2
JESSE RECOGNIZED the silky voice whispering into his ear. Yet he couldn’t merge his image of practical Kyra Stafford with the decidedly feminine curves pressed against his back. Or the exotically scented scarf blindfolding him into a world of pure sensation.
A world where it was getting mighty damn difficult to remember why he and Kyra had always maintained a strictly platonic relationship.
For a moment, the roar of the overcrowded street faded from his hearing. The only sound penetrating his brain was the soft huff of breath in his ear as his captor demanded compliance.
Before his hormones recovered enough to reply, he could hear Greta start squawking a few feet in front of him.
“Excuse me?” Her words dripped sarcasm like a Popsicle in July. “I came here with this man. You can’t just—”
“Well, it looks like you won’t be leaving with him,” Kyra retorted from behind him, her voice all the more familiar now that it was lifted in normal conversation. “A Gasparilla pirate doesn’t exactly need to ask your permission.”
Maybe Kyra was only trying to rescue him from Greta today. A welcome intervention given that Jesse hadn’t brought Greta with him and had been trying his best to avoid her. Still, she’d managed to track him down in a crowd of a hundred thousand people with unerring instincts.
She’d have him chained to her side on the first boat back to Berlin if he wasn’t careful.
He held both hands up, resigned to whatever scheme Kyra had in the works. He just hoped she eased away from him soon, before his body started reacting publicly to those breasts against his spine. “Sounds like I have no choice but to surrender.”
Greta’s spluttered indignation took a backseat to Kyra’s seductive whisper.
“Excellent decision,” she breathed in his ear, steering him through the crowd and away from Greta with slow steps. “You are wise to come along quietly.”
Each stride brushed her body against his, making him keenly aware she wore a blouse with no bra to speak of underneath. Those awesome C-cups couldn’t belong to Kyra. Could they?
She was holding him captive wearing some kind of laced leather outfit that bit into his back even while it thrust her breasts forward in luscious offering, sort of like a—
Holy freaking hell. Maybe after all his lip about buying a dominatrix outfit, she’d decided to call his bluff.
Raw lust ripped through him with a vengeance. He stopped dead in his tracks and twisted around to face her, whipping off the scarf with an impatient hand. The sight that greeted his eyes was better than a dominatrix outfit.
No, make that worse. He wasn’t supposed to be licking his chops over his best friend, of all people.
She was dressed as a pirate. Not any normal pirate with a bandanna and a blackened tooth, though. More like the kind of lush X-rated lady pirate you’d expect to find in some half-baked adult film called Blow the Man Down.
His eyes did a slow ride over her barely there blouse partially covered by the leather corset he’d felt earlier. The garment pushed her breasts up and out and straight into any man’s view, the tops of that creamy white flesh exposed while the rest was only marginally hidden beneath thin cotton.
Where had those amazing breasts come from? Was he that blind that he’d never noticed them underneath the men’s T-shirts she normally favored? And he’d definitely never noticed her legs before. At least not like this, he hadn’t. Somehow he had overlooked her lightly muscled thighs and long, lean calves in the jeans she always wore when she worked with the horses.
But her abbrieviated black skirt and fishnet stockings practically put a neon sign on those gams and screamed, Look At Me!
And was he ever looking.
Jesse was carefully scrutinizing every inch of her right down to her high-heeled lace-up boots when she cupped one hand under his chin and forced his gaze back up to her face.
Too bad he couldn’t make visual contact with her. He’d obviously popped an eyeball along the way.
“What’s the verdict, matey? You like what you see?” She cocked one hand on her hip and did a little shimmy that left him gasping for a breath.
An appreciative whistle emanated from somewhere nearby. Although they’d moved out of the densest part of the crowd, they were still surrounded by enthusiastic festival attendees draped in colorful beads and drinking beer from plastic cups in the shape of old-fashioned steins.
And if Jesse found out who the hell was whistling at Kyra he’d sew the guy’s lips together.
Jamming her silk scarf into the pocket of his shorts, he tucked Kyra under one arm and hauled her even farther from the masses. “Are you insane?” he hissed, wishing he could have thought of another way to get her out of there besides touching her. His hand burned where it rested on one slim but perfectly curved hip. “There are a bunch of guys halfway to drunk and slobbering in that crowd. You’re a walking target for trouble in that outfit.”
She shoved away from him as they rounded the corner of the Tampa Convention Center away from the water and the excitement of the pirate invasion. “The only one who seems to be targeting me for trouble is you, Chandler. Are you halfway to drunk and slobbering?”
Drunk—no. The jury was still out on the slobbering issue. There was definitely some drooling going on right now.
He took a deep breath and made a stab at sounding reasonable. “You’re just a bit—” He searched for the right words as his gaze roamed her outrageous costume. Her sexy-as-hell body. “Naked to be out in public, don’t you think?”
“You call this naked?” She planted one fist on her hip, the breeze from the bay blowing in to ruffle her hair and mold her blouse to her body.
Jesse swallowed—twice—but still couldn’t find his voice in a throat gone dry.
“Your German plaything is showing off half her butt cheeks in those little shorts of hers today while I remain decently covered.” Kyra tugged her skirt hem for emphasis.
Jesse wasn’t sure he even remembered their thread of conversation anymore since the wind had conspired to show him the shadowy outline of Kyra’s naked body beneath her clothes. “The skirt half of you isn’t what needs covering.”
He never thought he’d hear himself beg a woman to put her clothes back on. But this was Kyra, the one woman he’d always made it a point to treat honorably. The one long-term, enduring relationship he’d ever managed with any woman save his sister.
And damn it, he couldn’t seem to stop staring at her breasts.
She flashed him a wicked smile as she trailed her hand along her shoulder where bare skin met the edge of her blouse. “Oh. You mean this half.”
Transfixed, he watched her fingers skim over her own flesh. He couldn’t have turned away if there’d been a hurricane blowing in off the bay.
Her finger paused just before she reached the top of one breast, then hooked into the loop of a single strand of gold plastic beads she wore in deference to the day. “Guess it is a bit much, isn’t it? Maybe the costumer decided to go flashy because of the good media coverage Gasparilla is receiving this year. Although we’re far removed from the spotlight way back here.”
She looked around meaningfully at their relatively quiet position at the back of the crowd.
Not that Jesse had any intention of returning to the heart of the festival with Kyra dressed like this. She’d be fending off too many wolf whistles to have fun.
Scavenging for control, Jesse swiped a hand across his forehead. Had it ever been this hot in February before? “I think the coast is clear. I appreciate you saving me from Greta back there.” That had to be the reason for Kyra’s abduction scenario, right? “I don’t know how she found me in a such a big crowd, but she’s been glued to me all day. I appreciate you showing up when you did.”
He hoped he sounded marginally normal and unaffected.
She shrugged. “Guess you lucked out then. You got what you wanted by me getting what I wanted.”
“How do you figure?” Even if he hadn’t been choking on his own damn arousal, he had the feeling he wouldn’t have followed her thinking.
“You gave Greta the slip, which is what you wanted. I got you for the night, which is what I wanted.”
Her Cheshire-cat smile fanned the flames of his already molten imagination.
Jesse refused to screw up this friendship by allowing his libido to translate for him. Surely she didn’t mean what he thought she meant.
“We’re friends from way back,” he reminded himself as much as her. “If you need me, all you have to do is let me know.”
She laid both of her palms on his chest. “But I’ve never needed you quite like this before.”
The cool strength of her small hands permeated his shirt. No doubt she had to feel the slam of his heart, the furnace heat of his body.
“No?”
“No. Tonight isn’t going to be about friendship.” Her blue eyes locked on his. “Tonight is going to be about you and me, man to woman.” She leaned in closer, her incredible breasts almost brushing his chest. “And since you’re still technically my captive, I’m going to demand that you treat me like the woman you’ve never been able to see in me.”
That sounded dangerous as hell. But before he could protest, her voice turned to a whisper, forcing him to listen all the more carefully.
“That means we’re going to be sipping champagne instead of swilling beers. That means I expect you to feed me from your fingers. Dance with me hip to hip.” She sidled closer for emphasis, her hip grazing his. “In general, Jesse, now that I’ve got my very own bad boy at my fingertips, I’m going to wield every trick of seduction I’ve ever seen you use on other women and apply them to you. Slowly.”
Jesse didn’t remember when his jaw hit the ground, but he definitely recalled when the heart failure started to set in. It had been right about the time the word “seduction” had rolled off of Kyra’s tongue like a promise of erotic torment.
Finally, he knew exactly what she was asking.
Too bad he didn’t know if he’d survive it.
* * *
KYRA WATCHED Jesse clutch his chest as if she’d just shot him in the heart with her proposition.
Did he have to be so melodramatic about this?
Finally, he raised both hands in surrender. “Okay. You win. You’d better quit right now or I’m the one who’ll damn well be blushing. And I’ll never make another crack about dominatrix outfits.”
“I assure you this is no joke.” Could she be any more obvious in her approach? “I mean it, Jess.”
“No.” His response was delayed, but from the stern set to his jaw, he sure looked like he meant it.
“What do you mean no? You can’t defy a pirate.” What had happened to the playful man she’d known for over a decade? Didn’t he know how to indulge in a few games anymore? “I could make you walk the plank. Or I could tie you to the mast and give you fifty lashes.”
In fact, the thought inspired a few other ideas....
“What are you smiling about?” He studied her through narrowed eyes.
“I was just thinking fifty lashes might be more effective if I wielded my scarf.” She made a dive for the pocket of his shorts. “Where did you hide that anyway?”
He caught her wrists in a steely grip. “No. No. And hell no.”
She hadn’t seen such a serious expression on his face in more years than she could count. Probably not since he’d had a big blowout with his older brother about who was in charge of Jesse’s finances before he left Florida to start his baseball career. Jesse had won that argument along with his financial independence from Seth.
Now, his adamant rejection stung just a little. He’d gone out with every woman in her graduating class but her at one 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.”