Wild Excerpt
"I want you."
The suggestive, husky whisper stroked over Zane Winston with the effect of a soft warm kiss to his spine. It devastated his senses.
He froze, then clenched hard in reaction, his muscles tightening, his pulse speeding up. He nearly fell off his damn stepladder.
The motherboards balanced precariously in his arms started to drop, but Zane managed to juggle them safely at the last second.
He didn't want to look, didn't want to acknowledge that soft whisper. He knew without looking who had spoken to him. Still, as was generally the case where she was concerned, he couldn't not look.
His gaze sought her out, and he found her standing a mere two feet away, her eyes downcast, her waist-length, witchy black hair partially hiding her face like a thick ebony curtain.
People shuffled through the small computer store, taking advantage of the sale prices he'd advertised, grabbing at clearance items, storing up on disks. Yet no one bumped into her, no one touched her. Alone in the crowd, she stood there to the side of his ladder, and Zane could feel her intense awareness of him. It sparked his own awareness until his breathing deepened, his skin warmed.
Damn it, but it always happened that way around her - which was one reason why he tried to avoid her.
Since she didn't say anything else, didn't even bother to look at him, Zane went back to restocking the shelf. Perhaps he'd misunderstood. Perhaps he'd even imagined it all. He hadn't been sleeping well lately, or rather, he'd been sleeping too hard, dead to the world and caught up in erotic, lifelike dreams that left him drained throughout the day. He felt like a walking zombie - a horny walking zombie, because the dreams were based on scorching carnal activities.
They were based on her .
Zane's computer business had done remarkably well the past year, and it required a lot of his attention. The location in the small strip mall was ideal. But her antiquated two-story building stood right next door, only a narrow alley away, and the scent of her sultry incense often drifted in through his open door. Worse than that, her tantalizing, pulse-thrumming music could be heard everywhere, and it made his heart beat too fast. With her distracting him, concentrating on software and modems wasn't always easy no matter his level of resolve. And now with the damn dreams plaguing him, his iron control was fractured.
His brothers had taken to heckling him, tauntingly accusing him of too much carousing. Zane didn't bother to correct them. No way would he tell any of his brothers the truth behind his recent distraction - that his carousing had only been in his dreams, and his distraction was a little gypsy who he didn't even find appealing.
Especially since he was determined to deny any such distraction.
The last thing he needed was a personal face-to-face visit with her.
Though he wasn't looking at her, Zane felt her inch closer; he was aware of her all along his length, in his every pore, even in the air he breathed. The ladder had him several feet above her, which placed her face - her mouth - parallel with his lap. Damn damn damn. He tensed, waiting, and more images drifted into his mind.
"I want you," she repeated, a little louder but still low enough that no one seemed to notice.
He hadn't imagined it!
Anger erupting, Zane glared down at her, this time catching and holding her mystical dark gaze. Her long, coal black lashes fluttered, but she didn't look away from him. Staring into her eyes, he felt her, her thoughts and emotions invading his mind. Her nervousness touched him bone deep, the way she forced herself to remain still. And that, too, affected him.
How the hell did she manage to toy with him so easily? It outraged him, left him edgy and hot and resentful. Despite what some of his female associations might think, he was always the pursuer, not the pursued. He subtly controlled every intimate relationship, took only what he needed, gave only as much as he wanted, and no more.
Zane realized he was breathing too hard, reacting to her on an innate level, and deliberately he jammed the boxes of motherboards onto the shelf before climbing down the ladder.
Facing her, his arms folded over his chest, he did his best to intimidate her while at the same time hiding his discomfort. He needed her to leave. He needed to stop thinking about her.
He was nearly certain his needs didn't matter to her in the least.
"What do you want?" He sounded rude to his own ears, obnoxious and curt. But this was a battle for the upper hand, and he intended to do his best to win.
Her full lips, painted a shiny dark red, were treated to a soft, sensual lick of uncertainty. Filled with tenacity, her gaze wavered, then returned to his. Her chin lifted. "As I said, I want... you."
God, she'd said it again! This time straight out, to his face! Zane braced himself against the lure of her brazenness and her bold request. She looked like walking sex, like a male fantasy - his fantasy - come to life. He would not let her suck him in with obvious ploys.
"For what?" There, he thought, deal with that Miss Gypsy. And she was a gypsy, no doubt about it. He almost believed the signs painted in the front window of her shop, claiming she could read palms and predict the future. The signs, backlit by the eerie glow of a red lamp and dozens of flickering candles from inside, also said she could cast spells and enlighten your life.
It was the spell-casting part that made Zane most uncertain. After all, he was familiar with curses firsthand. And he didn't like them worth a damn. At least, not when applied to himself. For his brothers it had worked out just fine. Better than fine - for his brothers.
Agitated, she shifted her feet and the tinkling of tiny bells rose above the din of the crowd. Zane found himself staring at her small feet beneath the long gauze skirt of bold colors and geometric designs. The skirt was thin and would be transparent if she stood in the right light.
Luckily for his peace of mind, they were more in the shadows than not. But that didn't stop him from imagining what he couldn't see. And it pissed him off that he visualized her, that he could guess at just how she'd look.
Twin ankle bracelets of miniature silver bells, worn above the skinny straps of her sandals, had caused the music when she moved. More silver circled her painted toes in dainty rings with intricate designs.
Zane looked at her hands, each finger adorned with a silver, pewter, or gold ring. A multitude of bracelets with inlaid colored stones hung on her slender wrists and jingled when she clasped her hands together.
Around her neck and disappearing into the neckline of her loose midnight blue peasant blouse, were several strands of small beads, some jet black, some bright amber, some ruby red.
He noticed the necklaces, then immediately noticed too that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts lay soft and full beneath her blouse.
An invisible fist squeezed Zane's lungs, stealing the oxygen from his body, making him lightheaded. For God's sake, they were only breasts, and not all that impressive. But he could see the faint outline of her nipples beneath the dark, thin material and it set him on fire.
He wanted to curse, but that would give too much away, so he refrained.
When he took a deep breath, trying to relieve some of his tension, that musky, earthy scent of incense filled his head. He stared at her hard, intent on keeping his gaze on her face. "I'm waiting."
She glanced at the surrounding crowd. Her large eyes were heavily lined, looking mysterious and sensual. No one paid any attention to them, and she said low, "I want you for sex."
Her gaze melted into his, touching his soul, dredging up those hot, taunting dreams that had plagued him nightly. In his sleep, he'd already taken her every way known to man. Now she offered to let the dream become reality.
Breathing was too damn difficult, and he nearly panted.
"I want you," she boldly continued, fanning the flames, "to share your body with me, and let me give you mine."
Slowly, hypnotically, she lowered her lashes and added with a small shrug, "That's all."
That's all? That's all! Urgency throbbed through his veins, as if he'd spent hours on leisurely, detailed foreplay, and Zane wanted to smack her.
Even more than that, he wanted to drag her into the backroom and lift her long flirty skirt and take the body she so willingly offered. He wanted to inhale her scent, wanted to taste her in all her hottest, sweetest places. And he wanted to bury himself deep inside her.
Damn it all, he had a hard on to end all hard ons, and here he stood in the middle of his shop with hoards of people ready to spend money and purchase his wares.
Nostrils flared, and with as much disdain as he could muster given his acute state of arousal, Zane growled, "Thanks, but no thanks."
Her gaze clashed with his, startled, upset. Her lips drew in, got caught by her teeth, and color scalded her cheeks. She took two slow breaths, then asked in a wavering voice, "You're certain you're not interested?"
He was so damn interested it wouldn't have taken much more than a few touches to make him insane. Zane locked his knees, clenched his fists and hardened his resolve. "Positive."
Her long silky hair hung past her lap as she bowed her head. For a suspended moment, Zane feared she might actually cry - or cast a hideous spell on him. He wasn't entirely sure which would be worse. Not that he normally believed in such things as spells and incantations. But there was the Winston curse. He believed in it, had seen its effects on his brothers as one by one they'd been caught and married off. Happily, in fact.
One curse per family was more than enough. Little Gypsy could just take her mesmerizing voice and her intrusive sexuality and leave him the hell alone. He liked his life just as it was, just as he'd made it.
Without looking at him again, she turned and left. Her departure struck him like a punch in the gut. She hadn't been crying, he thought with concern, but she'd been so silent...
Oh hell, she was always silent, he reminded himself. She used it as part of her mystique. He refused to be drawn in by her and her feminine cunning and what amounted to no more than theatrics to shore up her ruse as a gypsy.
The gentle, enticing sway of her skirts as she slowly retreated held his attention. She might be leaving, but her scent remained, circling around him, filling his head and his heart. Her affect remained, too, keeping him hot and tight and far too aware of his physical needs. And that last look on her face remained, making him curse himself for being such a bastard.
He was good with women, damn it. Great with women, in fact. He always treated them gently, whether he was interested or not. So why the hell had he been so rude to her? Why had he felt compelled to grind her under with his rejection? He'd been out to prove... what? That she didn't affect him after all?
Zane snorted at that. The tent in his pants proved otherwise, no matter his behavior toward her.
Now that she was gone, only the essence of her remaining without the threat of her appeal, he was ashamed of himself.
A customer touched his arm, causing him to jump. Forcibly, Zane brought his mind back to the job at hand. Even with two employees in to help, they were swamped. The line at the register was long and continuous. People had questions, and the shelves had to be constantly restocked. He couldn't afford to be distracted with his witchy neighbor. He would run the register - where he could hide his arousal behind the counter - and do his job.
But for the rest of the day, she lingered in his mind, an unwelcome invasion that kept him jittery and taut, the same way he felt when he'd gone too long without sex.
He hated what he knew he would have to do.
But since he was resigned to doing it, he'd damn well put himself in charge. No more letting her toy with him, no more letting her overwhelm his senses. It was Thursday, the weekend fast approaching. He'd have time to spend with her, and on her. And if anyone would be overwhelmed, it'd be her.
That thought finally had Zane smiling.
In anticipation.
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