She wanted the complete Jesse Chandler experience

Breathless, Kyra stared up at Jesse with his broad, square shoulders and wondered what he had in mind.

He grazed his hand slightly over her thigh. “You sure you don’t want to run?”

“And lose my chance to experience Jesse Chandler’s legendary prowess firsthand?” She settled more deeply into the pillows. “I don’t think so.”

He trailed his fingers over her hip, then up to her bare waist. The insubstantial little touches heightened her senses, made her crave more of him. When he walked those clever fingers under the edge 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 sighs of pleasure his hands wrought. 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.

Dear Reader,

I had so much fun penning last fall’s Wild and Willing, Blaze #54, that I couldn’t resist retracing my steps to Tampa’s annual pirate festival and finding out what else was happening on that day. The uniquely Floridian Gasparilla Festival was just too fun not to revisit!

Lucky for me I stumbled across bad boy Jesse Chandler, Seth Chandler’s younger brother. But instead of playing pirate at Gasparilla, Jesse was too busy picking up women to don an eye patch. Enter his best friend, Kyra Stafford, who’s had just about enough of Jesse’s antics. I hope you enjoy her adventures as a lusty lady pirate determined to show her friend how much steamy potential lurks between them.

Stay tuned in 2003 for my all-new series, Single in South Beach. If you think Gasparilla is fun, just wait until you hit South Beach in Miami. Four unlikely friends are cooking up revenge for the men who left them high and dry. You won’t want to miss their sensual adventures on the way to happily-ever-after. Visit me at www.JoanneRock.com to learn more about my future releases or let me know what you think of my books. I’d love to hear from you!

Happy reading,

Joanne Rock

Wild and Wicked
Joanne Rock

In loving memory of my friend and long-ago roommate,

Rebecca Schaffer, who had only just begun

to show the world how brightly she could shine.

Her talent and energy inspire me still.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

1

“KYRA!” JESSE CHANDLER shouted to his business partner as he strode into the barn housing the offices of Crooked Branch Horse Farms. He juggled purchases from the tack shop until he reached a sawhorse table where he could set them down. “I’ve got all the leather you wanted. Saddles and bridles, riding gloves and a dominatrix outfit—oh, wait. That last one wasn’t a business purchase.”

He sorted through the new supplies in the converted old building Kyra used strictly for storage and office space. The horses Kyra bred and trained lived in much more modern quarters behind this barn.

Removing price tags and testing the leather of the new stock, Jesse waited for his best friend and colleague to appear. He’d never made her blush in over ten years of trying, but hope sprang eternal. No matter that Kyra Stafford was the one woman in Citrus County he’d never hit on, he still loved to make her laugh.

“Perfect,” came a feminine purr from over his left shoulder—far closer than he’d anticipated. “I think you need an assertive woman to keep you in line, Jesse Chandler.”

For about two seconds, he reacted to the sultry promise he must have imagined behind the words.

Awareness fired through him, heated his insides despite the breeze drifting in the wide-open barn doors. The Gulf of Mexico rested a mere thousand acres away to border the northwest corner of the state-of-the-art Florida horse farm and training facility. Surely the gentle wind off the water should have helped him keep cool in February.

But then Kyra stepped around him to stand by his side and look over the new tack, her long blond hair grazing his arm. Smart, sensible Kyra Stafford who had never flirted with him for so much as five seconds.

What the hell was the matter with him?

Shaking off an absurd sense of attraction he’d never felt for his best friend before, Jesse attributed the Twilight Zone moment to too many nights alone. He definitely needed to remedy that situation this weekend.

“Funny, I don’t see any dominatrix garb here.” Kyra glanced up at him with her bright blue eyes. Innocent blue eyes, damn it. And smiled. “Be careful what you wish for, Jesse.”

From any other woman, Jesse would have pegged that remark for blatant enticement. But he was obviously going through major sensual deprivation if he was hearing come-ons in Kyra’s speech.

Hell yeah, he’d be more careful.

Clearing his throat, he decided maybe they were just both getting too old for the game of trying to make Kyra blush. “Guess I left the spiked collar at the store.” He started hanging bridles on the wall, determined to make tracks between him and this ill-advised conversation. “That’s okay. I don’t go for the hardcore type anyway.”

“Seems like you’re not going for any type lately,” Kyra observed, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she leaned a blue jean-clad hip into the sawhorse table. At twenty-four, she looked sort of like Buffy the Vampire Slayer meets Bonanza—a petite blonde in dusty cowboy boots with enough determination and drive to move mountains, or, more often, stubborn horses. “Is southern Florida’s most notorious bad boy finally mellowing?”

Allowing a saddle created for one of their new ponies to slide back to the plywood with a thunk, Jesse turned to face the woman who knew him best. The woman whose question mirrored his own recent fear.

“You know I couldn’t mellow if I tried.” Not that he would try. He was too content with bachelorhood, even though his last girlfriend was sticking to him like glue despite his best efforts to move on. He needed to show Greta he wasn’t the forever-after—or even a three-date—kind of guy.

“Why? Because there’d be ten women lined up in Victoria’s Secret lingerie and armed with apple pies if they knew you were thinking about settling down?”

She tried on a pair of fawn-colored riding gloves and stared at her hand encased in suede.

Jesse grinned. “As if that would be such a hardship.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him in one of Kyra’s classic don’t-bullshit-me looks.

He shrugged. “I don’t know what’s up. I’ve been putting in a lot of hours making final preparations around the Crooked Branch before I turn my attention to my custom homes business. Maybe I’ve just been working too hard lately.”

He hated leaving Kyra to run the business all by herself, but that had been her stipulation from the moment they’d went in on the operation together. She’d vowed to buy back his substantial share of the farm once she’d made it a success.

And damned if she wasn’t whooping butt on that promise already. As soon as she clinched one more horse sale, she’d own the controlling share of the business.

The farm had been great part-time work for Jesse in the years he’d played minor league baseball for kicks. But now that he was closing in on thirty, he was mentally ready to hang his own shingle for a custom home-building business and let Kyra go her own way with the Crooked Branch. His older brother had told Jesse last spring that he would never be able to still his wandering feet, but Jesse disagreed.

He might not be able to commit to any one woman, but he could commit to a place, damn it. Not only was he putting down roots in Citrus County, he was cementing his ties to the area by starting his own business here.

Still, he worried a little about leaving Kyra to her own devices at the training facility. Running a horse-boarding-and-breeding business wasn’t exactly a cushy way of life and as the date for him to bow out approached, Jesse couldn’t help thinking about all the tough jobs that Kyra would be left with to handle solo.

The physically demanding aspects of handling stubborn horses. The chauvinistic attitudes of some of the owners.

He hated the thought of anyone ever giving her a hard time.

She eyed him with quiet patience, reminding him why she was so damn good at working with antsy horses. “Are you sure you’re working, Jesse, or are you maybe overcompensating for leaving in two weeks? No offense, but this is more tack than we’ll need in two lifetimes.” She studied him in that open, no-holds-barred manner that had made him trust her from the moment they met. “Are you just using the excuse of work to hide out from some overeager female of the week?”

Jesse shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Caught.

Why in the hell had he thought he might be able to hide anything from this woman? Kyra’s eyes might be innocent, but they were wise.

Jesse shoved the stack of too many gloves to the back of the sawhorse table. “Honestly, I’m having a little trouble with Greta lately. She looks at me and sees picket fences no matter how much I avoid her.” He’d met the German model in Miami Beach last fall and they’d spent a crazy few days locked in her condo overlooking the water.

Between Greta’s flashy lifestyle and jet-set friends, Jesse had assumed she wanted the same things from their time together as he did—simple, basic things like mind-blowing sex and a few hours to forget life wasn’t as perfect as they pretended.

But ever since then, Greta had called him on and off, even going so far as to show up on his doorstep over the holidays to see if he wanted company.

“She thinks you’re marriage material?” Kyra’s skeptical tone suggested a woman could be committed for harboring those kinds of thoughts.

“Go figure. But she’s damned persistent. And you know how I hate to hurt people.” One of the foremost reasons he avoided relationships like the plague was to ensure he never hurt anybody. He’d learned that lesson early in life when his father had torn Jesse’s whole family apart with infidelities until he walked out on his wife and kids for good.

Too bad Jesse’s tact of keeping things light with Greta had bitten him in the ass this time.

“You need a different kind of woman.” Kyra sidled closer.

Or was that his imagination?

“Damn straight I do.” He folded his arms across his chest, unwilling to take any chances with his over-active libido today. The last thing he needed was any freaky twinge of attraction to Kyra again.

“A woman who wants the same things from a relationship you do.” Her voice took on a husky quality, reminding him of what it was like to trade pillow confidences with floral-scented females in the dark.

Not females like Kyra, of course.

He cleared his throat.

“That’s how I’m going to approach things from now on.” Jesse turned back to the mountain of leather goods on the plywood table and mentally started dialing numbers from his address book. A night with Lolita Banker would satisfy every stray sexual urge he’d had today, and then some.

“Then why don’t you let me help?” Kyra’s hand snaked over to his, gently restraining him from shuffling around the new bridles. “I know exactly what you want.”

Damnation. Her touch sizzled through him even as her words called to mind sensual visions. The arch of a woman’s back, the pink flush of feminine skin, the sweet sighs of fulfillment as…

Jesse’s gaze slid from Kyra to the mound of fresh hay that waited not ten yards away.

Holy freaking hell.

He withdrew his hand from her light touch as if burned. Then again, maybe he had been. At the very least, his brain circuits had obviously fried because there was no way in hell she’d meant anything remotely sexual.

Determined to escape that provocative vision forever, Jesse closed his eyes and clutched the new saddle in front of him like a shield. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him because he wouldn’t be seeing Kyra much once he started his new business.

“Great idea.” He forced the words past dry lips, trying like hell to remember the color of Lolita’s hair, the shape of her mouth, anything. “Let’s grab a beer after work and you can help me figure out how to let Greta down easy. You know somebody to hook her up with?”

He backed toward the barn doors, clutching the saddle in a death grip. Perhaps it was a good thing he’d be leaving the Crooked Branch in two weeks after all. “Besides, Lolita Banker’s waitressing at the bar on Indian Rocks Beach. Maybe I just need to meet someone else to help me—” Forget all about seducing my best friend? “Get my head on straight again.”

Turning away from those vivid blue eyes and poured-into-denim body, Jesse shouted over his shoulder. “Happy hour starts at six.”

HAPPY HOUR?

Why didn’t they call it something more apt like frustrated-as-hell hour?

Kyra fumed as she watched Jesse’s motorcycle kick up gravel on his way out of the driveway—as if he couldn’t put enough distance between him and her lame attempt at seduction.

She’d had a thing for Jesse from the first time they’d met. His perpetually too-long hair, dark eyes and prominent cheekbones gave him a dangerous look that hinted of long-forgotten Seminole heritage. He wore one gold stud in his ear, which, according to high school legend, he’d had ever since his tenth-grade girlfriend convinced him they should pierce a body part together. Jesse had kept the stud long after the girl.

Kyra had met him right after the ear-piercing. She’d caught him sneaking out one of her father’s horses at night to indulge in wild rides. Eventually, she’d discovered his midnight trips were more about escape than about raising hell. But that knowledge never altered her vision of Jesse Chandler as a danger-loving thrill seeker.

She’d been all of ten years old at the time and far too starry-eyed with Jesse to spill his secret to her manic-depressive dad. She’d started leaving Buster saddled for Jesse so he wouldn’t break his neck riding bareback.

Every morning, Buster would be groomed and locked in his stall, his tack neatly hung on the wall.

Their friendship had cemented that summer, despite the five years difference between them. Their paths rarely crossed in the school system, but Kyra heard all the rumors about him and collected Jesse folklore the way some girls collected scrapbooks of their favorite rock stars. She’d outgrown that infatuation with him, but the man still had the power to dazzle her. To make her wonder…

Unwilling to put her heart on the line, she’d ignored the stray longings for her best friend over the years, even going so far as to convince herself they could operate a business together.

Crooked Branch Farms was now one of the most prestigious breeding and training facilities in southern Florida, but all of Kyra’s hard work and new success still hadn’t fulfilled the ache within her that had started one sultry summer night fourteen years ago. In fact, now her workplace was tainted with longing for Jesse, ensuring she could never fully escape from thoughts of him.

Ever the practical thinker, Kyra had devised a two-prong plan to solve the problem. First, she was working her way toward taking over the controlling half of the business. If she could sell one more horse this year, that goal would be attainable and she’d be able to run the Crooked Branch independently.

Part two of her plan was much more fun. She wanted to seduce Jesse and experience the mythical sexual prowess of a man who’d long inhabited her dreams.

She knew he would never settle down. Yet that didn’t make her want him any less. In some ways, it made him a safe—temporary—choice for her wary heart.

If he ever noticed she wasn’t sporting pigtails anymore.

Sighing, Kyra stalked back to her office and flung herself onto the futon across from her bookshelves. As she idly sifted through a stack of paperwork, she admitted to herself today’s attempt to make Jesse see her as a woman had been an unmitigated flop. It’s not like she wanted picket fences either. She simply wanted a night to act out her longtime fantasy before he left their business for good.

So there wasn’t a chance she’d facilitate his seduction of Lolita Banker at the Indian Rocks Beach bar. For all Kyra cared, he could just twist in the wind while Greta the German Wonder-bod made him feel guilty about not playing house with her.

And in the meantime, Kyra would turn up the heat on her own seductive plans—just as soon as she figured out what they were. Heaven knew suggestive talk wasn’t the key according to her experience with him today.

How could a man be so blind?

She needed a more fast-acting approach, a surefire way to get his attention.

Just then a flyer caught her eye from her pile of paperwork. A pamphlet advertising Tampa Bay’s annual Gasparilla festival. This year the mock pirate invasion of the city was sponsored by a company Jesse’s older brother owned.

Her eyes scanned the paper, slowing over a phrase that suggested the festival was hiring a handful of actors to stage strictly-in-fun kidnappings of partygoers. Jesse’s brother Seth had hand-scrawled a note across the paper asking Jesse to consider playing one of the buccaneers himself, in fact.

Kyra knew he had nixed the request pleading that he needed to indulge in some R & R and just enjoy the festival before his home-building gig kicked into high gear in another two weeks. She also knew that probably meant he would be searching for a flavor-of-the-week woman at Gasparilla. Especially since his usual method of telling a woman they were through was insinuating himself in a new five-day relationship.

All of which put Jesse at the festival while leaving one buccaneer slot still vacant.

She’d wanted a way to make Jesse Chandler see her as a woman hadn’t she? She had the feeling an old-fashioned corset and fishnet stockings would do the trick. So what if pirates were usually peg-legged men dressed in rags with bad teeth?

Kyra would improvise.

And abduct the hottest man in Tampa Bay for a night he wouldn’t forget.

THREE DAYS LATER, Kyra stood on the deck of the famed Jose Gaspar pirate boat. As the warm February breeze lifted her hair from her neck, she tugged the strings on her black leather corset a little tighter and more breasts magically appeared.

The modern day push-up bra didn’t have anything on eighteenth-century technology.

Studying her reflection in the blunted steel of a costume dagger given to her by an overzealous event stylist on board the boat, Kyra thought she looked as close to a sexpot as she was possibly capable. Sure she’d never have the perfect figure of Greta the German Wonder-bod, but by a miracle of her black leather getup, she had more curves than ever before.

No matter that any spare ounce of flesh on her rib cage had been squeezed northward in order to achieve the effect. For today at least, she looked downright voluptuous.

Kyra shoved her dagger into a loop on her black cargo miniskirt. Her leather corset just reached the waist of the skirt while a gauzy, low-cut blouse skimmed her breasts underneath the leather. She hadn’t bothered to wear a bra for the event given the old-fashioned lace-up garment currently holding her breathless.

She wouldn’t lack for support, but if the February Gulf breeze turned cold, she’d probably be showing a little more than she’d like through the white cotton blouse. Who’d have thought the wardrobe they’d given her would be so treacherously thin?

Still, Kyra was pleased she’d taken the plunge and committed herself to today’s cause. After years of near invisibility around Jesse, she needed something dramatic to make him notice her as a woman.

How hard could it be to sway him once he noticed her in that way?

As the bellow of mock cannons echoed in her ears, Kyra peered across the ship deck filled to overflowing with local luminaries dressed as pirates and waved to Jesse’s scowling older brother, Seth. A self-made millionaire, Seth Chandler had always enjoyed a more low-profile approach to life than Jesse. Yet Seth had been forced to don an eye patch today when the lead buccaneer had quit an hour before the Jose Gaspar set sail.

A role he didn’t seem to be enjoying if his surly expression was any indication.

The dull roar of the crowd standing onshore near Tampa Bay’s convention center jerked her thoughts from Seth back to the present. Leaning on the rail surrounding the main deck, Kyra squinted out across the water in the hope of finding her quarry.

A swirl of purple, yellow and green gleamed back at her. The Gasparilla event shared several things in common with New Orleans’s Mardi Gras—its signature colors, a parade organized by Krewes that tossed beads and other souvenirs to attendees and a serious party attitude.

But the resemblance ended there. Gasparilla celebrated a distinctly Floridian heritage with its nod to a famous pirate and the events on the water. As the 165-foot boat sailed toward shore, a flotilla of over two hundred smaller watercraft followed in its wake.

And of course, Mardi Gras didn’t present the opportunities for a friendly kidnapping that Gasparilla offered for the first time this year. Anticipation tingled through Kyra as her chance to open Jesse’s eyes drew near.

Just as they dropped anchor, she spotted him.

All six foot two of rangy muscle and masculine grace talking animatedly with friends. Or maybe some new conquest. Kyra couldn’t fully see who he was speaking to through the crush. Funny how her feminine radar had been able to track him without any problem, though.

She’d known he would be here because Seth had asked him to drop off his boat at the festival today. Jesse had mentioned that he was looking forward to spending most of the day in downtown Tampa—after the invasion of the city there was a parade, followed by a street festival into the night.

A night Kyra intended to claim for her own.

Before she could secure a solid plan for making her way through the throng to reach Jesse, Seth swung out over the mass of partygoers, signaling the start of the pirate invasion. Chaos ensued on the boat and off as buccaneers leaped, swung or ran off the Jose Gaspar to greet attendees and abduct a few innocent bystanders.

Born athletic and toned from days on horseback, Kyra didn’t flinch at the idea of climbing a rope and flinging herself out into the mob. She was a little surprised at the substantial chorus of male appreciation as she did so, however. Apparently her fishnet stockings and brand-new cleavage invited attention because she was seriously ogled—and groped—for the first time in her life.

“Take me, honey!” a partygoer shouted as he stumbled into her path. Wearing a crooked three-cornered hat emblazoned with a Jolly Roger and a Metallica T-shirt, the guy sloshed beer over the rim of his plastic cup onto the toe of her lace-up black boots.

Kyra righted his precarious cup and sidled past him, her gaze scanning the crowd for Jesse. She wasn’t so desperate for attention that she’d settle for the lecherous stare of a drunken stranger.

Unfortunately, her corset attracted plenty of the wrong kind of attention.

She smacked away a hand that brushed along her thigh, wishing she’d brought along a riding crop for crowd control. Who’d have thought a glorified push-up bra could turn so many heads?

Desperate to find the only man whose attention she really cared about, Kyra caught sight of him leaning into the shade of a palm tree planted in between the concrete slabs of sidewalk some fifteen yards away. Focused on her muscle-bound goal, she stepped around a strolling hot-pretzel vendor and a mother clutching the hands of toddler twins wearing eye patches.

Only then did she spy Jesse’s companion. Greta the German Wonder-bod giggled relentlessly at every word out of his mouth, her perfect figure looking svelte and toned in yellow shorts that barely covered her ridiculously tiny butt. A white T-shirt spelled out Monaco in matching sunny yellow letters.

Kyra knew damn well Greta didn’t need the aid of a corset to give her those amazing curves. The German model had an effortless beauty that wouldn’t desert her when the festival was over. Even if she made a living slinging hay in blue jeans.

The ache of second-guessing tightened in Kyra’s chest. Would it be cruel to pull Jesse away if he would honestly rather patch things up with Greta? God knows, it looked like he was enjoying himself, his dark eyes alight with good humor and his lone dimple flashing in his left cheek.

But then again, Jesse had a way of making any woman feel like she was the center of his universe even as he plotted how to dance around any sort of commitment. His elusiveness was part of his charm.

And hadn’t he just confided to Kyra three days ago that Greta wanted much more than he could provide?

Refusing to allow a little feminine insecurity to thwart her plan, Kyra charged toward the couple. No way would Jesse have invited Greta here today if he was worried that she was taking things too seriously. Greta was probably just chasing him the same way so many women did.

She pulled herself up short.

The way Kyra was chasing him for the first time in her life.

But at least Kyra knew what would come out of a relationship with her best friend. A few nights of amazing pleasure so she could get over her age-old crush on him and they would go back to being strictly friends.

Committed to her plan, Kyra withdrew a silk scarf from the pocket of her cargo skirt and wrapped one end of the filmy material around each of her hands.

She didn’t have the option of carrying off Jesse over one shoulder the way a guy pirate might kidnap his wench of choice. Therefore, she had to resort to more underhanded means of abduction.

Edging up behind Jesse, she was neatly hidden from Greta’s view by his broad back. A white tank shirt bearing the name of a horse show she’d competed in long ago exposed his tanned shoulders and strong arms. Low slung black shorts hugged his hips and a very fine…back view.

A shiver of excitement jolted through her as she neared him, along with a slight tremor of nerves.

Before she could change her mind, Kyra looped her pink silk scarf over his head to cover his eyes. In a flash, she pressed herself to his warm back to whisper in his ear.

“Don’t fight it, hotshot. Consider yourself a pirate prisoner.” The words tripped off her tongue in a breathy rush as her body reacted to his with spontaneous heat. “For today, you’re all mine.”

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 back seat 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.”

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.

Now all he could think about were those ultrafeminine undergarments and what it might be like to peel them from Kyra’s body.

Her invitation to take her for a ride had paralyzed him for a heart-pounding five seconds. Jesse had zero experience turning down those kinds of invitations. Having realized at an early age that he was too restless to settle down, too much like his old man to tie himself to any one woman, Jesse had carefully constructed a reputation for himself as a player. With that legend-in-his-own-time aura preceding him, no woman would ever be surprised by his lack of commitment.

And in turn, he’d never disappoint anyone.

But the strategy that had worked like a charm for ten years was unraveling in a big way. First, Greta staunchly ignored all the hype about him and—according to what she’d told him earlier this afternoon—she’d sold her Miami Beach condo for an apartment in Tampa.

Now Kyra was suggesting a fling he couldn’t afford to take any part in.

No matter how much his body screamed at him otherwise.

Bringing the bike to a stop a few feet from Kyra’s long, low-slung ranch house, Jesse willed away all provocative thoughts as he disengaged himself from her. He needed a cool head to talk her out of the big mistake she seemed determined to make.

She slid from the bike with the fluid movements of a woman who’d ridden horses all her life. Odd that he’d never noticed the quiet grace and strength about her before.

“Come on inside and I’ll get you a drink,” she offered, slipping her helmet from her head to place it gently on the seat.

Jesse stared in her wake as she sauntered up the flagstone path toward the front door, her lace-up boots clicking a follow-me tempo. He’d been too caught up in her new subtle politeness to ride off into the sunset on his bike while he had the chance.

Shit.

How could he just leave without even saying goodbye? He found his feet trailing after her before his mind consciously made the decision to go inside the house.

She’d left the door open wide into the cool, sprawling home he’d helped her build on a patch of the Crooked Branch property five years ago. The mish-mash of Spanish influenced stucco archways, miniature Italian courtyards and contemporary architecture had been the first house he’d ever custom-designed from scratch and he continued to be proud of it in the years since his skills had improved tenfold. The house was so uniquely suited to Kyra he couldn’t picture anyone else ever living here.

He’d always felt at home here before. Today he had the impression of a fly venturing farther into a silken, sweetly scented web.

One quick goodbye and he was out of here.

“Kyra?” He didn’t see her right away as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting indoors. The sound of the refrigerator door thudding shut called him toward the kitchen.

She stood at the triangular island in the center of the room, tipping a longneck bottle of Mexican beer to her lips. A few damp tendrils of blond hair clung to her neck from the warmth of the day.

He’d worked side-by-side with her for years and not once had the sight of perspiration on her forehead turned him on. Was he so freaking shallow that all she had to do was slide into fishnet hose to make him start salivating?

Before he could fully form and analyze a response to that question—let alone say goodbye—Kyra set her beer on the kitchen counter with a clang.

Foam rose up in the throat of the bottle to bubble over onto the granite surface around her sink, but Jesse was too mesmerized by the sight of her strutting into the hallway to do anything about it.

Something about the take-no-shit attitude of her walk told him she meant business. He’d seen that determined stride of hers before when she was dealing with shifty horse sellers or uncooperative studs.

And he had the feeling he wasn’t going to fare any better against the will of this woman than the men who’d been forced to give her a good price on her horses or the studs who procreated when and where she wanted them to.

As a matter of fact, he felt his own desire to play stud rising to the surface in a hurry.

“Kyra, I don’t think—” was as much as he managed before she came toe-to-toe with him in the hall lit with flickering electric sconces intended to look like candles along both walls.

Jesse didn’t realize he was backing up until his butt connected with the stucco wall behind him. Her hands materialized on his chest as if to hold him in place.

He could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest half-exposed by her low-cut white blouse. His gaze seemed stuck on that creamy white flesh no matter how desperately his brain sought to unglue his eyes.

But then his brain had a full-time job simply willing his hands to ignore the overwhelming temptation to touch Kyra.

When her lips touched his, he lost the battle.

Sensation exploded through him at the brush of her soft mouth. There was a sweet taste to her that even the beer couldn’t hide, and he drank her in like water, swirling his tongue with hers in an effort to savor every nuance.

His hand moved to her shoulder, powerless to remain immobile any longer. He molded the delicate skin of her collarbone, his thumb dipping down to the gentle swell of her breast above the neckline of her blouse.

And then it was as if someone had tossed gasoline on the fire of his want for her. Heat exploded inside him in time with that touch, burning through him with a fierce desire to scoop her up and walk her into the bedroom he knew was at the back of the house.

He could only think about laying her down and unfastening the laces that held the leather garment together. About seeing the perfect breasts she’d been hiding from him her whole life.

She moaned low in her throat as she edged her way closer to him, settling those delectable breasts against the insubstantial cotton of his tank shirt. The beaded peaks rasping over his chest tantalized him to touch.

To taste.

It’s just a kiss. He repeated the lie over and over again in his mind, needing to give himself permission to hold her, to indulge this fantasy come to life for just a few minutes.

Her sunny scent wrapped around him with renewed strength as their body temperatures soared. The stucco wall scraped into his back, a discomfort he barely acknowledged while in counterpoint to the lush softness of Kyra plastered to his front.

Soft blond hair tickled his arm where it wrapped around her back, teased his nose when he bent to kiss her neck and taste her warm skin.

“Jesse,” she sighed as she tipped her head back, granting him free reign over her body.

He smoothed a hand down her arm and over her hip as he kissed her neck down to one shoulder. The feel of the leather corset in his hand called him back to the place where a neat bow held her outfit together.

If this was just a kiss, he wouldn’t go there.

If this was just a kiss, he’d sure as hell never untie those ribbon-thin leather straps and free the breasts he wanted so damn badly.

But with the encouragement of her hips wriggling against his own, Jesse tugged one end of the bow until the laces slid free. He told himself he would be content just to look. One glimpse of those breasts and he was out of here.

Then his gaze connected with Kyra’s in the moody, flickering hallway light. Perhaps his intentions were written in some small facet of his expression because she grabbed one of his hands and laid it to rest on her breast, catapulting him into major meltdown mode. The peaked nipple lined up perfectly between his thumb and forefinger as if to beg for his touch.

“Come with me,” she whispered, never releasing his hand as she backed up a step.

Oh, how he wanted to.

He wanted nothing better than to come with her about ten times before morning. To make her hot, wet and mindless for him.

But to take advantage of Kyra’s momentary lapse of judgment would be the equivalent of hurting her, sooner or later. Besides, he could somehow still believe himself redeemable if he didn’t seduce his own best friend.

Hissing a sigh between his teeth, he had to face up to that fact. “I can’t do this.”

Of all the rules he’d broken in his life, Kyra Stafford was one line he had promised himself he would never, ever cross.

THE FINISH LINE loomed ten feet away in the form of her bedroom, but Kyra sensed she wouldn’t be clearing that threshold soon enough.

Jesse obviously possessed powers of restraint foreign to her if he could stop himself in the midst of the conflagration that had been going on between them. Either that or those kisses hadn’t affected him nearly as much as they were affecting her.

The thought daunted her in spite of the molten heat churning through her veins and the tingly alertness of every square inch of her skin. But damn it, if she didn’t press her case now, she knew she’d never have another chance. Once Jesse quit helping her out around the Crooked Branch two weeks from now, she wouldn’t even see him as much let alone have an excuse to indulge in sexy captive scenarios with him.

If she was ever going to live out her fantasy with him—or have an opportunity to get over his sexy self for good—Kyra needed to act now.

“You can’t?” Kyra forced her breathing to some semblance of normal and scavenged for a teasing smile as she hoisted her corset back into place. “You say that as if you had some choice in the matter.”

Jesse scrubbed a hand through his too-long dark hair, his gaze straying encouragingly often to Kyra’s leather outfit. “It’s the right choice and you know it.”

“I know no such thing. I left the festival with you because I thought you understood what I expected.” Had she been so wrong to think maybe they’d end up together after he’d hauled her out of Gasparilla for mentioning nipple rings? She tugged the laces tighter on her pirate garb. “You can’t just quit the game now that we’re out of Tampa.”

“The hell I can’t.” He turned his back on her while she tied the leather straps into a bow. Squeezing his temples with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, he stepped out of the hallway and into the wide-open courtyard behind the living room.

“Spoilsport,” she called after him, removing her boots as she followed him out into the late-afternoon sunshine spilling across the terracotta tiles. He sat on top of a teakwood table facing a simple marble birdbath fountain in the center of the courtyard. “Maybe you ought to take me back to the festival so I can find someone more willing.”

She leaned against the table he sat on, giving her a rare opportunity to be nearly eye-to-eye with a man half a foot taller than her.

“You’re going nowhere today even if I have to lock you in the house to make sure of that.”

She smoothed one of the leather straps to her corset between two fingers. “Why not just tie me to my bedpost instead?”

He opened his mouth to speak and snapped it shut again. He swallowed. Flexed his jaw as if grinding his teeth. Then pointed a finger in her face. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“So show me.” He’d been with more women than she could count. Would it kill him to indulge her for a day? Maybe two? She edged her way closer to stand between his knees. “Especially since you robbed me of the chance to abduct a more fun captive.”

Trailing a hand over his thigh, Kyra absorbed the heat of him through her fingers. The bristly hair of his leg lightly scratched over her palm.

“You’ve temporarily lost your mind, woman.” Jesse imprisoned her wandering hand just as she reached his shorts. “What else would you have me do?”

As he held her there, immobile but far from powerless, Kyra could see the quick pulse in his neck, feel the tension in his body.

She insinuated herself farther into the vee of his thighs, their bodies a scant inch from touching. Leaning close, she whispered in his ear.

“I think I’d have you barter sexual favors for your freedom.”

4

IF KYRA HAD BEEN any other woman, Jesse would be well on his way to making her forget her own name by now.

As he held her slender wrist with one hand, it occurred to him he’d never restrained a woman’s touch before. Hell, he’d never restrained his own desire to touch for that matter.

Women had always given him the green light, and he’d always accepted it with pleasure. To hold back was an all-new experience. One which he hoped fervently he’d never have to repeat.

“Sexual favors have no place between friends. You know that.” He tried not to notice the satiny texture of the skin on the inside of her wrist.

“Since when?” Her other hand slid over his chest in a provocative swirl.

Before he imprisoned that one, too. “Since always. What kind of friend would I be if I let you sleep with a low-down two-timer like me?”

She lifted a sunny blond eyebrow and met his gaze dead-on. “What kind of friend would you be if you denied me the best orgasms in Citrus County?”

So much of his blood surged south, she might as well have set up a damn IV to his Johnson. Damned if he didn’t feel light-headed.

“My reputation has definitely been overstated,” he managed to croak in between gulps of much-needed air.

She leaned closer, her breasts brushing his chest. “I don’t think so.”

Somewhere between the brush of her breasts and her whispered words, Jesse must have let go of her hands. All of the sudden, they were everywhere, on his shoulders, spilling down onto his back, drawing him closer.

Such soft, silky palms. He’d seen her riding and working with gloves on a million times over the years. Never once had he suspected she’d been protecting such smooth skin underneath that dusty leather.

He reached for her—thinking he’d insert some space between them—but instead he pulled her closer when his fingers met the cotton of her skirt. Her hips were narrow along with the rest of her body, but they curved gently from her waist, providing an inviting niche for a man’s touch.

For his touch.

A soft moan escaped her lips, a cry both earthy and feminine. The note of hungry longing pushed him over the edge. He might have been able to resist his own sexual urges. But how could he continue to refuse hers when he’d never been able to deny her anything in over a decade of friendship?

Assuring himself he would find a way to keep things under control, Jesse slid off the table and onto his feet, never letting go of Kyra’s hips. He took one look at her flushed cheeks, her half-closed eyelids, and knew he wasn’t going to be able to walk away anytime soon.

She raised both palms to his chest and pressed him gently backward. Not that he moved anywhere.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she whispered, sultry as Eve before the fig leaves.

“I’m going to barter for my freedom.” He tugged her toward the bedroom, a room he’d built with his own two hands long before he ever suspected he’d spend any time within those four walls. “And I’ve got a sexual favor in mind that will curl your toes, melt your insides and make you forget all about playing pirate for the day.”

OH. MY.

Kyra’s footsteps followed in the wake of Jesse’s as he pulled her into the bedroom. She’d dreamed about this moment more times than she could count, yet a niggling fear gave her pause. Was he acting on seductive autopilot in giving her what she wanted, or did he feel a small measure of the same sensual hunger she did?

Or what if—God forbid—he was acting out of some sense of pity?

As much as she wanted whatever toe-curling, inside-melting experience Jesse Chandler had to offer, first she needed to be certain his erotic overtures were fueled by a little passion and not some misguided sense of duty as her friend.

And she could only think of one way to find out as Jesse drew her down onto the simple white linens of her king-size four-poster bed.

She dove for his shorts.

The move wasn’t exactly subtle, but until she touched him, she couldn’t be entirely sure how she affected him. Granted, she would have to be blind not to notice the man wasn’t turned on at the moment. But for all she knew, men automatically responded to leather corsets and a few throaty sighs.

Kyra had always been a practical, salt-of-the-earth type of girl, and she felt more comfortable getting her own handle on the situation, so to speak. She needed to see how he reacted to her touch.

“Holy—” Jesse’s swallowed oath and wide eyes weren’t exactly the reactions she’d hoped for.

“What?” She smoothed her fingers over the altogether pleasing shape of him beneath his clothes. She had little enough experience in this arena, but she possessed enough to be impressed.

Jesse’s eyelids fell to half-mast before he caught both her hands in his. “Have you always been this much of a pistol and I just missed it?”

Their gazes connected in the dim light filtering through closed wooden blinds and sheer lace curtains. Between the setting sun and the muted colors of the room, Kyra couldn’t even see where the dark brown of his eyes stopped and the black center of his pupils began.

She sat perfectly still, transfixed by the rapid beat of her heart, the steady warmth of Jesse’s stare. “You ought to know I only do things all or nothing. Starting the Crooked Branch. Helping you build this house. Going for broke at the horse shows. If I want something, I am very willing to work for it.”

In fact, she was quite willing to do whatever it took to make sure Jesse noticed her, to make sure he stayed tonight. But he was making it a bit of a challenge by restraining her hands at every turn.

Working on instinct, she settled for leaning back into the Battenburg lace pillows to recline the rest of the way on the bed.

Like an indomitable force of nature, her breasts remained standing even when she lay down. Corsets rocked.

“You’re a wild woman.” Jesse’s eyes burned a path down the leather laces holding her outfit together.

Kyra rather liked the idea of unveiling a whole new side of herself that only Jesse would see. Because she felt safe with him, she could be more adventurous than she would be with any other man. More daring.

“Wild and wicked.” She ran the top of her bare foot up the inside of his calf. “That’s me.”

Jesse dodged the path of her marauding toes and followed her down to the mattress, pinning her hands over her head. “Not for long you’re not.”

His nearness cooked up a thick heat in her veins and sent a rush of liquid warmth through her body. His tanned muscles flexed on either side of her cheeks as he held her in place on the bed.

“I’m not?” She sure felt certifiably wicked at the moment.

“No.” He released her hands to trail his fingers up her bare arms to her collarbone, then down her sides to rest on her hips. “In a few minutes you’re going to be sated and tame.”

“Promises, promises.” Her limbs went heavy and liquid at the thought of what he might have in mind. “Are you sure you can deliver on such a bold pledge, Jesse Chandler?”

He surveyed her body with the slow thoroughness of a world-class artist sizing up a new project. His brown eyes flicked over her stocking-clad thighs, her zshort skirt and the peekaboo laces holding her corset in place. “Your pleasure is guaranteed.”

Her heart jumped, skipped and pumped double time.

She walked her fingers up one sinewy bicep. “If I’m not completely satisfied, can I ask for a repeat performance until you get it just right?”

He tugged one of the laces free from its knot to loosen the corset, leaving the leather garment in place while exposing a deep vee of cleavage. The movement shifted her cotton blouse to tease over her sensitive nipples and send a rush of heat between her thighs.

“I take great pride in my work, Kyra. I would never stop until I got it just right.” He skimmed his hand over the flesh he’d exposed, carefully avoiding her breasts and making her all the more urgent to be touched.

She just barely resisted the urge to fan herself. No wonder the man had captivated feminine imaginations from one end of the Sunshine State to the other. Every inch of her felt languid and restless, heavy and hungry at the same time.

Opening her mouth to speak, she was surprised to discover words failed her at the moment. She could only think about indulging her every fantasy about Jesse. Could only envision tying him to her just this once to realize the sexy dreams that had plagued her nights and prevented her from being able to appreciate any other man.

Although as Jesse stared deep into her eyes and trailed his fingers lightly down the valley between her breasts, Kyra wondered if she’d ever be able to pry this man from her fantasies.

His voice growled husky and deep in her ear. “Are we agreed then?”

She blinked, fought for a rational thought even as the magic of his hands lured her deeper into a world of pure sensation. “Agreed on what?”

“My freedom for your pleasure?” His touch hovered close to one scarcely covered nipple. So close. His breath huffed warm against her shoulder as he staked his terms for sensual negotiation.

And she couldn’t have bargained for a better deal to save her life. Insistent hormones and liquid joy crept through her veins and made her amenable to anything—everything—he wanted.

“Deal.”

The moment the word left her lips, her unspoken wish was granted. Jesse’s fingertips smoothed over the aching tips of her breasts through the thin cotton, then plucked the sensitive crests until she shivered with wanting.

Hungry for more, she wriggled closer to him on the bed, desperate to experience the press of his chest against her bared skin. With eager, clumsy fingers, she tugged his shirt up to the middle of his chest and laid claim to his heated skin with her palms. Greedily, she absorbed the nuances of his body with her hands, mentally reconciling the muscles she’d stared at for years with the ridges and angles underneath her touch.

He felt hot and hard and better than she’d ever imagined. But if she wasn’t careful, Kyra knew she’d find pleasure with him far too soon, long before she’d had a chance to tease and tantalize him.

Forcing herself to slow down, she stilled her fingers and looked up at him to find his eyes glittering with the same heat that fired through her.

But before she could celebrate that small victory, Jesse covered her with his body, cradled her cheek in his hand and caressed her mouth with his own.

SHE TASTED LIKE honeysuckle—warm, sweet and heady. Jesse was drowning in her already and he’d only just barely touched his lips to hers.

Everything about this encounter had “mistake” written all over it, but he couldn’t have stopped himself now if he tried. The hell of it was, even if he could have scavenged some last remnant of control, his sensible best friend had turned into an exotic temptress and she urged him on at every turn.

Her hands fluttered restlessly at his shoulders, delicately steering him where she wanted him. Her calf wrapped around the back of his to mold him more tightly to her, demonstrating a strength he hadn’t suspected in her slight form.

He deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth for his own even as he reminded himself to be gentle. He didn’t have a clue how he’d walk away from her, as if she was any other woman, tonight after he showered her with earthly delights.

But he would. He had to.

He’d never allowed any woman to get under his skin before and Kyra was more dangerous than most because he cared about her.

Already he was taken by surprise to realize how much her satisfaction meant to him. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to be roped into this ill-advised escapade, but now that they lay so close to one another in her monstrous four-poster bed, Jesse wanted nothing so much as to make tonight one she’d never forget.

Breaking the kiss, Jesse brushed his lips across her silky soft skin, over her cheek and down to the throbbing hollow of her neck. He’d known her for half a lifetime, yet everything about her was new and different tonight.

He’d noted in the past that Kyra was passionate about anything and everything she’d ever done—a quality he’d always admired because it was so foreign from his own love ’em and leave ’em approach. But now, having all that passion turned on him scared him to the roots of his too-long hair. Her fingers had found their way under his shirt, crawled across his chest and clutched him to her until he had no choice but to feel every square inch of her perfect breasts pressed up against him, the thin layer of cotton between proving no barrier at all. Still, he couldn’t resist plunging both hands into the loosened remains of her leather corset and unbuttoning the tiny fastenings on that blouse.

Gently, he nudged the fabric aside. Exposed her all the more to his gaze.

The sensation of seeing her breasts bared to him seemed incredibly decadent, yet forbidden because Kyra was his friend. But it was all so damned awesome he wanted to kneel before her gorgeous body and worship her in ways no other man had ever dreamed of.

“Kyra.” Whispering her name in the darkness, Jesse wondered if he’d ever be able to speak it again without getting turned on. “Lay still for me so I can look at you.”

Her blue eyes glittered back at him in the near darkness that had settled over her bedroom. Her restless hands slid away from his chest to fist at her sides. “I’m not good at being still.”

She wriggled against the simple lace bedspread as if to prove the point. Fleetingly, Jesse remembered how difficult it had been for her growing up with her father when he was in a depressive state. A high-energy teenager and a tired old man who only wanted to retreat from life had been a challenging combination on both sides.

“But I’ve never gotten to see you this way before.” He pinned her wrists on either side of her head, levering himself above her in a half-hearted push-up. “And who knows when I’ll ever get another shot at seeing you naked. I plan to look my fill.”

A slight breeze slid through the blinds at the window, rustling the starched curtains alongside her bed and stirring a lock of her hair to blow against his arm. She’d wrapped herself around all his senses just as thoroughly as those long blond strands conformed to his bicep.

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.”

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