Terms of Surrender (49 page)

He approached the table and Ransom’s head popped up like he was waking from a deep sleep. His eyes were red. That could have been from tiredness, but Zane was sure he had been crying; the boy's eyes and cheeks were still moist.

Zane popped his gum furiously, hands clenched. He hadn't laid a hand on Ransom in the year they'd lived together, but seeing him here, in the last place in the world any father, stepfather, or uncle wanted to see his kid, made something snap inside him, and he cuffed the boy. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it was firm enough to get Ran's attention.

He had a flash of his stepfather doing the same thing to him. Up until the joy-riding incident, Oscar had been living in Zane and Sage's house, married to their mom—a polite, unobtrusive stranger, always there to bail his stepson out of any scrapes he got into, which to that point had been relatively minor in scope and severity if not frequency.

Zane's mom, one of the early proponents of Tough Love childrearing, had wanted Oscar to leave him in police custody overnight, teach him a lesson, but he hadn't wanted the whole criminal system, lock-up experience on Zane's psyche or record any more than was already the case. He’d settled instead for that firm cuff upside the head to show his disappointment and displeasure when he picked up him from the precinct.

Ran sat up straight in his chair now, gawking as Zane took the seat adjacent.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself? Anything at all that I want to hear?"

"Uncle Zane, I—"

"What were you thinking, Ran?"

"I didn't—"

"That's the problem. You didn't. You never do."

"But Uncle Z—"

"I don't want to hear it. Not another word."

"But you haven't heard anything yet. You haven't even let me finish a sentence."

"What could you possibly say in defense of yourself? In defense of your actions?"

"Fine. You've already made up your mind."

"Ran…" Zane sighed, ran a palm down his face as if he could wipe away the panic and tension he’d gone through in the two hours since the police had called him at school.

"I haven't made up my mind. I'm trying to get your side."

He saw them then, tears gathering in his nephew's eyes. Saw the boy's refusal to let them fall—not here, not in front of Uncle Zane the unsympathetic—no way.

When Ransom spoke, it was in a shaky voice that made Zane's heart constrict.

"It was an accident."

"An
accident?"

"I didn't mean—"

"To mug her? To hurt her?"

Ran flinched, as if he realized what this was doing to his uncle.

"I didn't mean to hurt her."

"What you meant to do and what you did do are two different things, aren't they?"

"Look, I took up a dare from some friends. It was a stupid challenge to swipe a lady's bag, and then I’d be part of the crew. It's not my fault she fought back."

Zane frowned. "Poor you, nothing's your fault. Is that it?"

"I knew you wouldn't understand."

"Ransom, I'm trying to." Had peer pressure been this fierce when he was a teenager? The memory of his joy-riding incident stopped the thought cold.

"I wish my mom was here," Ransom blurted.

"You're not the only one who’s lost someone, Ran." He had lost a wife and a twin sister right behind her. But he didn't have the time or luxury to mope around about either, wasn't sure if it was in him to do so. What he wouldn't have done to have the older, wiser ear of his stepfather now. It proved to the fullest that one didn't miss a good thing until it was gone.

"My mother would have understood."

"Probably, but I doubt you would have done anything like this if she were still alive."

"You're right, I probably wouldn't have."

Zane paused, thought he heard accusation in the tone. The kid wielded a sarcastic tongue with deadly accuracy whenever he felt the desire, and it seemed he felt the desire a lot lately.

"Are you blaming me for your folly?"

"Wouldn't think of it."

There it was again. That bite. "Now
look
, Pretty Boy Floyd…"

Someone knocked at the door, made both of them start, and before he knew it, the knob turned, the door opened and in peeped Ransom's victim.

The term didn't quite suit her, Zane realized as he looked her up and down. She didn't look like
anyone's
victim. But she did, despite Leary's assurances, look litigious and more.

The kicks were at least two hundred, stylish Italian leather pumps accentuating a dynamite pair of calves that flowed into shapely hips and thighs. A classy charcoal skirt hugged her ripe curves like paint. The matching fitted jacket and lace top beneath did little to hide the voluptuousness of her breasts, the décolletage tastefully revealing caramel skin.

Everything about her screamed class and money, and Zane's defenses went up on sight, along with the radar on his cock.

"Okay to come in?"

He stood and held the door open for her, the fine hairs standing up on the back of his neck as she brushed by him to enter the room. The infinitesimal contact was as jolting as a tsunami sweeping through the area, and just as encompassing.

Shit, this was not the time or the place for a raging erection, but damned if he wasn't sporting one just looking at her, just standing next to her and inhaling that subtle but expensive-ass perfume she was wearing, some spicy musk scent that sent his hormones into high gear.

Zane pulled the door closed as she stuck out a perfectly manicured hand. Evidently her scuffle with Ran hadn't broken a nail. This irked him, for no other reason than Zane wanted to know that someone else was stressed out over this entire incident and having a difficult time digesting it with just a Coke and a smile.

And the lady didn't look like anything much rattled her cage.

Wall Street. Broker? Lawyer? Holly Golightly? Some other rich Four Hundred sort?

Yes, he was definitely irked and wondered why. Usually, he wasn't easily stressed.

Ransom and his antics had him chasing after his own butt.

Reluctantly Zane put his hand in hers, not wanting to leave her hanging. He was instantly surrounded by her vibrancy and warmth, his cock growing harder by the moment. It twitched in his pants at the contact of her hand in his, as if to remind him that he was capable of adult emotions and reactions that didn't involve counseling and comforting teenage boys and girls.

"I'm Nova Foxx."

"The victim."

She grinned. "I’d prefer the complainant."

"Of course." At least she hadn't said "plaintiff."

"So, how's it going in here? I didn't interrupt any tarring and feathering, did I?"

Ransom averted his gaze and Zane grinned in spite of himself, surprised by her good humor. If it were him, and her nephew had attacked and tried to rip him off, he didn't think he would be so magnanimous. Unless she was softening them up for the big lawsuit.

He directed Nova to a seat opposite his nephew and retook the adjacent seat.

"I didn't catch your name?"

Her voice was low and seductive, and Zane had to concentrate to keep from falling under its musical spell. He tried to place the accent—usually he was pretty good at that sort of appraisal, but not this time. She sounded as if she was from everywhere and anywhere. "I'm sorry?"

"Your name?"

"Oh, it's Zane. Zane Youngblood."

Nova nodded, glanced at Ransom.

"Dillinger here is my nephew, Ransom."

"Ransom? That's an interesting name."

"My mother thought so."

Why did the boy’s first words in front of the woman have to be a smart-aleck remark?

Not that he had to go very far to lower his stock in her eyes, Zane was sure.

Nova just smiled.

"So, we need to talk about reimbursement," he opened.

"I'm easy, and I want to handle this in the most equitable way possible."

"I'm curious…"

She arched an eyebrow and Zane paused, drawn in by the hypnotic beauty of her fudge-brown eyes. He almost had to shake himself physically back on track.

"Why aren't you pressing charges? Not that I'm not glad."

"And I'm sure Pretty Boy Dillinger here is, too."

"Depends on what you have in mind," Ransom grumbled.

"Why, you ungrateful little freshpot!" Zane motioned for Ran to get out of his seat, and Nova put a hand on his arm to stop him. She seemed to like touching, especially when she talked—a firm handshake here, a hand on his shoulder there—just maintaining some sort of physical contact.

Rather than calming him down, her touch did the opposite, had his dick rock-hard in his pants, painfully pressing against the zipper and wanting out. Maybe getting up to pulverize his nephew wasn't such a good idea just now. Not that he would ever hurt the kid.

He unconsciously pulled away, sliding his arm from her grip as he reached for his ever-present pack of gum. He popped a fresh stick in his mouth and offered the pack to Nova and Ran, who both refused.

"You used to smoke."

Zane scowled. "Is it that obvious?"

She seemed taken aback by his question, had to think for a minute. "Um, no, you just…it's the gum. You chew it with a purpose."

"First time I've heard it put quite that way." Zane chuckled, relaxed some. For a minute there, he could have sworn she’d been crawling around in his gray matter.

"So gentleman, let's get down to brass tacks."

"You want me to apologize. Well, I'm sorry." Ransom didn't raise his eyes.

Nova reached across the table and put a finger under his chin, urging up his head before Zane could step in and reprimand him. Ransom glared at her and she smiled back.

Zane gasped as if gut-punched. God, she had the most amazing dimples!

"How about this time with a little more feeling, like you mean it."

"I…" Ransom tried to avert his gaze again, but Nova cupped his chin firmly, so that he couldn't lower his face. "I really didn't mean to hurt you. I just…it was a stupid initiation stunt.

I'm sorry you got caught in the middle of it."

Zane saw the boy wince at the tiny bruise under Nova's left eye.

"Does it hurt?" Ran asked.

"I'll survive."

Of this Zane had no doubt. But would he? "So, uh…"

"The cellular, accouterments, and the Palm run around eight-hundred bucks."

Ransom gaped. "Sheesh."

Sheesh was right, Zane thought. But what else had he expected? The woman looked like she was wearing more than a thousand dollars' worth of clothes, not to mention the accessories and gold jewelry. Nothing extravagant or distasteful, but he knew it all cost a pretty penny. He remembered the expensive designer-label fashion from the high-class society matrons who patronized White Columns and other art galleries around New York, where Sinny had had several exhibits during their marriage.

Obviously, Ms. Foxx liked the best and wasn't shy about spending for it.

Why was he being such an elitist snob, so preoccupied with her money, or his lack thereof? Why did he care?

"Ran, you realize
you're
going to pay this off—either out of your allowance, or through labor." Zane glanced at Nova, prompting. "Whatever you have in mind, he's at your disposal."

"Actually, I just moved into a new house. I've got a couple of rooms that could use a nice paint job and I'm sure I can find something else on the property for him to do."

Ransom pouted, slouched in his seat, and folded his arms over his chest. "Talk about me like I'm not even here, why don't you."

"I know by now you're wishing you weren't." Nova chuckled.

"Just let me know when and where and I'll make sure he's there."
Let me know when and
where and I'll make sure
I'm
there.

Zane shook his head, silently castigating his horny-teen hormones. He didn't know when his libido had decided to take center stage, but he must have been out of the sexual scene for longer than he had realized because he was looking forward to Ran's punishment like a submissive looked forward to his mistress's discipline.

Would it be that much of a punishment if Nova was dishing it out?

She stuck out her hand across the table for a shake. When he leaned forward, he got another whiff of her perfume. Then her fingers touched his and sent an electric current straight from his hand to his cock.

"I'll see you two this Saturday then," Nova murmured.

She would see them, but if his current state of arousal was any indication, there might not be much painting getting done.

* * * *

She had been speechless, yet so eager to speak to him that she’d almost forgotten herself, forgotten she needed to play things cool. If she’d marched right in there and blabbed her entire unbelievable tale—her near death experience, her visions—she might have scared the poor man off. Not all segments of mainstream society were as enthusiastic about all things supernatural or into the whole
Crossing Over With...
phenomenon. She didn't know if she would have been half as open-minded herself, if her mother weren't who and what she was. As it stood, she’d still had her doubts, even after all her visions, even after her NDE…until she’d touched Zane Youngblood.

Just being in the same room with him seemed to enhance her abilities, and if she touched him, well then just forget about it. Major fireworks in her brain almost short-circuited all conscious thoughts and reason, and hot waves of longing swept through her belly, making her want to run her fingers through his close-cropped waves. God, her pussy became moist just thinking about him. How sexy he’d looked at the precinct, dark and serious, and so much more alive and real than her visions could have ever shown her. The man was enough to make her hormones go haywire and send her excitement levels—physical, emotional—through the roof.

She’d never had as strong a reaction to any man, not even Matt, and they’d shared a pretty passionate love life. But with Mr. Youngblood, the passion was tempered with pure animal lust, with unfamiliar primal tendencies that had her wanting to jump his bones. And what lovely, bronze-covered bones they were.