14
GRETA PADDED her way into the kitchenette area of Clint’s hotel suite, bleary-eyed and in desperate need of caffeine. For the last two mornings, Clint had served her coffee in bed, but he’d needed to run an errand this morning, forcing her to fend for herself.
Funny that in the course of a mere three days she already craved Clint more than her morning java.
She was addicted to the man.
Mindlessly, she tore open the single-serving packet of grounds wrapped in a filter and jammed the bag into the coffeepot. After spending eight years on the road with her modeling career, she had the art of hotel coffeemakers down to a science.
As she went through the motions, she thought about how much Clint Bowman had come to mean to her in just a few days’ time. And even though she knew Clint was an amazing man worthy of total feminine adoration, it scared her just a little to think she had gone from sighing over Jesse Chandler to swooning over Clint in such a short amount of time.
What if she was wrong about Clint, too?
Her relationship with Jesse had started off with a bang—she snorted at that choice of images—as well. And she’d ended up being dead wrong about his affection for her. What if she had no better judgment now when it came to Clint?
Dumping the water into the machine, Greta closed the lid and flicked on the switch to wait for her brew.
Of course, with Clint this time, everything had felt more real. They’d talked in a way she and Jesse had never bothered to. She’d learned that Clint ran a horse-breeding farm in Alabama and that he took extended trips related to his business. She knew he had two hell-raising brothers whose goal in life was to never settle down.
But mostly, Clint had asked about her. Not her life in front of the spotlight, but her life behind it. If she was lonely on the road. What she did in strange cities to entertain herself. What her favorite airport snacks were.
Things no one ever thought to ask her before.
But she hadn’t managed to share any stories about her family—her father who’d always used his strength and his temper to intimidate her. She was totally over her old man.
She just didn’t happen to like to talk about him.
Other than that, she and Clint had shared just about everything. Surely all those conversations they’d had proved they were connecting on more levels than just the physical plane. And as an added bonus, she hadn’t smoked a single cigarette in the three days they’d been together.
A wicked smile curled her lips as she thought about all the ways she’d traded one oral fixation for another infinitely more fulfilling one.
While Greta assured herself she couldn’t be wrong about what she felt for Clint, she slid into the chair at the tiny kitchenette table while the coffeepot steamed and burbled.
The peach-and-blue silk flower arrangement had been cleared off to one side of the table to make way for a massive tome with tiny print open to a page about narcissism. Curious, Greta kept her finger on the open page and flipped the book closed to check out the title. Advanced Studies in Clinical Psychology.
A warning bell went off in her head in time with the beeping coffeepot letting her know her coffee was ready. Too engrossed in her new find, Greta ignored it and flipped the book back to the passage on narcissism.
A passage circled with a hand-scrawled note in the margin that read—check her for signs of this.
Her?
Greta’s eyes cruised over the page to glean that the neurosis was a manifestation of self-obsession. A sickness that placed too much emphasis on outward appearances. And which often resulted from deep-seated loneliness.
Does it get lonely out on the road?
Okay, Clint had asked her that, but that didn’t mean he thought she was narcissistic. Then again, why the hell did a horse breeder from Alabama need to lug around advanced psych texts?
Unless he thought he was dating a woman who was totally crazy.
Greta fumed, unwilling to wait around for Clint’s explanation. No doubt he would only think she was narcissistic for thinking the damn book related to her.
Fine. Let him tack on paranoid, too. She wasn’t sticking around to hear about it. Slamming the book closed on the table, Greta started hunting for her clothes.
She was so busy muttering to herself, she didn’t even hear the door to the suite open. But all of a sudden, Clint was standing there in his T-shirt and running shoes looking utterly mouthwatering.
And like a total dead man.
He grinned. Stalked closer as if he would drag her into bed again only to psychoanalyze her while she was sleeping. “Hey, honey. I’m home.”
* * *
A TEN-pound missile sailed past Clint’s head, narrowly missing his temple and landing with a thud in the open closet behind him. Before he could turn to see what Greta had just thrown at him, his Stetson was winging his way like a Frisbee turned deadly boomerang.
She couldn’t mess with his hat, damn it.
“Now wait just a minute.” He caught the Stetson in midair and slammed it on his head for safekeeping. Storming across the room, he caught her in a bear hug from behind just as she was picking up a vase of silk flowers. “That’s stainless steel, woman. Are you out of your mind?”
Prying the vase from her fingers, he set it back down on the kitchen table, the peach-and-blue flowers dangling sadly from one side.
“Obviously you think so, Mr. Junior Psychologist.” She glared back at him over one shoulder. “Or are you going to try and pretend that you were thinking another woman in your life was narcissistic and not the internationally known model you’re dating? Or rather the model you were dating.”
As she spoke, Clint realized what the ten-pound missile had been that she’d sent winging past his ear. Evidently, she hadn’t enjoyed the notes he’d been making in his psych book.
“Greta, you’re so damn far off base you’re going to laugh when I explain this to you.” He had wrestled cranky horses that were less determined to get away from him than Greta. She was all elbows and knees.
“Ha! You’re so damn screwed you’d probably make up anything to explain this away.” Unable to break her way free, she settled for pinching him in the forearm.
Clint stifled a curse and vise-locked her hands with his own. If she flipped out over his psych background, how would he ever get her to agree to throw away her sophisticated lifestyle for an Alabama ranch? “I probably would make up just about anything if I had been truly trying to psychoanalyze you and I got caught in the act. But no matter how far-fetched of a story I might come up with under pressure, do you think I could ever dream up something as crazy as that I read the book to psychoanalyze horses?”
She stilled in his arms.
Obviously, he’d caught her attention.
But since he had no idea how long he’d be able to retain it, he forced out his story in a condensed version. “I should have told you earlier that I treat troubled horses on the side. Sort of a special interest job that I fell into after I worked with some abused animals confiscated from a foreclosed farm near where I grew up.”
Greta hadn’t moved as he spoke, so he released her. When she didn’t reach for the steel vase again, he figured it was safe to continue.
“I had so much success with those horses that I developed a local reputation and a couple of ranchers came to me with questions about different behavioral problems they were seeing among their stock. Soon, word of my sideline spread all over the country and now I find myself getting all sorts of bizarre calls about troubled animals.” He paused, tried to gauge Greta’s expression. He knew he should have told her about this before, but he’d been afraid of her reaction. Being a shrink of any kind—even to horses—had a way of scaring people off.
“So you’re the Dr. Doolittle of the equine world. Great. What does that have to do with narcissism and the note in your textbook to check somebody—a female somebody—for signs of it? Don’t tell me you’re dealing with vain four-legged creatures.” She folded her arms across her chest, wrinkling the shirt she’d worn to sleep in last night.
His shirt.
God, he wanted to work things out with this woman. Wanted to find more than just amazing sex with her.
She was so smart. So full of contradictions with her high-profile strut and her down-home love of cheeseburgers. Greta Ingram would keep him on his toes forever.
If only he could convince her she wasn’t a guinea pig for his psychoanalytic work.
“Actually, I keep the book around to jog my memory about different symptoms. You’d be surprised how many parallels there are between how horses behave and how we behave. They have as much potential to succumb to fears as we do.”
She lifted a speculative brow as if trying to decide whether or not to believe him.
He forged ahead. “I make a lot of notes in the book while I work. That particular comment is over a decade old from my college days. We did a practicum each month to try our diagnosing skills on students who would fake a disorder. Must be I thought somebody was playing narcissist.”
Greta sniffed. “You didn’t think I was?”
Sensing a chink in the armor, he smiled. “Narcissists are totally self-absorbed. And look at you. You’re wolfing down more cheeseburgers in a month than the Hamburgler because you’re so happy to break out of an industry that required you to be just a little self-absorbed.”
Called by the scent of brewed coffee, Clint gave Greta some breathing room and a moment to think about that while he poured two steaming mugs. Spending the last few nights with her—and consequently, a few mornings—he’d learned she was infinitely happier postjava in the a.m.
He made a mental note to purchase himself a coffeemaker with a timer feature. She’d be able to go straight from horizontal to sipping position.
Greta accepted the cup and drank gratefully. “But now that I launched into a tirade over the narcissism thing, doesn’t that just prove I think the world revolves around me in a sort of ‘the lady doth protest too much’ logic?”
Clint shrugged. “Doesn’t prove a damn thing to me. Besides, I’m the one running around playing Dr. Doolittle to horses with my college psych book in hand. I’m the last person to cast stones in the mental health department.”
She tipped her head back and laughed. The warm, rich sound flowed over him, soothed and excited him at the same time. He could get lost for days in that throaty laughter of hers.
But he was running out of time to linger with her. He’d already extended his trip to Florida, first because Sam’s Pride had made for such an intriguing case, and second because of Greta. He didn’t regret a moment of their time together, but he knew it couldn’t last.
At least, not here.
“Come to Alabama with me, Greta.” He found himself saying the words before he’d given himself a chance to think about them.
And judging by Greta’s semihorrified expression, he knew the moment he said them he damn well should have thought about them.
A lot.
“Go where?” She twisted a finger through her breezy blond hair, a gesture smacking of nervousness that he’d never seen in her before.
Damn.
“Alabama. Home of the Crimson Tide. Home of—” Bear Bryant, football coach with the most Division I victories in history. Like she’d give a rat’s ass about that. “Home of some great state parks.”
She didn’t look swayed.
“Rich Southern history?” he prodded.
In fact, she looked downright ill.
“Come on, Greta. Take a week and at least check it out. We’ve got the best damn barbecue sandwiches in the U.S. of A. You’ll never go back to hamburgers. Besides, you international women like to travel, right?”
“Preferably to places with more than one cosmetic counter in town. And preferably to cities with international flight connections so that we can haul our butts out of there if necessary.”
“Birmingham International is just a hop, skip and a jump away. Atlanta’s only a few hours. But if you need to come back here, I’ll loan you my pickup.” Hell, he’d buy her a damn pickup of her own. “And I’ll teach you how to drive it, to boot.”
“Clint, I’m sorry.” She was shaking her head, that silky blond hair of hers sweeping the tops of her shoulders. “But I don’t think—”
“Don’t say it.” God, he didn’t want to hear it. Couldn’t stand to think he’d found the only woman who would ever be right for him only to lose her over something as superficial as where they were in the world. “Not yet.”
“It’s not just Alabama.”
His heart damn near dropped to his ankles. “It’s not?”
“It’s the horses, too. And all the animals in general. And just the whole—farm thing.” She wrinkled her nose as if to underscore her words, but it was obvious there was more to her reluctance than that. Shadows of insecurity clouded her eyes, and Clint didn’t have a clue how to interpret them.
Something was holding her back. Something bigger than her desire for a more cosmopolitan lifestyle. But if she wasn’t ready to share it with him, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Yet.
Until he could figure out what worries she hid from him, he would give her some space, respect her boundaries. In his work with troubled animals, he’d learned the value of patience.
“I think we could work around your issues with rural life, Greta. If you’re not ready, I understand. But I’ve got to go back this week.” His brothers were good about taking over for a few days. A week, maybe. By now he was really stretching it. “I don’t have a choice.”
She fluffed her hair. Shrugged her shoulders as if him leaving wasn’t a big deal. But her hands trembled just a little.
“I want you to go with me. Stay with me. Move right in and never leave.” He stared into her eyes until he was certain she knew he meant it. “If you’re not ready for Alabama—or for me—I can come back here next weekend. And the one after that. However long it takes to convince you to come with me, or until you tell me not to bother anymore. But it’s my home, Greta. Eventually, I’ll always have to go back.”
“Home is where your heart is, cowboy.” She set her coffee mug on the table and stared up at him, eyes flashing a challenge. “Maybe you’re just not enticed enough to try living somewhere different.”
She didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand if she’d never been close to her family.
“It’s not that. You could entice me to do just about anything, woman. And you have.” After the experience near the airport runway, there’d been the time on his hotel balcony. Then the hotel elevator. “I just can’t walk away from what’s so much a part of who I am.”
The tiny frown that crossed her face was almost imperceptible, but Clint had studied every nuance of her expression for the past three days and he saw it. Knew the idea of being apart hurt her almost as much as it hurt him.
But she wasn’t ready, didn’t have the advantage of knowing with every fiber of her being that they were right together the way he did.
“I don’t know if I can do a relationship of half-measures, Clint. I wasted too much time and emotional energy on Jesse when that didn’t have a chance in hell of working out. I can’t commit myself to a man who won’t even live in the same state with me now.”
There was more to it than that. And Clint intended to figure out exactly what was holding her back.
“Give me at least next weekend. Let me think about how to change your mind this week, and if you want to, you can go ahead and think about how to change mine, too. But at least give it until next weekend before you make that decision.”
She stared into the bottom of her empty coffee cup for a long moment while Clint held his breath.
Finally, she met his gaze. “One more weekend. But I have to be honest with you, Clint. I can’t picture me ever wanting to spend any time with one horse, let alone a whole ranch full of them.” She blinked fast, as if to keep her emotions at bay. As if to make sure Clint didn’t realize she was scared of a whole lot more than the horses. “And you’ll have to show me a hell of a lot more than great state parks to get me to set foot in Alabama.”
* * *
“I’M NOT SETTING FOOT on that yacht without you,” Kyra warned Jesse as she stared up at the boat where tonight’s date was to take place.
When she’d agreed to go out with him last weekend, she hadn’t realized he already had a very specific event in mind—his brother Seth’s engagement party.
Now, she leaned against Jesse’s Jeep beside pier eleven in the sleepy beach town of Twin Palms and tried not to panic. “Why don’t I go to the liquor store with you?”
“I’ll only be a minute. I just forgot to pick up the champagne for the party.” He slid his hands around her waist to ease her away from the Jeep. “I was too busy thinking about other aspects of tonight.”
A shivery sensation shot through her at his touch, his words. The sun winked on the waves as it dipped low over the horizon, illuminating a string of surfside shops and restaurants culminating in a cedar-sided gift store called the Beachcomber, and finally, a small marina where the yacht was docked.
Twin Palms should have been the perfect date destination. Their cruise on the water tonight was a romantic’s dream. But Kyra couldn’t help the nagging fear that she wouldn’t be able to live up to Jesse’s expectations.
She’d wanted this kind of night with him forever, but now that it had arrived she only wanted to run back to the Crooked Branch and return to their friendship—an association that seemed so much safer than the edgy, scary new feelings this relationship inspired.
Her mouth went dry in response to his touch, his suggestive words. But only one response came to her nervous brain. “You’d better go search for the champagne. Your family will be arriving any minute.”
Jesse’s hands lingered on her waist, his warm fingers brushing the bare skin at her back that her dress exposed. He smiled even as he shook his head. “Ever the practical one. When am I going to get you to take a few chances, Kyra Stafford?”
Taking chances gave her heart palpitations, thank you very much. Of course, Jesse’s touch might have contributed to that racing pulse a little bit, too. “The date is my risk for today.” A pretty big one.
“You’re wrong there. I’m watching over you better than Sam’s Pride. You couldn’t be any safer than when you’re with me.” Jesse picked up her hand and kissed the palm.
Slowly. Languidly.
He kissed his way up her wrist, up the inside of her arm the way Gomez had done to Morticia a thousand times. Only Jesse’s technique left her breathless and weak in the knees.
“You’d better get the champagne.” Before she did something crazy, like jump him in the middle of the marina parking lot. The scent of the sea had an aphrodisiac effect along with the warm breeze and lazy beachside town. Something about visiting a strange place made her feel adventurous.
Or maybe that was just because she was with Jesse.
“We have time.” His kisses trailed across her shoulder to her neck. He drew her closer, broad calloused palms catching on the silky thin fabric of her navy dress. “And we still have that little matter of getting you to take some risks to address.”
She might have protested, but he chose that moment to steer her hips to his. The feel of his hard length against her made her voice catch, sputter and die out in her throat.
“Are you ready to take a risk tonight, Kyra?” His words were rough, tinged with the same desire that churned through her. His hands smoothed their way up her waist to her ribs, his thumbs just barely grazing her aching breasts.
She didn’t have to ask what kind of risk he had in mind. He was proposing a clandestine encounter, something hot and fierce and totally out of control.
And she wanted to share that experience with him so badly she could hardly see straight.
“This is an awfully public place.” She glanced over her shoulder and noted the scant pedestrians peopling the sidewalks.
“I’ll find us someplace more private.” He skimmed his thumbs discreetly across the undersides of her breasts.
Her eyes fluttered closed for a long moment as the provocative ripple effect of one small touch vibrated through her. The man had probably forgotten more about seduction than she would ever learn in two lifetimes. “Are you trying to get even with me for abducting you and making you my sexual prisoner at Gasparilla?”
“Revenge is best when it’s sweet.” He kept his words a soft whisper in deference to an elderly couple walking by in matching running suits holding hands. After shooting conspiratorial winks in their direction, the couple passed and Jesse cupped her chin. Ran his finger over her lower lip. “And it will be sweet.”
Oh.
A melting sensation started at that combustible point where his finger touched her and then dripped all the way through her.
“Yes.” The word jumped out before she consciously decided it.
But if she was going to have this last date with Jesse, she didn’t have any intention of playing games about what she wanted. She wanted him.
Tonight.
Now.
Even if that meant taking a few chances.
* * *
“YES WHAT?” His eyes pinned her down, wouldn’t let her go until he’d wrested all the words from her. Or maybe until he made sure she knew exactly what he had in mind for them.
Their window of time before the party was narrow, but it existed. He knew Seth’s boat was back in the harbor because he’d driven it to Twin Palms again just yesterday. And it just so happened the keys were still in his pocket.
But no matter how eager he was to get Kyra alone in the intimacy of a boat’s cabin, he had all the time in the world to hear her say that she wanted this as much as him.
Then again, given how hot he was to have her beneath him right now, he’d probably settle for having her want this half as badly as he did. “Are you sure you know what you’re agreeing to?”
“Does it involve a sexual encounter in the next five minutes?” She tilted her head to one side and eyed him with a smoky stare.
Gulping for air, he sought a response.
And found his throat dried up to desert standards.
He settled for nodding.
Kyra leaned just close enough to brush her breasts against his chest. And practically brought him to his knees in the process. “Then consider me well informed of what I’m agreeing to. I still say yes.”
If he opened his mouth to tell her how great he thought that was, he’d only end up devouring her then and there in the middle of the Twin Palms marina parking lot. He had no choice but to let his actions do the talking.
Pulling her forward across the tarmac, he made double time to get them to the pier where Seth’s boat was docked. Jesse might have lingered to hear her say that she wanted to be with him, but now that he knew where they were headed, he wasn’t wasting a single second.
Never in his life had he felt this kind of urgency to have a woman. Hell, had there ever been any urgency about sex before? He’d developed a legendary reputation among women because he’d always been able to take his time. Play games. Enjoy the seduction.
But right now when he should be applying every skill he’d ever learned to wooing and winning Kyra, finesse eluded him.
He held her hand to try and help her onto the 32-foot cabin cruiser, but one look at her long leg stretched forward through a slit in her conservative navy dress had him hauling her into the boat and into his arms.
She stumbled against him, propelling them backward toward the stairs leading to the cabin door. He drew her down the steps with him, praying he could hold out another thirty seconds while he found them some privacy. He kissed her while he fished for the key in his pocket, devouring her now the way he’d wanted to onshore.
And she kissed him right back. No holds barred. Like she meant it.
He forgot about the key. Had to touch her.
But some hint of her practicality must have surfaced just enough to make her reach in his pocket. As she did so, her fingers grazed his thigh—and a hell of a lot more—an act which sent him beyond urgent and straight into desperate terrain.
Control was nowhere to be found.
He couldn’t wait. Ate up the silky fabric of her dress with his hands, sought for a way to get beneath it to touch more.
When he reached for her hem, she smiled triumphantly and dangled the key in front of his nose with one hand. In her other hand, she waved another prize—a condom.
With a growl, he yanked the key back, jammed it into the lock and pulled her down into the cabin with him.
Maybe Jesse closed the door behind them. Maybe he didn’t. It scared the hell out of him to think he wasn’t paying attention to the details, or that maybe he wasn’t taking care of Kyra the way she really deserved to be taken care of.
But her hands were all over him, her one palm still clutching the condom wrapper. And the need to have her consumed him. Drove him out of his freaking mind. Turned him into someone else completely, someone who...
Unable to finish a train of thought, Jesse focused on the only thing he could finish. This. Incredible. Freaking. Encounter.
The bedroom was too far away. But Jesse’s calf bumped into a cushion for the built-in couch. The living area.
Close enough.
Sultry heat melded them together. The scent of the sea breeze permeated the cabin area, mingled with the light floral note of Kyra’s skin. Her skin was hot and silky beneath his hands and somehow—thank you, God—a fraction of his bedroom prowess from another time, another life, must have helped him to unzip her dress and make the navy fabric vanish.
She stood before him in navy high heels and black lace panties.
Totally impractical.
And the thought that Kyra had indulged in something so frivolous and so decadent—possibly with him in mind—turned him on even more than the black lace.
He wanted to linger over every inch of her, taste the way her skin felt through black lace, but he couldn’t wait. Not this time.
His hands found her hips and tugged her to him as he drew them down to the couch cushions. Kyra’s weight on top of him a delicious restraint, he let her undo his shirt buttons, unfasten his belt.
Her hair slithered down across his shoulder and over his chest. He wound the length around his hand, allowed the silky strands to tease his palms.
Then he made the mistake of looking down. Caught a glimpse of her black lace panties up against his open fly.
And promptly lost his mind.
Releasing her hair, he rolled their bodies to swap positions. He shed his clothes faster than a virgin on his honeymoon. Two seconds later he had Kyra beneath him and her panties in his hand.
Kyra blinked up at him in the semidarkness, her eyes soft with desire and little amazement as she offered him the condom she’d been holding. “How did you do that?”
He slapped the condom on the coffee table and flung her panties away, concerned only with what they’d concealed. Reaching between their bodies, he trailed a hand over her hip to her belly, to the soft heat between her legs. “I had excellent motivation.”
Eyes fluttering closed she leaned into the pillows. A sensual acquiescence. Her back arched, and with the movement, her breasts seemed to command attention.
Bending to kiss a peaked nipple, Jesse nudged a finger deep inside her to the place she liked to be touched best of all.
The heat of her closed around him as her soft sighs turned to breathy moans. When her breath caught, held, told him she was on the verge of release, he let go.
Her eyes opened wide until he settled himself between her thighs and rolled the condom on. Her short fingernails dug into his shoulders as she urged him inside.
As if he needed urging.
The boat rocked beneath them, and Jesse wasn’t sure if it was from the waves in the marina or the waves they were making. But he knew for damn sure he’d never felt this good, this right, this complete in his life.
No wonder being with Kyra made him feel a sense of urgency today. There was something about this that was pretty damn important.
Before he could think through all the ramifications of what this meant, however, another wave crashed over him—a tide of sizzling sensation that drew him right back into a purely physical realm.
Kyra’s body clenched around him, under him, as she hit the pinnacle high note. She yelled his name, locked her ankles around his hips.
And he was done for.
He found his release a scant few seconds behind her, drowning in a flood of sensations that were familiar and yet new all over again.
Maybe because there were a hell of a lot of unidentified emotions attached to those sensations.
But for now, he simply closed his eyes and pulled Kyra more tightly to him. He savored the rightness of being together and knew he’d finally hit on something good. Something essential.
And he had no intention of letting her go.
* * *
“THAT WAS AMAZING.” Kyra finally spoke the words aloud that had been circling in her head nonstop for the last five minutes.
“Incredible.” Jesse’s voice held the same note of wonder she imagined must be in her own.
Was it possible he’d been as blown away by the sex as she had been?
Jesse ran warm fingers over the cool skin of her arm. “Incredible enough to make me skip Seth’s engagement party if you want to hang out here.”
“Oh my God.” How could she have forgotten? She shoved him off her and started a frantic search for her panties. “You’ll never have time to get the champagne.”
He levered himself up to a sitting position. Gorgeous and naked. “Are you sure you want to go?”
She tugged her dress over her head and prepared to write off the black lace underwear until she spied them dangling from a lampshade. “Of course we are going. Seth is your brother.”
Tossing clothes at him, she shoved her toes into her shoes.
“They might already be on the yacht. Will you mind going on board without me?” He pulled his clothes on with almost as much quick efficiency as he’d taken them off.
Almost.
“I don’t want to face everyone without you.” Not when she had no clue what her relationship was to Jesse anymore. Not when she didn’t even know what she wanted that relationship to be. Hadn’t she always been too independent to feel this attached to someone?
Especially someone with so much power to hurt her.
It was just as well their date would play out around an audience tonight. After a close encounter of the most intimate kind, Kyra sensed a need to rebuild boundaries and reinforce defenses, thank you very much.
They bolted out of the cabin and down the gangplank, still tucking and fastening. And even though she knew she needed to scavenge some distance from Jesse tonight, Kyra couldn’t help but smile that she’d done all her risk-taking in life with him at her side, urging her on.
“I’ll run down to the boardwalk and see if I can scrounge up some champagne.” Jesse skidded to a stop at the end of the pier and straightened the shoulders of her dress, carefully tucking in an errant strap. “Hell, I’d settle for wine coolers if I can find some. If Seth goes by, just let him know we’re here.”
Kyra nodded, watching him until he disappeared on the Twin Palms boardwalk among a small throng of tourists arriving by bus.
If she wanted to track his progress, all she would have had to do was watch for the trail of turning feminine heads. But in the shadow of the big yacht docked along the pier for Seth’s engagement party, Kyra was suddenly too busy warding off last-minute doubts to enjoy the stir Jesse always managed to create.
Funny how the man had so much presence, so much vitality, that watching him walk away invariably filled her with a sense of loss. And made the air seem too still, too quiet all around her.
Why couldn’t she just enjoy what they’d shared and leave it at that? Why worry it to death the moment he left her side?
She trusted him. Had realized he would never look at another woman as long as they were together. But strangely, instead of comforting her, the notion had only made her all the more wary. If she believed Jesse could commit himself to her—and by now, she did—then it was only another short leap to think that maybe their relationship could be bigger, more important than she’d ever dared to dream.
And frankly, that terrified her.
It was one thing to trust in Jesse. But it would take a lot more effort to believe in herself. Would she be able to commit herself to him for more than just a friendship, more than just a weekend of great sex?
Assuming, that is, he wanted something more?
She’d been so busy giving him a hard time about the whole commitment factor that she hadn’t really stopped to consider if she was ready to take such a big step. Ever since her father’s illness, Kyra had grown accustomed to being independent, to making her own decisions and running things her way. How could she ever share that role with someone else?
Tonight’s date took on all the more importance in light of those fears. She had no idea if she could live up to Jesse’s expectations, and now she’d have to find out in the public setting of the engagement party—in front of Jesse’s family.
She’d always liked Jesse’s older brother, Seth, but how would Seth react now that she and Jesse had taken their relationship to the next level? And Kyra had never met their uncle, who would also be in attendance tonight. Would they sense in five minutes that she and Jesse had no business together?
She didn’t exactly have experience with healthy family dynamics.
Not that she cared, she assured herself. It just seemed like tonight’s family setting and joyous occasion upped the stakes for what should have been a simple date for her and Jesse.
Kyra smoothed the skirt of her navy dress and willed her nerves to settle, distracting herself with thoughts of what Seth Chandler’s new fiancée might be like. Jesse had told her on their drive over tonight that the couple met for the first time at Gasparilla after Seth carried off Mia pirate-style. And after that, they just knew.
The story made Kyra question her relationship with Jesse all the more. How could Seth be head over heels and ready to tie the knot after a couple of weeks, whereas she and Jesse had known each other half their lives and still had no clue if they were right for one another?
The sound of feminine laughter caught her ear before she could worry about it anymore. As Kyra turned toward the sound, she spied two women walking out of the Beachcomber store several yards away. One of them flipped the sign on the door to read Closed before they headed in her direction juggling loaded straw platters full of food covered in plastic wrap.
She tried not to stare, but there wasn’t exactly a lot of action in Twin Palms on a late Saturday afternoon. And besides, they were definitely the kind of women who caught your eye. Not in an overtly gorgeous Greta way, but simply because of the carefree, happy air about them, an easy manner that seemed inherent to people who lived by the water.
The women could have been twins—except for the maybe fifteen years between them. Long dark hair spilled over their shoulders while they balanced the jumbo trays. Still laughing, they nudged each other with an occasional shoulder on their way toward the marina in halfhearted attempts to dislodge the other’s burden.
Kyra’s interest in them evaporated, however, when she saw them turn down pier eleven toward the biggest yacht docked in the tiny marina. If these women were part of the crowd attending Seth Chandler’s engagement party, she needed to make herself scarce before she was—
Noticed.
No sooner had she thought as much than the younger woman glanced back over her shoulder and paused.
Stared.
It was too late to hide in Jesse’s Jeep so Kyra smiled and willed the woman to move along.
Kyra didn’t consider herself socially inept or anything, but she did spend far more of her time with horses than people. Small talk and charm were Jesse’s strengths, not hers.
And he was so dead for leaving her here to fend for herself while he searched for champagne.
Damn.
The younger brunette shouted over her platter, the breeze fluttering the petals of a red flower tucked behind her right ear. “Kyra Stafford?”
“That’s me. Are you going to the engagement party, too?” Kyra managed a smile and tucked her purse under one arm. Apparently she wouldn’t be able to hide any longer. She just hoped she could remain in the background of this shindig before Jesse arrived.
“I’m Mia Quentin and I’m the lucky bride-to-be.” Grinning, she nodded toward the pier, her hands full. “Come on aboard. I’ve been dying to meet the lady pirate who had the nerve to kidnap Tampa’s most notorious bad boy.”