Page 48 of Zane

"That's up to her." His tawny eyes had turned molten, and he was having a tough time playing nice. The woman was obnoxious and cruel.

"This is my house." Kara felt as if she was existing in a nightmare. The humiliation was so debilitating that she just wanted to curl up into a ball and never get back up. "What I do here is my concern. I'm going to ask you to leave."

For a minute, Katherine stared at her daughter and then at the man who stood there looking at her as if he wanted a piece of her flesh.

"I will never forgive you for this. You broke poor William's heart and threw him over for a man who rides motorcycles and hangs out with gangsters. Yes-" She turned to look at Zane, her expression scornful. "I know all about you, Mr. Stanhope. You run around with all sorts of women and have never done a day's work in your life."

"Lady, you don't know me."

Drawing herself up to her full height, she stared down her nose. "You're welcome to her." Wheeling around, she headed for the door and looked back at her daughter. "When he tosses you over for women of his ilk, you'd better not come running to me."

With that, she marched out and slammed the door behind her.

Chapter 12

After a full minute of pulsing silence, Zane wondered if he should be the one to fill it. Before the thought could be fully formed, Kara spoke.

"Well, you've met my mother. Charming, isn't she? She will probably hold me in contempt for two to three weeks and freeze me out. I'm sorry."

"Kara-" Before he could finish, she burst into tears.

His heart stuttered and his emotions took a slow dive. If there was one thing he hated, it was a woman in tears, especially one he cared about deeply.

After a few seconds of indecision and being rooted to the spot, he moved fast. Scooping her into his arms, he turned and went straight upstairs to the bedroom.

She clung, her fingers gripping his shirt and soaking it with her bitter tears, tears that showed no signs of ceasing. Toeing off his shoes, he climbed into bed and cradled her like a baby, hands stroking her back, her neck, her hair. Each sob tore through his chest and made him feel angry and helpless. What the hell could he say to her? How the hell could a mother talk to her child like that? He wanted to find the woman and tear a strip out of her.

But he had no business butting into another person's family deal, even if that person was a woman he had fallen in love with. Christ! he thought viciously. What a goddamned mess.

"Hush now, baby," he whispered, trying to get her to calm down. "You're going to make yourself sick. Nobody is worth that."

The tears abated slightly. He continued rubbing her back slowly, hypnotically. Kara felt the exhaustion taking hold of her. She supposed everything was in an upheaval. First, the piles and piles of really great sex, and then her mother topping it off by humiliating her in front of the man who had managed to blow the top of her head off.

Closing her eyes, she wondered why he wasn't making a beeline for the door. Yet, here he was, trying to comfort her. Humiliation turned on a dime to wonder and then contentment. She had no idea when she drifted off.

It was a few minutes before he heard her even breathing, indicating that she had fallen asleep.

Easing her away carefully, he studied the tear-blotched face and the spiky lashes. She looked so vulnerable and small. The urge to snatch her up and carry her where no one could hurt her was overwhelming.

Bending his head, he pressed a kiss on her forehead before easing her onto the pillows. The bed was still a wreck after the marathon lovemaking, and he wondered if this was the first time she had left it unmade.

Taking the soft shoes off, he tugged the sheets over her and just lay on his side, watching her. Her eyes were swollen from the crying jag. Using two fingers, he pushed back the lock of curl that had fallen over her forehead. She was going to have a bitch of a headache when she woke up.

Pushing off the bed, he rose slowly and decided he could use some of that bracing air. He had noticed the balcony off her bedroom. It would be as good a place as any to take a smoke. He didn't want to leave in case she woke up and needed him.

He wanted to be needed by her. It was his yearning to be needed. Making his way downstairs, he dug into his jacket pocket and came up with the case of cigars. He didn't normally cart it around with him, but he had been wearing this jacket since the weather changed.

Selecting one of the thin cigars, he went into the kitchen and noticed the leftover meal. Picking up the cartons, he dumped them out and did a half-decent job of tidying up. He was beginning to know her. She might have changed up things drastically, but under it all, she was as neat as a pin.

Being down here reminded him of the horrible scene he had been a witness to, the woman spewing her vile accusations. His mouth tightened as he ran the washcloth over the tiled counter. Feeling the anger coursing through him afresh, he dumped the cloth, grabbed his case of cigars and a lighter, and headed back up.

He spent another few minutes staring at her. The sheet had shifted, and she was now turned onto her side. Turning away, he strolled to the glass doors and slid them open. A fresh blast of air hit him full on. The scent of rain was mixed with flowers still in their heyday. Trees dripped moisture, leaves bent over by the rain earlier on. Clamping the cigar between his teeth, he cupped his hands and lit it, inhaling the fragrant smoke.

Shoving the case and lighter into his jacket pocket, he went and leaned on the rail, his eyes narrowed against the smoke. He could try and forget about the ugly scene, or he could ask her to talk about it.

He wasn't usually one for heart-to-hearts. He tended to stay clear. But this woman, one he had met just a few weeks ago, tugged and wrapped around his heart like no one else.

The wind tugged at his already tangled hair and shifted his jacket. He should have been cold by now, but he was too angry to feel anything but the heat from that anger coursing through his body.