neck, under the fall of the wig. “I’d have exhausted you.”
Tamara almost melted on the spot. She wondered if he intended to exhaust her tonight. It sounded like a fine plan to her.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, and Tamara hoped the subject of his thoughts was sex. She’d know today if the offer on the building was too good to pass up. If it was, their time together would soon be over. She needed to make every available minute count.
His fingers stroked through the long strands of the wig. “I know your family encourages you to dress this way.”
Tamara blinked at the change of subject. Of all the things he could have said, that was the least expected. “Yes, so?”
“I think they’re wrong. I’ve seen you both ways now, and honey, you’re fetching no matter what. But without all the props, the real you shines through. I think it’d be great for business if you showed yourself as you really are.”
Tamara drew back. “Aunt Olga and Aunt Eva would have a fit.”
“So? You’re a grown woman and you can do as you please.” He brushed her cheek. “Right?”
She wondered if he knew he was issuing a direct challenge. It was probable. Eyes narrowed, she nodded. “True. And it’s always pleased me to please them.”
Zane tilted up her chin and nibbled on her bottom lip. Her stomach tightened with a sweet ache. “What about pleasing me?”
Her thoughts got muddled whenever he touched her. “Yes.”
“Then just give it a try. See what the customers think.”
She supposed it couldn’t hurt anything. And she did hate the wig. The clothes and the jewelry ... well, she didn’t mind them so much. But the rest of it was uncomfortable and a bother.
Tamara nodded. “I don’t have time to change today, but ... we’ll see what happens tomorrow.”
Before he grinned at her, she could have sworn she detected a brief flash of relief in his eyes.
“I wonder,” he teased, “if your transformation will throw everyone else as hard as it did me.”
She remembered his reaction very well, and teased right back. “I doubt anyone else will kiss me over it.”
A different voice intruded, sultry and thick. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
Zane’s head lifted, his expression alert. Tamara watched him as Luna sauntered through the curtain separating the rooms. He was aware of her, but unlike most men, he didn’t seem dumbstruck by her appearance—which today was more eye-catching than usual. Her mink brown hair hung straight and sleek from a center part, and her golden brown eyes were highlighted by loads of lush mascara.
Barely contained within a long-sleeve tube dress of pale gold, Luna’s very full breasts looked ready to spill free at any moment. Black, high-heeled boots were laced all the way up to her knees, and a chunky black leather belt hung loosely on her rounded hips. She looked chic, sexy, and full-blown, like a movie star pinup.
“Zane, my assistant, Luna Clark. Luna, Zane Winston.”
Zane’s gaze never wavered from Luna’s face; Tamara knew that because she was jealously watching. He nodded. “Luna.”
Luna smiled, but didn’t come any closer. She fiddled with a thin gold necklace around her throat and said, “If you talk her out of wearing the costume, you might be surprised by the reactions she gets.”
Zane’s brows lifted. “Meaning?”
“Meaning half the men who come here are already infatuated with her, and it wouldn’t take much to make them fall in love.”
Zane shifted, turning the slightest bit. He looked to be readying himself for battle, but he gave no verbal reply.
“With the costume,” Luna continued, ignoring Tamara’s frantic gestures to halt her, “she comes across as part of the props, a little loony, a little whimsical. I bet that’s why you overlooked her for so long.”
“Who says I overlooked her?”
Luna laughed at that. “This is the first time I’ve seen you playing kissy-face with her over the counter.”
His shoulders tensed. Tamara had no idea what Luna was up to, but she wished she’d knock it off.
“Your point?”
“Most of her innate generosity of spirit is mistaken for part of a con, a way to reel in customers and give them what they’re paying for. Without the costume, the whole world will see her for what she really is.”
Tamara wanted to slink off in embarrassment. Or else grab some packing tape and use it to seal Luna’s mouth.
Quickly, she rounded the counter to stand between Luna and Zane. She tried to laugh, but wasn’t pleased with the sickly sound. “Luna is a big kidder.”
Proving the point, Luna held her hands together and said in a theatrical voice, “Luna is all-knowing, all-seeing.” Then she winked at Zane. “And Luna tells it like it is.”
“Luna is becoming a pain in the butt!” Tamara glared at her.
Luna laughed and slipped around the counter to the appointment book. “I wonder, Zane, if you want her to lose the costume because it embarrasses you.” Her gaze shifted to Tamara. “Did you happen to meet any of his family lately? Maybe in your Gypsy getup?”
Tamara frowned, but before she could say anything, Zane straightened. His eyes were narrow slits, his dark brows drawn down. “Embarrass me? I don’t think so. It was her Gypsy outfit that first drew me in.”
Tamara leaped onto that explanation. “True! The first time he came knocking at my door”—she didn’t explain that she’d offered herself to him—“he hadn’t seen me without the Gypsy costume.”
“Is that right? Then I wonder what his motives really are.”
Tamara wondered that, too, but she wasn’t about to ask Zane now. “Leave it alone, Luna.”
Luna grinned. “Don’t worry, honey. I won’t scare him off. I have the feeling Zane Winston is made of stem stuff. He’s not a man to turn tail and run.”
Zane, Tamara thought, looked like a man ready to ignite. Tamara took his arm and dragged him out of Luna’s hearing. They stopped beside her round table with the hand-crocheted lace tablecloth and the ornamental crystal ball set on a lighted stand. People were often disappointed when they realized she used the crystal ball only for decoration, not to summon spirits.
“She’s a little ... eccentric,” Tamara explained.
And though she’d spoken barely above a whisper, Luna said, “That’s the pot calling the kettle black, honey.”
Tamara growled at her, but Luna didn’t look up from where she was checking over names in the appointment book. She did, however, have a small smile on her mouth. Tamara sighed.
“At least you’re not working alone today,” Zane said, bringing her attention back to him. “I’m glad.”
That reminded her of why she’d asked Luna to come in. “I got a call from my Realtor.”
As if he, too, realized the ramifications of that, Zane paused. “An offer?”
“Yes.”
He surprised her by cursing. “Are you going to accept?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m going to his office this afternoon to find out the details. If....” She swallowed, hating to say the words. She loved the old building, and she loved the area. She’d so hoped her unsettled days were over. “If it’s a good offer, I have to take it.”
Zane paced away from her. He walked over to the door and stared out the window. Evidently not caring that Luna was listening, he said, “Will you do me a favor and wait before making any decisions?”
She wanted to say yes. She wanted to wait forever, or not sell at all. But she was a realist. “It won’t make any difference. I need to sell.”
At this point, Tamara figured it didn’t matter if Zane knew everything. She wanted him to understand that she wouldn’t leave him without good reason. “Every day my situation gets a little tighter. A good offer right now would be a blessing.”
Still without facing her, Zane said, “I could make you a loan.”
A heartbeat of silence went by before Tamara caught her breath. She shook her head, incredulous that he’d said such a thing. “No.”
“You have options, damn it.”
Her temples pounded, her heart ached. “Taking money from you,” she said, forcing the words past her tight throat, “isn’t one of them.”
He put his hands on his hips and dropped his head forward, as if contemplating things. When he looked at her, determination was plain in his eyes. “If the offer is good, it won’t go away just because you take a few days to consider it.”
“I suppose not.”
“Then promise me you’ll talk to me before you sign anything.”
Luna started laughing, and when they both glared at her, she held out her hands. “Sorry!”
Tamara fretted. She didn’t like giving him so much control, because that made him partially responsible. But at the same time, she wanted every second with him that she could get. “I’ll tell you what the Realtor has to say.”
“You won’t agree to anything today?”
“No.”
His shoulders relaxed, and he smiled at her. “Tonight, what time will you close?”
With the appointment book open in front of her, Luna said helpfully, “Four o’clock.”
“I’ll be here at four-fifteen.”
Tamara felt breathless again, now for an entirely different reason. “Okay.”
Zane walked up to her and kissed her. She was aware of Luna watching, and also aware that Zane didn’t care. He touched her chin. “Tonight.”
“Yes.”
Zane nodded at Luna, who winked, and turned to leave. He’d taken two steps toward the door when it opened and a man stepped inside.
Arkin Devane was early. And even more surprising, another man walked in, right on Arkin’s heels.
Zane turned to look at Tamara with lifted brows, curious over this early morning rush.
Arkin smiled his wide, sincere smile and said, “Tamara! I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t wait a minute more.”
Zane’s curiosity turned to a frown. Tamara could feel Luna grinning behind her.
The second man, tall with inky black hair, bulky with muscle, and dressed expensively, looked around the shop with interest. “I gather I’m in the right place.”
Arkin moved straight to Tamara and clasped her hands. Tamara struggled not to look at Zane; she didn’t want to see his reaction, not when she could already feel the heat of his watchfulness. He was alert, but for what, she didn’t know.
“Arkin, you can wait in the first room. I’ll be right with you.”
Luna, being a proper assistant, stepped forward and introduced herself to the second man. “Did you want an appointment this morning?” she asked him.
The man looked her over, and before Tamara could reach Zane to send him on his way, he said, “Yes, but not with you.”
He turned to Tamara. She automatically took a step back, unable to stop herself. The man was just so ... intense. And the way he looked at her—with barely veiled surprise, now tinged with hunger. Did he have preconceived notions about her, based on her occupation?
She forgot her speculations when he gave a slow, very male smile and said, “I want you.”
Zane had never had a sixth sense, except where women were concerned. And then it was razor-sharp. He’d watched Tamara retreat from the man, and everything male inside him went on red-hot alert. He took an aggressive step forward.
Luna touched the man’s arm. “I’m sorry, but Ms. Tremayne is booked for the day. You’ll need to make an appointment.”
Without looking away from Tamara, the man intoned, “I’m Boris Sandor,” as if that held some significance.
Tamara glanced at Luna, then at Zane, before turning her attention back to Boris. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Sandor. My assistant, Luna Clark, can help you set an appointment if you’d like.”
He shrugged off Luna’s hand. “How much do you charge?”
Annoyed, Luna propped her hands on her hips and lost her ethereal tone. She named a price, which, going by Tamara’s expression, was a bit high.
Boris said, “I’ll pay twice that.”
Arkin stuck his head around the curtain. “Tamara?”
“I’ll be right there.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Look, Mr. Sandor, it doesn’t matter what you pay, I’m booked, and I can’t leave scheduled clients waiting. If you’d like to see Luna, she’s free. Otherwise, you need an appointment like everyone else.”
Zane wanted to explode. Damn, it was starting already! He didn’t have to see Luna’s expression to know she was smirking at his discomfort. He’d had no idea Tamara was so popular, and he sure as hell hadn’t envisioned her clientele as male. He’d assumed she dealt mostly with young, fanciful women wanting to know about their boy-friends, or older women hoping to receive a message from a deceased husband or great-great-aunt.
He realized that he really had no idea what Tamara did. She’d told him again and again that she wasn’t psychic, though he still had his doubts about that, as well as doubting her ability to cast spells. She’d certainly done something to him.
Her front window advertised palm reading, futures told. Run-of-the-mill carnival acts, as far as he knew.
Yet two men, both of them appearing to be reasonable, intelligent sorts, were here first thing in the morning, demanding her attention.
He considered throwing the bulky Sandor out. After all, the man obviously made her uncomfortable with his constant leering, and he was verbally rude to boot. Only the knowledge that she would resent his interference kept him standing there quietly.
When he leaned against the wall beside the door, settling in for the duration of this little confrontation, Tamara sent him an apologetic, dismissive shrug. He ignored it.
He might have enough wit left to let her handle her business herself, but no way in hell was he walking out when he could feel her uneasiness.
She glared at him for not budging, then turned all her annoyance on Sandor. “Luna will give you a card. Feel free to set an appointment for another time.”
“Your aunt sent me.” He made that announcement as if the queen herself had told him to come calling.
“I’m sure my aunt told you to set an appointment.” “Of course not. She wanted us to get... acquainted. As friends, not in a professional manner.”
The way he said “professional manner” was very insulting. Zane watched Tamara’s mouth thin. “Why?”
“We’re from the same homeland.”
Zane snorted. “And that would be?”
Sandor turned to him with a show of displeasure. “Excuse me, but the lady and I are having a private conversation.”
“In the middle of the shop?” Luna asked, and this time Zane wanted to kiss her for her well-placed zinger. “Besides,” she added, waving toward Zane, “he’s her man. So of course he’s going to listen in.”
I’m her man. Zane liked the sound of that, as outdated as it might be.
Boris said, “But your aunt assured me you were unattached!”
“Her aunt was wrong,” Zane replied lazily, and he noticed that Tamara wasn’t looking at him now, her gaze intently focused on Boris. He didn’t like that.
Arkin Devane stuck his head around the curtain again. This time he sounded uncertain when he said, “Tamara?”
Her concentration scattered. “Yes, I’m sorry, Arkin.” She started toward the dark curtain. “Excuse me, Mr. Sandor, but as you can see, I’m rather busy. If you’d like to come back another time—”
“Tonight?”
She paused, glanced at Zane, and her face colored. “Ah, no. I already have plans for the evening.”
“Then how about lunch?”
Appearing harassed, Tamara said, “I’m sorry, but that won’t work either. Luna, will you see if you can fit him in for Monday?”
Zane wanted to laugh at the look on the pompous ass’s face. He definitely did not like being dismissed, or put off for so long.
Tamara didn’t wait around to see if he accepted or not. She ducked behind the curtain, and Zane heard a door close. At least the fellow she was with now seemed unassuming.
He caught Luna’s eye, and she winked at him. “Arkin has an especially long appointment today. Hmmm. Wonder why?”
Her suggestive tone raked along his nerves, and he knew damn good and well she did it on purpose.
“Well, Mr. Sandor? Shall I fit you in on Monday?”
Face red, Boris nodded. “Around noon.”
“Sorry.” Luna propped both elbows on the counter, leaning forward with the appointment book in front of her. “That’s her lunch break.” Her breasts fell softly forward, displaying quite a bit of cleavage. Boris gave them an appropriately appreciative look.
Zane struggled with a grin. At first, he hadn’t liked Luna much, but now she felt like an ally—when her barbs weren’t aimed at him.
“Fine,” Boris snapped, recalling himself. “When does she have available?”
“Let’s see.” Luna took her time looking at the book. Boris took his time ogling Luna’s breasts. Pencil in hand, she glanced up finally and asked, “How about two?”
“I’ll be here.” Without another word, Boris stormed out.
“Oh my, oh my,” Luna said. “Someone has a burr under his bottom.”
Zane laughed. “You handled him well.”
Shrugging, she stuck the pencil behind her ear and grinned. “Part of the job description—handle the crazies.”
“Are there many of them?”
“Not usually.”
“He said her aunt sent him.” “Her family does that a lot. They’re always trying to fix her up.” Luna sauntered around from behind the counter. “And just think, thanks to you, the next time Boris sees her, she’ll look like herself. Makes you wonder how he’ll react to that, huh?”
Zane almost swallowed his tongue. Damn it, she was right! He briefly considered discouraging her from the change, then shook his head. “No,” he said aloud. “She’s not happy wearing all that camouflage. She only does it because her family makes her feel like she needs it.”
Luna’s mouth fell open, then she pressed a hand to her heart. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Why?” Zane asked, put out by her exaggerated pose. “What’d you do now?”
“You’re authentic, aren’t you? You really do have her best interests at heart.”
“You believed your own nonsense about her embarrassing me?”
“Yep.”
He laughed at her honesty. “For about half a minute, you would have been right. Of course, when my brothers met her, she wasn’t just a Gypsy but a soaking wet Gypsy with ruined makeup and a crooked wig.”
“And they couldn’t understand what the mighty Zane Winston was doing with her?”
Luna was the type of woman you wanted to hug one minute, and turn over your knee the next. With any luck, some guy would do the honors real soon.
“You underestimate my brothers,” Zane told her, refusing to react to her sarcasm. “They would never be that rude to a woman, or that crass.” And they had known exactly what he was doing, they just hadn’t been certain why.
She still looked a little shell-shocked. “You know, Zane Winston, you may be exactly what Tamara needs right now. At least until she sells.”
“If she sells,” Zane insisted, because he was still determined to find a way to fix things for her. And thinking of that, he glanced at his watch and knew Joe would be waiting. “I have to run. Will you be here with her all day?”
“Yes, but Monday she’s working alone again, and I have to tell you, you’re not the only one worried.”
“So we’ll both try to keep an eye on her, and in the meantime, I’m working on figuring it out.”
“I wish you luck.” She sent him a level look and whispered, “As long as you don’t hurt her. Because if you hurt her, you’ll be the one who ends up sorry.”
He realized Luna cared about Tamara, so he didn’t take offense at the warning. Instead, he returned Luna’s earlier wink and headed for the door. Hurt Tamara? Hell, all he wanted to do was keep her safe.
And make love to her for at least a year.