My Double Life: Wild and Wicked (20 page)

Tonight she looked so soft and fragile. Intellectually, he knew her petite body concealed kick-butt strength and behind her delicate features lurked a sharp wit and clever mind.

Still, Jesse couldn’t resist tracing her perfectly crafted cheekbones with his lips. Couldn’t stop himself from skimming the smooth skin at her temple with the edge of his jaw.

“I don’t think it’s fair you get a sneak preview while I’m still left wondering what’s in store for me.” Her gaze dipped downward to linger on his...shorts. “Don’t you think I ought to be entitled to a little show-and-tell here too?”

As if in a quest to be seen, his Johnson reacted of its own accord. She was killing him already and she hadn’t even touched him yet.

He swallowed. Gulped. Sought for an even delivery of his words but still ended up sounding as strangled and hoarse as the Godfather in his old age. “I think you ought to behave before I have to get rough with you.”

Even in the dim light he could see the answering spark in her eyes. The definite interest.

“I’d like to see you try.” Her dare whispered past his better judgment and straight to his libido stuck in overdrive.

Ah, damn.

He had no business playing kinky sex games with Kyra Stafford. Why then did he find himself slipping his finger into one looped end of the loosened leather laces that had held together her corset?

“Don’t bait me, woman.” He tugged the slender ribbon of leather free from one eyelet after another until at last he held the long black strap in his hand. “I’m armed.”

A wicked smile crossed her lips. “Do your worst, Chandler. I’m ready for you.”

His mouth watered with the hunger to test the truth of that statement. Was she really ready for him right now? So soon? Before he’d even slid off her tiny skirt?

The notion teased, taunted, tempted the hell out of him. He wanted to slide his hand up under the hem of her outfit and touch every hidden nuance of her body, every intimate feminine curve that he’d never allowed himself to contemplate before.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, Jesse called upon his considerable experience in pleasing women and forced himself to choose the slower path, the one that would drive both of them more wild in the long run.

“Never say I didn’t warn you.” He breathed the words into her ear, grazing his body gently over hers.

Doubling up the skinny leather corset strap in his hand, Jesse pulled the end of the loop taut to make the two sides slap together with a sharp
snap.

5

T
HE
THIN
CRACK
of leather echoed in the sultry air, inspiring alternate waves of shivers and sizzles through Kyra. Breathless, she stared up at Jesse with his wild long hair and his broad, square shoulders and wondered what he had in mind.

He still held the long, looped strap in his hand as he grazed it lightly over her thigh. “You sure you don’t want to run?”

“And lose my chance to experience Jesse Chandler’s legendary prowess firsthand?” She flung the remains of her corset onto the floor and settled more deeply into the pillows. “I don’t think so.”

He dangled the leather tie like a pendulum over her hip, than up to her bare waist. The insubstantial little touches heightened her senses, made her crave more of his touch.

Her attention focused on the contrast of black leather against her pale skin, just in time to see him move his teasing instrument down her stocking-clad leg.

With clever hands, he walked his fingers under the edge of her skirt to tug down her thigh-high fishnets, careful never to touch her where she wanted to be touched the most. While her thighs tingled and ached, he soothed them with the soft stroke of leather and an occasional hot swipe of his tongue as he kissed her all along the hem of her skirt.

Desire trembled through her with a force she hadn’t fully expected. She’d wanted Jesse forever—had fantasized about sexy interludes with him since she was barely sixteen—but in all that time, her imagination had never hinted it could be this hot between them. This wild.

She couldn’t stifle the throaty whimpers, the sighs of pleasure his mouth wrought. Liquid heat seared her insides, pooled between her thighs. She ached for him in the most elemental way, and none of his skilled, seductive torments would satisfy it.

She needed
him.

All of him.

Now.

“Jesse, please.” Her hands scratched lightly across his back, tugging his shirt up and over his head.

In silent answer, he slid her skirt down her hips and pressed a kiss to her pink lace panties, just beneath the rose. Tension coiled even more tightly inside her, making her twitch restlessly beneath his touch.

But Jesse couldn’t be rushed as he smoothed his hands over her hips, palmed her thighs, cupped the center of all her heat. Instead, he seemed to study every inch of her, bared completely to his gaze but for the tiny pink panties, and whispered, “How the hell did I not notice you were this gorgeous?” He licked a path from her belly button to her lacy waistband while he traced the outline of her curves with the loop of leather still wrapped about his hand. “This hot?”

Maybe because she was usually covered with dust from working with the horses. Maybe because he’d never been able to get past his early vision of her in pigtails. Or maybe because he normally had German bikini models on his arm to compare her to.

But she wasn’t about to offer up her thoughts on the subject. Let him see her as steaming and sexy just for tonight.

Heaven knew, she felt pretty close to smoldering right now anyway. Especially when he slid a hand down the curve of her hip and under the scrap of pink lace.

“You can bet I won’t forget now,” he muttered as he inched her panties down her legs, over her knees and sent them sailing across her room to land on an antique wingback along with the leather strap from her corset. “How the hell am I ever going to look at you again Kyra, and not see...” His gaze wandered up and down the length of her naked body, sending tremors right through her. “The nip of your waist?” He kissed the curve in question. “Or the little birthmark on your hip that I never knew was there?”

His tongue smoothed the pale patch of flesh to one side of her belly button and Kyra thought she’d lose her mind.

“Maybe you shouldn’t bother trying to fight it.” She smoothed her hand over the tanned muscles of his chest, down to the warm heat of his belly. She followed the thin line of dark hair down the middle of his abs to the waist of his shorts. “Besides, your fascination with any woman lasts all of what—a week maybe?” She trailed her fingers along the seam of his fly until he groaned. “You can undress me all you want over the next seven days.”

* * *

J
ESSE
STRUGGLED
to hang on to his control in a way he hadn’t needed to since high school. The woman was pushing him to the brink with her siren’s body and her erotic suggestions.

Her invitation to undress her anytime wasn’t exactly going to put the lid on his lascivious thoughts down the road. Hell, knowing that enticement was out there—free for the taking—he’d be envisioning her naked twice as often.

And it didn’t help that his mind was already inventing ways to justify spending the night with her. He wanted so much more from her than he could possibly take.

He needed to focus on his goal and get out of here before he lost all control.

With an effort, he leaned back out of her reach. Keeping his damn shorts on was critical to his success in this mission. If Kyra started flicking buttons free, he was a goner.

Lucky for him, she was hanging by a thread, too, despite the fact that she could talk a good game. He’d seen what she wanted, knew what she needed as soon as he’d laid that first kiss on her thigh.

And it would most definitely be his pleasure to give it to her.

Stretching out alongside her on the bed, he looked deep in her blue eyes before brushing his lips over her mouth. The honeysuckle taste of her invited him to linger, to lavish her with attention.

Her soft moan encouraged him, aroused the hell out of him, sent his hand wandering over her sweet curves to the silky inside of her thigh.

He broke his kiss to watch her face as he dropped his touch lower to the white-hot center of her. Her cheeks flushed, her mouth opened with a silent cry.

He wanted to be inside her now, hips fused until he slaked his thirst for this woman. Normally, he was a patient man. Normally, he had endurance for every sexual trick in the book.

With Kyra, he transformed into a sixteen-year-old on a car date—pure lust and no caution.

Knowing he’d never restrain himself while their hips rested so close together, Jesse edged his way down the bed, down her body, licking every inch of her creamy skin on the way.

The scent of her body—something wild and heady, jasmine maybe—permeated his senses to implant itself in his memory. Her hips shifted, wriggled as he kissed his way past them and over the pale blond triangle that hid her from him.

He couldn’t slow his progress if he tried.

The moment he touched his tongue to her sex, her back arched off the bed. Her out-of-control reaction drove him as crazy as the taste of her, the feel of her on his lips.

The knowledge that sensible Kyra Stafford was underneath him, wild and untamed as any of the fiercest horses ever sent to the Crooked Branch, nearly drove him over the edge.

He couldn’t get enough of her like this, would never get enough. Dipping one finger inside her, he tried like hell not to imagine penetrating her with so much more....

But then her sex clenched all around him and he forgot about everything but enjoying every second of her pleasure. She screamed a throaty note before crying out a litany of his name, over and over and over.

And even though he knew their bargain was fulfilled and he ought to make tracks from this woman’s bed, Jesse felt more connected to her than any woman he’d ever had full-blown sex with for days on end.

This was Kyra, after all. His best friend.

So despite the driving need for her he couldn’t ever possibly indulge, Jesse tucked her blankets around her still-trembling body and held her in his arms. He could stay with her a little longer, couldn’t he?

Just until he got his body back under control. Just until Kyra fell asleep.

Or until he let her talk him into taking this encounter a little further. He was so damn hot for her he didn’t think he could move without losing it. Maybe he’d underestimated the merits of a sexual relationship.

Trailing one finger down her arm, he knew he shouldn’t make decisions when he was hanging by a thread, but he couldn’t resist seeing what Kyra would do next. He was dying for her touch, but she was lying utterly motionless.

He indulged a moment of pure male satisfaction to think he’d knocked her for such a loop she was still recovering from the orgasm. But then, as he listened to the long, even breaths stealing across his chest, Jesse realized he’d
really
knocked her for a loop.

She was fast asleep in his arms.

* * *

W
ELL
,
DIDN
’
T
THAT
just make a lovely picture?

Greta Ingram stared through Kyra Stafford’s bedroom window at Jesse Chandler gently covering his naked
business
partner with a lace duvet. Greta couldn’t remember him ever treating
her
with such tender concern.

Since when did a man turn away a European model with internationally celebrated breasts for a skinny horse trainer who probably had leather hands and dusty hair?

Sighing, Greta slipped away from the window, no longer wishing to make a scene. At least not tonight.

She’d hitchhiked from the Gasparilla festival to the Crooked Branch after Kyra had lured Jesse away with a leather corset and a lot of attitude. Confident in her own allure, Greta had hoped to entice him back with a little topless strolling around the ranch or maybe some naked moon-bathing outside his office window. But obviously the man was already engaged for the night.

Damn.

Tiptoeing across the lawn in her high heels, Greta looked longingly at Jesse’s bike, wishing she could just straddle the big Harley and wait for him to join her. But after seeing the way he snuggled his partner into her linens, Greta feared he probably didn’t run out of Kyra’s bed the way he usually ran from Greta’s after sex.

A minor obstacle.

Greta had left the hectic world of modeling and perpetual jet lag to live a more simple existence. Her home life sucked in Germany and she’d refused to look back at her verbally abusive father once she’d dug her way out of that particular hellhole.

She’d been paying her own way as a model since she’d lied about her age at fourteen. The sophisticated world of catwalks and globe-trotting that had seemed so glamorous to her then didn’t glitter quite so brightly at twenty-three, however. She wanted out and Jesse Chandler had made her realize it.

What woman didn’t secretly crave the kind of gallant attention and sexual bliss he lavished all over his partners? She was definitely ready to trade her stilettos for bare feet and picket fences. A man like Jesse Chandler would understand how to make her happy, how to indulge her idiosyncrasies.

He also possessed a certain charm and emotional distance that suited her wary heart. Her father had used his temper and his strength to intimidate her at every turn, making her fearful of too much in-your-face male strength.

And, truth be told, Jesse definitely made for great arm candy. A girl had to be able to hold up her head at the spring shows in Paris, after all. She’d have a lot more fun attending as a celebrity member of the audience rather than actually having to participate. This way, she could have Jesse by her side and she wouldn’t have to starve herself for four days prior.

Halting at the edge of the county route that wound past the Crooked Branch and Kyra’s home, Greta recalled the half-eaten fried dough she’d stuffed in her bag at the festival. Scrounging through her oversize purse while she waited for a car on the quiet road, she tugged out the napkin she’d wrapped the treat in and tore off a corner with her teeth.

After years of counting every calorie and weighing her skimpy nonfat, unsweetened, boring-as-hell portions at mealtimes, she enjoyed the taste of real food. All kinds of food.

Funny how cold fried dough still managed to bring her so much pleasure even when the man of her dreams had just boinked another woman fifty yards away.

Maybe that was because she knew Jesse would fall in line. She hadn’t met a man she couldn’t manipulate since she’d left Frankfurt and her father’s rages nine years ago. Surely Jesse would see the light soon and come running back to her.

But to facilitate the process, Greta realized she needed to be sure Kyra the lascivious pirate woman understood Jesse was no longer a free man.

Seeing headlights in the distance, Greta tossed the fried dough back in her bag and set one foot on the blacktop to expose one long, bare thigh. Flicking out her thumb, she brought a white Cadillac screeching to a halt beside her.

While an elderly gentleman pried open the passenger-side door for her, Greta made plans to return to the Crooked Branch for a visit with Jesse’s bimbo buccaneer first thing in the morning.

Someone had to let the woman know—Greta Ingram always got her man.