Wild And Wicked

JESSE KNEW if he turned around right now Kyra would be wearing a hint of a grin—the same exact one she wore in the training arena when she’d coerced a stubborn horse into doing exactly what she wished. She’d have him leaping hurdles in no time if he wasn’t careful.

Lucky for him, he had a plan.

As he guided Kyra through the mass of pirate revelers, Jesse glared at anyone who stared at his captor while he thought through his strategy. He damned well didn’t want her deciding to scratch that itch with one of these leering morons.

All he needed to do was appear semiagreeable. He’d have drinks with Kyra and make polite conversation instead of talking horses. He’d spin her around the dance floor a few times—or parking lot, given their locale—in front of one of the many bands playing at the festival.

And in the meantime, he’d try not to take it too personally that she only wanted him for sex. He liked sex as much as the next guy. Probably even more.

But he’d thought Kyra was the one female in his life who saw more in him than that.

Damn.

Refusing to get sidetracked, Jesse told himself he’d fulfill her requests on his terms and then tomorrow everything could go back to normal. And if she continued to look even mildly interested in something beyond the scope of friendship, he’d flirt wildly with any woman within winking distance to remind Kyra he was an ass when it came to the fair sex.

Simple.

Assuming he could peel his eyes off Kyra’s body long enough to remember how to flirt wildly with another woman. He didn’t know how much more of this kind of provocation he could take. He’d never had much in the way of immunity when it came to females.

And this wasn’t just any female. This was his best friend. No matter that she was tying him in knots today, he owed her more respect than to engage in a one-night stand. She might think she could handle a no-strings affair, but that was probably because she’d never engaged in a meaningless relationship before.

At least not that he knew of.

Damn.

Maybe as long as he kept their conversation on neutral terrain and his thoughts out of her corset, he’d survive this day. He wouldn’t bend his personal code of honor—limited though it might be—to give Kyra what she thought she wanted. He’d end up hurting her, and she’d end up resenting him—end of story. And he wouldn’t risk losing the best friend he’d ever had for sex.

No matter how heady the temptation.

He turned around to hurry her along and found her lingering around a makeshift vendor’s booth consisting of a few overturned wooden boxes half-veiled with a black velvet cloth and covered in silver jewelry. No way the overgrown beach bum in a Hawaiian shirt and shades behind the melon crates had a city license to sell anything.

Worse, the guy was staring over the top of his sunglasses to get a better look at Kyra’s…blouse.

Gritting his teeth, Jesse tore through a group of cigar-smoking partyers cheering in Spanish and a kid’s makeshift hopscotch game to reach Kyra.

He gave the so-called jewelry clerk the evil eye and wrapped a possessive arm around Kyra’s waist. It hadn’t been part of his plan to touch her, but he would damn well do whatever was necessary to keep the wolves at bay while she was dressed in her pirate garb.

So what if he was being hypocritical not wanting her to be ogled by ten thousand strangers while he played the field? He was a player. She’d barely left the Crooked Branch in the past five years, and now she wanted to go manhunting in fishnets?

Over his dead body.

She smiled up at him while he tried not to notice the smooth glide of her leather corset under his hand, the wildflower scent of her that he’d scarcely ever noticed before but knew he’d never forget now.

“You ready?” He edged the words out over a throat gone dry and a tension in his body so taut he thought he’d snap with it. He needed to get this day in motion and over with.

No dawdling allowed.

“In a minute.” She grinned up at him with a siren’s smile, a tiny piece of jewelry in her hand. Holding it up to the light, she squinted to see a pattern on the silver loop. “I was just contemplating a nipple ring.”

3

KYRA WONDERED if Jesse Chandler normally gawked at women who slid the names of erotic body parts into casual conversation.

He was definitely gawking right now as he stared at her with his perfect mouth hanging wide open. Or at least he was until he edged out a strained, “The hell you will.”

Plucking the tiny ornament out of her hand, Jesse slapped it back on the velvet-covered melon crate.

“Excuse me?” Kyra stared him down, more than ready for a serious face-off with this man.

It had required major effort to edge the word “nipple” from her mouth. Kyra could discuss the particulars of animal husbandry at the drop of a hat, but somehow a nipple reference in regard to her own body struck her as rather risqué. Nevertheless, the effort had been well worth it considering she had Jesse’s full attention now.

Or else the body part in question had his full attention. He stared at her blouse as if he could envision the tiny silver loop locked around the peak of her breast.

“This isn’t working,” he growled in one ear as he propelled her away from the jewelry vendor’s display and back into the swell of the crowd. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Fine by me.” Kyra shot back over her shoulder as they edged past a Gasparilla reveler wearing a skull mask and a cape decorated in shiny white bones. She backed up a step to avoid the man, effectively plastering herself against Jesse’s chest. The hard strength of his body taunted her with sensual visions of their limbs intertwined, taut muscle to smooth skin. “That’s all the sooner I can take you home and have my way with you, ye scurvy knave.”

She felt his body stir behind her a split second before he nudged her forward again. “We’ll see who’s having their way with whom.”

The strangled rasp of his voice weakened the power of his threat. Kyra smiled her satisfaction as they wound their way past a man on stilts selling eye patches and bandannas.

“Whatever would you want from me if you could have your way, Jesse Chandler?” She glanced over her shoulder to find herself eye-level with a rock solid jaw and forbidding frown.

“Friendship of the platonic variety. And a promise never to wear leather again.”

“The corset is working, isn’t it?” She mentally applauded the Gasparilla costumer for hooking her up with the sex-goddess pirate outfit.

As they hit the next crossroad to Bayshore Boulevard, Jesse steered her away from the festival toward the city. In the background, Kyra could hear the marching bands in the distance as the pirate parade charged toward the convention center.

“Is it working to turn every bug-eyed male head within a five-mile radius? Yes. Is it working for the preposterous purpose of sacrificing our friendship for a few hours of great sex? Not a chance in hell.” He guided her through gridlocked downtown traffic toward his motorcycle parked sideways on the street between two pickup trucks.

She’d ridden into Tampa with a neighbor, so it wasn’t like she minded being given a ride home. Still, she didn’t appreciate being hauled around by a man who wasn’t willing to bend an inch.

Jerking to a stop by his Harley, she tried not to be discouraged as he handed her a helmet—the spare he always carried in case some brazen female talked her way into a ride. Or more.

Why couldn’t she be that woman today?

“You think I’d forfeit our solid working relationship for amazing sex? Come on, Jesse. You know me better than that.” She strapped the helmet under her chin. She didn’t mind leaving Gasparilla if it meant time alone with Jesse to persuade him of her cause.

Besides, the idea of straddling his bike—and him—while clad in fishnets and a miniskirt was making her seriously hot and bothered.

Swinging one leg over the bike, Kyra gave Jesse a clear view of inner thigh, stopping just short of flashing him. A girl needed to keep some sense of mystery intact. “And you seem to be forgetting that you’re not in charge here today. Leaving the festival grounds doesn’t mean you stop being my prisoner, and as long as I’m calling the shots, you’re going to have to please me.”

She patted the leather seat in front of her. “Now why don’t you give me that ride I’ve been wanting?”

THE SEXUAL IMPLICATION of Kyra’s words echoed through Jesse’s mind as he maneuvered the motorcycle around a tight turn just before the sign for Crooked Branch Farm. He was sweating bullets after the hour-long ride back to the ranch, which spread along the Crystal River in Citrus County.

Kyra’s thighs hugged his hips while her sweet, sunny scent teased his nose. Her arms wrapped around his waist, pressing her breasts into his back. And he couldn’t even think about that other part of her that grazed his jeans. Her short skirt provided intimate exposure for the pink lace panties he’d spied when she first straddled his bike.