My Double Life: Wild and Wicked (17 page)

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.

* * *

T
HREE
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 feet two inches 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

J
ESSE
RECOGNIZED
the silky voice whispering into his ear. Yet he couldn’t merge his image of practical Kyra Stafford with the decidedly feminine curves pressed against his back. Or the exotically scented scarf blindfolding him into a world of pure sensation.

A world where it was getting mighty damn difficult to remember why he and Kyra had always maintained a strictly platonic relationship.

For a moment, the roar of the overcrowded street faded from his hearing. The only sound penetrating his brain was the soft huff of breath in his ear as his captor demanded compliance.

Before his hormones recovered enough to reply, he could hear Greta start squawking a few feet in front of him.

“Excuse me?” Her words dripped sarcasm like a Popsicle in July. “I came here with this man. You can’t just—”

“Well, it looks like you won’t be leaving with him,” Kyra retorted from behind him, her voice all the more familiar now that it was lifted in normal conversation. “A Gasparilla pirate doesn’t exactly need to ask your permission.”

Maybe Kyra was only trying to rescue him from Greta today. A welcome intervention given that Jesse hadn’t brought Greta with him and had been trying his best to avoid her. Still, she’d managed to track him down in a crowd of a hundred thousand people with unerring instincts.

She’d have him chained to her side on the first boat back to Berlin if he wasn’t careful.

He held both hands up, resigned to whatever scheme Kyra had in the works. He just hoped she eased away from him soon, before his body started reacting publicly to those breasts against his spine. “Sounds like I have no choice but to surrender.”

Greta’s spluttered indignation took a backseat to Kyra’s seductive whisper.

“Excellent decision,” she breathed in his ear, steering him through the crowd and away from Greta with slow steps. “You are wise to come along quietly.”

Each stride brushed her body against his, making him keenly aware she wore a blouse with no bra to speak of underneath. Those awesome C-cups couldn’t belong to Kyra. Could they?

She was holding him captive wearing some kind of laced leather outfit that bit into his back even while it thrust her breasts forward in luscious offering, sort of like a—

Holy freaking hell. Maybe after all his lip about buying a dominatrix outfit, she’d decided to call his bluff.

Raw lust ripped through him with a vengeance. He stopped dead in his tracks and twisted around to face her, whipping off the scarf with an impatient hand. The sight that greeted his eyes was better than a dominatrix outfit.

No, make that worse. He wasn’t supposed to be licking his chops over his best friend, of all people.

She was dressed as a pirate. Not any normal pirate with a bandanna and a blackened tooth, though. More like the kind of lush X-rated lady pirate you’d expect to find in some half-baked adult film called
Blow the Man Down.

His eyes did a slow ride over her barely there blouse partially covered by the leather corset he’d felt earlier. The garment pushed her breasts up and out and straight into any man’s view, the tops of that creamy white flesh exposed while the rest was only marginally hidden beneath thin cotton.

Where had those amazing breasts come from? Was he that blind that he’d never noticed them underneath the men’s T-shirts she normally favored? And he’d definitely never noticed her legs before. At least not like this, he hadn’t. Somehow he had overlooked her lightly muscled thighs and long, lean calves in the jeans she always wore when she worked with the horses.

But her abbrieviated black skirt and fishnet stockings practically put a neon sign on those gams and screamed, Look At Me!

And was he ever looking.

Jesse was carefully scrutinizing every inch of her right down to her high-heeled lace-up boots when she cupped one hand under his chin and forced his gaze back up to her face.

Too bad he couldn’t make visual contact with her. He’d obviously popped an eyeball along the way.

“What’s the verdict, matey? You like what you see?” She cocked one hand on her hip and did a little shimmy that left him gasping for a breath.

An appreciative whistle emanated from somewhere nearby. Although they’d moved out of the densest part of the crowd, they were still surrounded by enthusiastic festival attendees draped in colorful beads and drinking beer from plastic cups in the shape of old-fashioned steins.

And if Jesse found out who the hell was whistling at Kyra he’d sew the guy’s lips together.

Jamming her silk scarf into the pocket of his shorts, he tucked Kyra under one arm and hauled her even farther from the masses. “Are you insane?” he hissed, wishing he could have thought of another way to get her out of there besides touching her. His hand burned where it rested on one slim but perfectly curved hip. “There are a bunch of guys halfway to drunk and slobbering in that crowd. You’re a walking target for trouble in that outfit.”

She shoved away from him as they rounded the corner of the Tampa Convention Center away from the water and the excitement of the pirate invasion. “The only one who seems to be targeting me for trouble is you, Chandler. Are you halfway to drunk and slobbering?”

Drunk—no. The jury was still out on the slobbering issue. There was definitely some drooling going on right now.

He took a deep breath and made a stab at sounding reasonable. “You’re just a bit—” He searched for the right words as his gaze roamed her outrageous costume. Her sexy-as-hell body. “Naked to be out in public, don’t you think?”

“You call this naked?” She planted one fist on her hip, the breeze from the bay blowing in to ruffle her hair and mold her blouse to her body.

Jesse swallowed—twice—but still couldn’t find his voice in a throat gone dry.

“Your German plaything is showing off half her butt cheeks in those little shorts of hers today while I remain decently covered.” Kyra tugged her skirt hem for emphasis.

Jesse wasn’t sure he even remembered their thread of conversation anymore since the wind had conspired to show him the shadowy outline of Kyra’s naked body beneath her clothes. “The skirt half of you isn’t what needs covering.”

He never thought he’d hear himself beg a woman to put her clothes back on. But this was Kyra, the one woman he’d always made it a point to treat honorably. The one long-term, enduring relationship he’d ever managed with any woman save his sister.

And damn it, he couldn’t seem to stop staring at her breasts.

She flashed him a wicked smile as she trailed her hand along her shoulder where bare skin met the edge of her blouse. “Oh. You mean this half.”

Transfixed, he watched her fingers skim over her own flesh. He couldn’t have turned away if there’d been a hurricane blowing in off the bay.

Her finger paused just before she reached the top of one breast, then hooked into the loop of a single strand of gold plastic beads she wore in deference to the day. “Guess it is a bit much, isn’t it? Maybe the costumer decided to go flashy because of the good media coverage Gasparilla is receiving this year. Although we’re far removed from the spotlight way back here.”

She looked around meaningfully at their relatively quiet position at the back of the crowd.

Not that Jesse had any intention of returning to the heart of the festival with Kyra dressed like this. She’d be fending off too many wolf whistles to have fun.

Scavenging for control, Jesse swiped a hand across his forehead. Had it ever been this hot in February before? “I think the coast is clear. I appreciate you saving me from Greta back there.” That had to be the reason for Kyra’s abduction scenario, right? “I don’t know how she found me in a such a big crowd, but she’s been glued to me all day. I appreciate you showing up when you did.”

He hoped he sounded marginally normal and unaffected.

She shrugged. “Guess you lucked out then. You got what you wanted by me getting what I wanted.”

“How do you figure?” Even if he hadn’t been choking on his own damn arousal, he had the feeling he wouldn’t have followed her thinking.

“You gave Greta the slip, which is what you wanted. I got you for the night, which is what I wanted.”

Her Cheshire-cat smile fanned the flames of his already molten imagination.

Jesse refused to screw up this friendship by allowing his libido to translate for him. Surely she didn’t mean what he thought she meant.

“We’re friends from way back,” he reminded himself as much as her. “If you need me, all you have to do is let me know.”

She laid both of her palms on his chest. “But I’ve never needed you quite like this before.”

The cool strength of her small hands permeated his shirt. No doubt she had to feel the slam of his heart, the furnace heat of his body.

“No?”

“No. Tonight isn’t going to be about friendship.” Her blue eyes locked on his. “Tonight is going to be about you and me, man to woman.” She leaned in closer, her incredible breasts almost brushing his chest. “And since you’re still technically my captive, I’m going to demand that you treat me like the woman you’ve never been able to see in me.”

That sounded dangerous as hell. But before he could protest, her voice turned to a whisper, forcing him to listen all the more carefully.

“That means we’re going to be sipping champagne instead of swilling beers. That means I expect you to feed me from your fingers. Dance with me hip to hip.” She sidled closer for emphasis, her hip grazing his. “In general, Jesse, now that I’ve got my very own bad boy at my fingertips, I’m going to wield every trick of seduction I’ve ever seen you use on other women and apply them to you. Slowly.”

Jesse didn’t remember when his jaw hit the ground, but he definitely recalled when the heart failure started to set in. It had been right about the time the word “seduction” had rolled off of Kyra’s tongue like a promise of erotic torment.

Finally, he knew exactly what she was asking.

Too bad he didn’t know if he’d survive it.

* * *

K
YRA
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.”