Wild
Lori Foster

Excerpt

Twilight had set in by the time Zane locked up the store for the night. It had been a great sale, very successful, and he was pleased. So why did he still feel so on edge?

Little Gypsy.

The large, ancient building housing her shop on the ground floor sat across the alley from the newer, more modern strip mall. Zane turned and as usual, there was a light on in her upstairs window, the room he somehow knew to be her bedroom. His stomach tightened, his muscles loosened, his body warmed. They were extreme reactions that he couldn't control and he hated that. In part, he'd avoided her for that very reason. She got close and he felt it in his every nerve ending. He couldn't bear it; it smacked of a weakness he refused to accept.

Even as he told himself that he wouldn't allow her to get to him, he wondered what she'd look like stripped out of those ridiculous long skirts and colorful blouses. Her hair was so long, it could easily cover her body, hide her nudity. And that in itself seemed hotly erotic.

Except that he didn't like her hair.

Normally long hair was a turn-on for Zane, the ultimate in femininity. But on the gypsy, it seemed overdone, maybe too much along with everything else. Her hair was thick and straight and inky black and somehow didn't suit her at all.

Without meaning to, he walked toward the building, his hands on his hips, his head tilted to stare up at that lit window. He was diagonal with the front of the shop when he noticed the sign. Zane stared at the bold black words For Sale for a long minute, refusing to believe what his eyes told him. She was moving away? Leaving for good?

"Shit." He stood there feeling dazed and angry as the night breeze drifted over his heated skin, ruffling his hair, fogging his breath. He shook his head, a sharp, decisive movement. "No." His voice sounded ominous in the quiet of the night with all the shops closed down, the street mostly empty. It was an apt reflection of the turbulence smothering him. "Hell no."

With a hard stride, Zane started toward her stairs at the side of the house. He'd prove to himself and her that he was in control; no curse or spell - no small gypsy - could make him do things he didn't want to do, or feel things he didn't want to feel. He wouldn't allow it.

Determined, and even a little anxious, he took the metal steps two at a time. What he'd say to her, he had no idea, but by God she wasn't going to walk away without a few explanations.

Like how the hell she'd managed to get into his head when he didn't even know her name.

And how she could dare to proposition him in the middle of a busy sale as if she'd been asking for no more than the time. He'd known a lot of bold women in his days, and appreciated them for that very quality. But what the little gypsy had done really crossed the line.

And now she dared to invade his dreams, to the point he couldn't sleep anymore for craving her. If she had cast a spell, she could damn well un-cast it. That's what he'd tell her. That and a little more, like how she was far too brazen, and how she grated on his nerves even from a distance.

And how he wanted her, too.

Each footfall on her steps clanged louder and louder until Zane was literally stomping up to her door, the stairs rattling and shifting beneath his feet. He lifted one fist, rapped hard, and waited. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until he saw the curtain on the door window move and one pale face peeked out.

The curtain immediately dropped.

Anticipation, charged and smoldering, sizzled in the humid evening air. It shot through his veins and made his skin prickle. Zane sucked in a deep breath, and he was just about to knock again, through with waiting, when he heard the lock click.

The door opened a mere crack and a thin, small, blonde woman slipped out, pulling the door shut tight behind her. The landing at the top of the stairs was narrow, partially covered by a thick welcome mat. They stood close by necessity, her nose even with his throat, her hands still behind her clutching the doorknob. In utter silence, Zane looked her over. She wore slim jeans faded nearly white, a loose untucked shirt, and no jewelry.

He didn't understand, didn't know who she was or why she was staying with the gypsy - and then the breeze shifted and her scent, hot and sultry and compelling, filled him up and he went rigid.

The sweet smell of incense was gone, but the more basic aroma of woman remained, unique and tempting. Like any alert male animal, Zane drew it in, savored it, and recognized her by scent alone. Confusion swamped him and then she looked up at him.

Large, dark green eyes fringed by impossibly long brown lashes ensnared him. Even the air he breathed seemed heated.

Zane shook his head. He knew, and yet he whispered, "Who the hell are you?"

"Tamara." She released the doorknob and shifted nervously. Her gaze never left his; like him, he doubted she could look away. "Tamara Tremayne."

Zane watched a soft pale curl blow across her cheek. She quickly tucked it behind her small ear. His heartbeat stuttered.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, "I never thought to properly introduce myself. Then again, you never really gave me the chance." Her voice was shaky, husky, and oh so familiar.

Zane watched her lush mouth move, now clean of the shiny red lipstick. The corners tilted up in an uncertain smile that he felt clean down to his groin.

Jesus. He knew lust, knew what it felt like, had wallowed in the intensity of it, the fiery pleasure of it.

This was something more.

This was so damn powerful he shook.

"Tamara." He touched her cheek, still staring into her eyes, unable to look away for more than a few seconds at a time. She looked so different. His mind was alert to deception, not understanding why or how she'd changed so quickly, but his body had immediately known her - and reacted to her. The erection he'd fought since her earlier visit was back in full force, straining against his slacks.

Tremulous, she smiled again, and that was all it took. She was as irresistible as the air he dragged into his lungs. Zane meant to kiss her gently, to let her get used to his deep sensuality and his agreement to her proposition by small degrees.

It didn't quite happen that way.

As he leaned toward her, her lips parted, and with a groan Zane took her, his mouth hungry, starving. She made a small sound of surprise, of acceptance, and her eagerness licked over him. He felt ready to ignite with the pleasure of it.