Wild And Wicked. Joanne Rock
time or another. Was she so much of a turnoff that he couldn’t even conceive of one romantic evening with her?
Thankfully, her stubbornness wouldn’t allow her to be daunted. She was only asking for a night, not a happily ever after. In two more weeks he would start his own business and sever their long partnership anyway. Would it kill him to indulge this final request?
She took a calming breath, inhaling the salty scent of the bay along with the jumble of culinary aromas from food stands lining today’s pirate parade route. “Hell no I can’t have my scarf back?”
“Hell no you can’t corral me into this misadventure with you today. Have you really thought about what you’re asking me?” He loosened his grip on her wrists, lowering her hands to her sides until he finally released her.
She allowed her gaze to slide down the length of his body. “Oh, I’ve definitely thought about it.”
Was it just her imagination or had steam started hissing from his ears?
Sure he was angry with her. But what if just a little of that overheating was rooted in sexual excitement?
“Damn it, Kyra, you usually make more sensible decisions than this. You know better than anyone how badly I suck at relationships. Which is why I don’t even have relationships.” He paced the sidewalk in front of her like a nervous father on prom night. “Did I ever tell you about that documentary I got roped into last spring in Miami Beach—Dangerous Men and the Women Who Love Them? They put my interview in the ‘commitment phobic’ section like I was some damn psychology experiment.” He paused to frown. To scowl. Then he turned the full force of his glare on her. “But that ought to tell you something.”
“That documentary is the very reason I picked you. Nobody’s looking for a relationship here, least of all me. My life’s crazy enough right now. Being with you, I can be certain there will be no risk, no commitment.” She allowed her gaze to linger on his body. “And proven expertise.”
“You’re looking for sex?” He said it so loud pseudo-pirates from fifty yards away turned to stare.
“After food, clothes and shelter, it’s a pretty basic human need.” She wasn’t about to feel guilty about it. She’d been saving it up for twenty-four years after all. No one would ever accuse her of being promiscuous. Or even moderately wild.
Lowering his voice, he leaned closer. “You’re thinking of love. Love is what people need after food, clothes and shelter.”
“Sex seems to be serving you well. I’m a healthy woman with natural appetites. And since I’m not looking for a relationship, who better to scratch the itch than my best bud?” She leaned closer. “Especially since local legend says you’re the most skilled lay in town.”
“We are not having this conversation.” Tucking her hand in his, he stalked back toward the crowd and the dozens of tents set up to temporarily house food-service stands and other vendors.
“Damn. Just when the conversation was getting really interesting.” Kyra followed him, content to let him vent his outrage until he was ready to listen to her side. She had been patient for half a lifetime for this man. She could wait another hour or two if need be. “Can I at least ask where we’re going?”
“We’ll find champagne to sip if it kills me. And then you can never say I didn’t put forth an effort today.”
Score.
Kyra allowed herself a small smile of victory since Jesse was too busy plowing through dozens of bead-clad festivalgoers to notice.
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.”
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