My Double Life: Wild and Wicked (28 page)

The more he thought about it, the less capable he was of slowing things down. Her peeling her scarf off had been his personal breaking point—a total explosion that left them both burning out of control. And if this time was fast and furious, he could tell himself he’d only been looking out for her best interests.

He couldn’t allow a world-famous cover model to be discovered running around the outskirts of Tampa International while buck naked, could he?

Yeah, right. Just call him Mr. Unselfish.

“Please, Clint.” She whispered it over and over like a seductive mantra while she rubbed herself against him.

The sultry night air whispered across his senses, but mostly he could only see, feel or hear Greta. Her little moans worked him to a fever pitch while her hands smoothed their way under his shirt and her short nails scraped lightly against his back.

She was too fast for him, but he didn’t stand a chance of slowing her down. He settled for sliding one hand around the back of her neck and tilting her head to receive his kiss. She tasted like sex—hot, wet and mind-blowingly sweet.

So he indulged himself. Thoroughly.

And all the while he kissed her he sought the other source of her heat. The silky wet essence of her that had brushed ever so lightly against his cock and made him insane to be inside her.

His fingers brushed over the damp curls that sheltered her from him, tunneled through the soft blond fuzz she’d shaved into some precise pattern or another. He’d look later.

In detail.

Right now, he bypassed that pleasure for later, needing to feel the pulsing—

Ah, yes.

She was slick and ready for him. Swollen and every bit as eager as he was. He would have slid his finger inside her, but she was lifting herself into his arms and wrapping those long, perfect legs around his waist before he had the chance.

Her position placed her snugly against him, opened her to him with an invitation he couldn’t hold off any longer. He had to be inside her.

He hoped like hell she didn’t regret this later. In his gentleman mode tonight, he’d planned to come clean about his work and his special interest in psychology. For some reason, he had the feeling Greta, and all her intriguing depths, was going to have a problem with his fascination with neurosis—human and equine alike. But bottom line, he was a horse breeder. She couldn’t take issue with that.

And if she was a little incensed about his other work, he’d deal with that later.

When he wasn’t on the verge of the best sex of his life.

Forgetting all about anything but claiming the woman in his arms, Clint hoisted her a few inches higher. Slowly, he resettled her, positioning her above him.

And then he was inside her and she was squeezing him all around. Greta’s ankles clamped together behind his back as if she’d keep him right there forever. Her breasts brushed his cheek, filled his nostrils with her soft woman’s scent.

Another motor rumbled in the distance and Clint made sure they were hidden from view of the road. But as the growl of an engine grew louder, headlights hit them—not from the street behind them, but from the runway dead ahead.

For a moment, they were caught in the bright light and Clint saw every facet of Greta with piercing clarity. Head thrown back, teeth sunk into her full lower lip, cheeks flushed with the night air and the sex.

And right there, in the middle of that white hot spotlight, she unraveled.

Her cry all but lost in the whine of the airplane engine, Greta went taut against him, her back arching with her pleasure. Clint might have gone over the edge just looking at her like that. But her body pulsing around his in quick little throbs stole all his control within seconds.

He flew right up there with her for a long, breath-stealing moment while the plane turned to accelerate up the runway. They clung together, damp with sweat and sex and Clint had never felt so fulfilled.

They were so damn right together in the big scheme of things. So balanced.

Cast in darkness once again, the image of Greta in the bright light burned itself on the backs of his eyelids.

And he knew from that one blinding moment he wouldn’t be letting this woman go anytime soon.

If ever.

He’d find a way to reach past that haughty attitude she wore like armor. And once he did that, convincing a sophisticated globe-trotter to trade in her frequent-flyer miles for a life on an Alabama horse ranch would seem like a walk in the park.

13

T
HE
AUCTIONEER
’
S
HYPER
-
SPEED
monologue rang out over the county fairgrounds on the outskirts of Tampa Sunday morning. Kyra scanned the crowds for Clint as she led Sam’s Pride away from the unloading zone and toward his assigned stall for the day.

The glossy black three-year-old snorted and stayed close to her in the unfamiliar terrain, but after hearing Clint’s thoughts on why the horse acted the way he did, Kyra suspected that was more for her protection than out of any fear of his own.

Patting the horse’s broad neck, she ignored the twinge of guilt that had been niggling at her all morning. She could almost see Jesse frowning his disapproval at her in her mind’s eye.

Jesse.

The pang she felt when she thought about him hurt even more than her guilt over the horse. She’d purposely found errands to do away from the ranch over the past few days just in case he dropped by.

Of course, her long absences were the reason she’d never been able to make connections with Clint about meeting her at the auction today. She’d called his cell phone several times since Thursday night but never got an answer. She’d finally left a voice-mail message for him last night with the details about the auction on the off chance he could help her out this one last time.

Technically, his work with Sam’s Pride was complete and Kyra knew he had his own breeding farm to attend to in Alabama. From what she’d gathered about him from other trainers, Kyra understood Clint’s first priority was his own ranch. He simply had a fascination with unusual horse behavior and enjoyed the diversion of working with those cases.

But she really would have liked the extra hands today to help her with the nine-hundred-pound Tennessee walking horse in case Sam’s Pride turned nervous when she sold him. The fairgrounds were already brimming with noise and activity as the auctioneer’s energetic delivery blasted over an old public address system and horses changed hands in every direction.

In the past, Jesse had always helped her with things like this. The last auction they’d attended together, Jesse had bought a few ponies despite Kyra’s adamant objections. Providing pony rides and training for children wasn’t their focus.

But he and his controlling percentage had won the argument. Much to her surprise, the ponies had established a veritable gold mine for the Crooked Branch, as tourists and locals alike turned out in droves to indulge their kids.

Jesse’s whim was actually the business coup of the year. And now that she remembered how much she had protested that day at the auction, Kyra wondered if she’d ever remembered to tell Jesse how right he had been about the ponies.

Another pang of guilt pinched her as she tried to discern one Stetson from another in the crowd, still hoping for a glimpse of Clint.

But not half as much as she hoped in vain for a glimpse of Jesse. Sure she’d told him she wanted to take Sam’s Pride to auction today. That didn’t mean he’d show up at the last minute the way he sometimes had in the past. She hadn’t realized how much having his support had meant to her over the years. How much his roguish smile would bolster her.

The sound of footsteps running across the gravel behind her made her heart leap nevertheless. She turned, cursing the hopeful jump of her heart.

Clint skidded to a stop next to her, Stetson nowhere to be found as he huffed out a greeting sporting running shorts and a T-shirt that was...inside out? “I just got your message this morning while I was making coffee.”

“Good morning to you, too. Long night?” She nodded at his T-shirt, curious what sort of woman caught this practical man’s eye. And even more curious what sort of woman caught it so thoroughly he hadn’t even noticed his own shirt was wrong side out.

He frowned down at the seams on his shoulder. “A pleasantly long night. But I hauled ass over here this morning as soon as I heard your voice mail. You can’t sell him, Kyra. Not after the way he acted the other night.”

“You think it will upset him too much?” She didn’t want to traumatize her horse, but damn it, this was business. She’d really counted on the income from his sale this year. Not just to win a controlling percentage of the business, but to uphold her end of the partnership and show real progress toward buying Jesse out. She’d agreed to going into business together five years ago because she couldn’t have afforded to do it by herself. But damn it, she’d always intended to pay him back.

“Maybe.” He stroked the horse’s nose and shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I do think he has something unique to offer with his protective instincts. We ought to give him a chance to show us what he can do with those skills before you sell him off as your everyday average three-year-old.”

Hadn’t Jesse told her the same thing three days ago?
He deserves another chance.

She’d ignored him then, just like she would have ignored him about the ponies if he hadn’t forced her to listen. Was she dead wrong about this, too?

Still, Kyra had trusted her own instincts all her life. Unable to count on her father’s guidance between his medications and his battle with manic depression, she had learned to rely solely upon herself. And old habits died hard.

“Do you really think there’s something rational behind this behavior, Clint? I wouldn’t want to spoil a horse who’s just demonstrating routine negative behavior.”

Clint shoved his fingers through his hair, making it stand up even straighter. “Call me crazy, but I would swear that horse thinks he’s on a mission to look out for you.”

His words resonated through her, struck a nerve and a long-ago memory. Her father had visited the stables shortly after Sam’s Pride was born. He’d been having one of his lucid days and he’d been fond of the horse at first sight, going so far as to christen the animal after himself—the original Sam. Her dad boasted he gave Sam’s Pride a mission that day—to watch over Kyra, his other pride and joy.

She’d been touched, but she’d also been worried that her father’s sensitivity would morph to sadness and she proceeded to drive him back home for the night. She’d forgotten all about the remark until Clint’s words revived the memory. “You think he’s on a mission?”

“It’s the damnedest thing. I make no claim to horse telepathy, believe you me. But that’s the sense I get from this animal every time I’m near him. He’s on a mission.”

Kyra wouldn’t,
couldn’t
give any credence to that line of thinking. Still, a part of her longed for Jesse’s input. What would he think of her crazy memory of her dad giving Sam’s Pride a mission, let alone Clint assuring her the horse was acting it out?

Would he howl with laughter? Or would he actually consider the possibility?

His advice seemed all the more important to her now that she knew she couldn’t seek it. Although bottom-line she’d always made her own decisions, Kyra had been counting on her partner’s advice more than she ever realized.

Either way, she was certain Jesse didn’t think she should sell the horse.

Clint had bent to tie his running shoes while she was thinking. Now, he stood, his gaze connecting with hers again. “Don’t sell him, Kyra. Or if you’re really hell-bent to get rid of him, sell him to me.”

Taken aback, she peered up at him. “Why would you ever want to buy Sam’s Pride with all his...emotional baggage?” In the back of her mind she could hear a bidding war break out on the auction floor and the auctioneer’s frenzy to up the bids. Sam’s Pride wasn’t listed to go up on the block until almost noon, however, so Kyra didn’t need to rush to get him to his stall.

Either that, or she was procrastinating.

“I think Sam’s Pride has a lot of potential if he can ever transfer his protective streak from you to...someone else.” Clint folded the pamphlet with all the horses’ names listed on the day’s auction roster and shoved the paper in his pocket.

Kyra frowned. Was he just offering to buy the horse to be nice? “You seem pretty self-sufficient to me, Clint. I can’t picture you needing this guy following you around like a shadow.” She patted Sam’s Pride’s neck. “And he’d probably get upset when you went out of town to visit other troubled horses—”

“He wouldn’t be for me. I’d buy him to keep an eye on Greta.” Clint exchanged a quick hello with one of the auction attendees shouldering their way past them. The equine world was small enough that events like this were guaranteed to bring together at least a few familiar faces.

“Not Greta Ingram?” Kyra would have fallen over if she hadn’t had a hand on Sam’s Pride to keep her up. She couldn’t picture the Marlboro Man and his boots with the German Wonder-bod and her stilettos.

“One and the same. If she’ll have me, that is.”

Kyra immediately regretted her obvious surprise. His inside-out shirt took on a whole new level of meaning. “I take it the two of you hit it off the other night after the incident in my driveway?”

“You could say that. I don’t know how she’ll take to life in Alabama, though. And I wouldn’t mind having some help looking out for her while she makes the transition.” He made a soft sound to Sam’s Pride and the horse whickered back at him. “I wish I could convince Sam’s Pride to watch over Greta the way he watches over you.”

An interesting proposition. And it certainly revealed how much Greta meant to Clint if he was so concerned about her. How would it feel to have a man watch your back that way?

Dismissing the thought before she wandered down wishful paths she had no business traveling, Kyra turned her attention to Clint’s idea. She’d already been questioning her decision to sell her horse today. Maybe Clint’s offer would give her a few more days to weigh the consequences. “If you’re going to stick around Citrus County a little longer, maybe you could bring Greta over to the Crooked Branch and introduce her to Sam’s Pride. See how they get along to sort of test the waters.”

“I’ll get my checkbook out of the truck. How much were you hoping to get for him?”

Tempting as the offer sounded, now that she was faced with the do-or-die moment to commit to the sale, Kyra couldn’t follow through. She couldn’t sell Clint a horse until she was certain the animal would behave for him. Which meant she also wouldn’t be selling the horse to anyone else today, either.

Especially not after what she’d learned about Sam’s Pride this morning. She shook her head. “Wait to see how he does with Greta. I’ll gladly sell him to you if the two of them hit it off.”

Smiling, Clint stuck out his hand to seal the bargain. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

After making arrangements to drop by during the week, Clint and his running shoes made tracks for the parking lot, leaving Kyra to wonder what had happened to her ability to make a decision, let alone to be practical.

Her sound business sense seemed to have waltzed out the door when Jesse had left her kitchen Thursday.

Was she being stubborn where he was concerned for no good reason? From the outside looking in, Clint Bowman and Greta Ingram probably had even less in common than her and Jesse. Yet Clint obviously had every intention of making things work between them.

If a grounded, intelligent guy like Clint could set his sights on someone as over-the-top as Greta, why couldn’t she at least try a relationship with Jesse? In all fairness, she’d given up before they’d even gotten started.

Maybe, with a few practical ground rules in place, she could at least give it—give
them
—a chance.

* * *

J
ESSE
JOGGED
THROUGH
the fairgrounds with his auction placard in hand, searching for any sign of horse #54, Sam’s Pride, who wasn’t in his temporary stall for public viewing. He’d arrived first thing in the morning to glance over the day’s lineup, and when he’d assured himself Kyra wouldn’t be auctioning off her horse for another few hours, he’d headed back to his workshop to put the finishing touches on the crown molding for his first home—the house that
had
to be a showplace.

It had taken him this long in life to figure out what he would enjoy doing outside the ranch, but now that he had a focus on building custom homes, he planned to do it right. First and foremost, he wanted Chandler Homes to succeed for himself. But maybe—just a little—he wanted to be able to show Kyra his success, too.

He hadn’t bothered to force his ideas on her at the Crooked Branch, his need to give her something that was just for
her
outweighing any selfish need to be right. But now that she’d made it clear she wanted complete independence from him—professionally
and
personally—Jesse couldn’t help the desire to prove she’d overlooked his contributions.

He might like to work on the books while watching the Devil Rays on TV. And he might look like he was having a good time doing it, but that didn’t make his efforts any less important, damn it.

Kyra just didn’t seem to realize work and fun could go hand in hand.

Finally, he spotted her. A blond waif in blue jeans crooning to her horse amid a crowd of cowboys in boots and cigar-smoking businessmen. And he cracked a smile to see her among the rest of the horse-crazy auction-goers. Maybe she’d developed some of her all-business attitude from hanging out with the good old boy network for too many years.

She
had
to be tough or she would have been steamrolled right out of business five years ago.

Jesse approached her slowly, waiting for her to notice him but she was too wrapped up in silent communication with the ornery three-year-old gelding who only listened to her. As he neared them, Jesse waved his red auction placard under her nose.

She snapped out of it then, her gaze connecting with his in a moment of electric awareness.

A vivid picture of her underneath him on his office sectional invaded his brain, scattered his thoughts.

“Jesse.” Her voice held a tiny note of relief. Or so he chose to think. “What are you doing here today?”

I came to claim you for my own.

He would have said it in another day and age. And he would have scooped her right off her feet and walked out of there with her. Cursed modern sensibilities.