Zane's Redemption

Oh, Zane was mean, she knew that. He’d proven that with the few words they’d exchanged in the kitchen. She also realized that he saw her as a necessary evil to perform his job, and the last thing he saw in her was a woman. To him she was a child; when he’d addressed her as baby girl, he’d made that abundantly clear. But despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, the way he looked at her now said otherwise.

His gaze was heated, and she liked to imagine that it was desire rather than fury that blazed in his eyes. Zane’s fingernails dug into her flesh, and while she barely felt the pain, she noticed their sharpness, wondering how close his vampire side was to emerging. The cords in his neck bulged, and she saw the pulsing vein that ran along its side. She could fairly smell his blood, and for the first time she wondered what it would be like to bite somebody, to sink her fangs deep into his flesh and taste him. Furious at herself for the direction her mind was taking, she clenched her jaw, sending a clear signal to her fangs that they were not allowed to descend under any circumstances.

“Look at you, all dolled up.” Zane roamed his eyes over her face before his lids dropped as he perused her low-cut top. Her cleavage was clearly visible, and from his vantage point he could most likely see all the way down to her navel.

“Enjoying the peep show?” she hissed, suppressing the shudder that went through her at the thrill of Zane admiring her boobs.

One side of his mouth tilted up, but he wasn’t going for a smile. She doubted he knew what a smile was. “You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen already.”

If he wanted to deliberately hurt her, he’d succeeded. “Jerk!”

“Unlike you, I don’t care what people call me.” He made a deliberate pause. “Baby girl.”

Her fists clenched, and before she could even finish her thought, she’d raised them and aimed at his face. Zane was faster. Her fists landed in his palms, which he instantly wrapped around them, preventing her from doing any damage to his arrogant visage.

“Violent, too?” He shook his head and tsked. “They left that out of your file.”

File? They had a file on her? “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I know what you’re all about, so don’t think you can get anything past me or—” The ring of a cell phone interrupted his little speech. He released one of her hands and dug into his pocket. “Another attempt at hitting me and I’ll have you hogtied in ten seconds flat.”

She didn’t doubt his words for even a fraction of a second.

“Yes?” His tone was more bellow that greeting.

“Hey, Zane, what’s going on?” Portia heard the male voice on the other end clearly.

“Quinn, good to hear from you.” Despite his words, Zane didn’t crack even the beginning of a smile. That confirmed it: he was incapable of smiling.

“Listen, I need a vacation. Do you mind if I come to visit?”

“No problem. When are you flying in?”

“I was thinking tomorrow night.”

“Who’s picking you up from the airport?”

“I’ll ask Oliver.”

“I’ll give him a key to the house for you. See you.”

“Hey, man, are you all right?”

“Never been better.” Zane disconnected the call and shoved the cell back into his pants.

If it was true that he was feeling better than ever, then Portia wondered what he was like when he was in a pissy mood. She wasn’t gonna stick around to find out.

“Now,” he said slowly and focused his gaze back onto her. “Where were you heading?”

“None of your fucking business.” She twisted her hand from his grip and pivoted, trying to get away from him.

***

Zane wasn’t ready to let go of her and snatched her arms, preventing her from brushing past him. Not that he minded a little brushing here and there. He enjoyed the contact with her body far too much, despite the fact that she held herself rigid.

If it wasn’t for the old sash window he’d heard grinding against its wooden frame when Portia had opened it, she would have escaped him. Luckily, he had been prepared for her to pull a fast one on him and had refrained from making any noise downstairs so he could hear what she was doing. When he’d heard the doors of her closet close, he’d figured that she was getting changed. It could only mean one thing.

And he’d been right. The flimsy top she wore screamed ‘fuck me’ as if she’d had it tattooed on her forehead. Her short skirt wasn’t any better. It hid nothing of her amazing figure and her lush curves. Considering her age and her height, she should be skinny as a rail, but instead, her hips were nicely cushioned, and her breasts …