My Double Life: Wild and Wicked

by Joanne Rock

  A tall, rangy body took up her whole door frame. Well-worn denim encased his thighs while an honest-to-God Western shirt with a snap front covered an impressive chest.

  He had a craggy face worthy of any Marlboro man, complete with hat. He was the scarred, dark antithesis of Jesse Chandler’s dazzling good looks and sunny charm, but Kyra would bet this man had still turned a few female heads in his day.

  In fact, she was pretty sure if she weren’t nursing a major crush on her best friend, her head would be turning right now. That is, if she wasn’t also just a little bit nervous about what the Marlboro man wanted with her at 7:00 a.m. on a Sunday.

  “Umm?” She tightened the sash on her skimpy robe and tried to rein in her scattered thoughts. Between the leftover effects of her steamy dream and the nerve-racking ability of a dangerous man on her doorstep, she felt a far cry from her normally sensible self this morning. “Can I help you?”

  “I damn well hope so. I’m Clint—”

  She gasped, remembering exactly who he was. “Mr. Bowman. The horse psychologist. I’m so sorry I forgot about our meeting.”

  She’d called his Alabama ranch last week to request some help with Sam’s Pride. The horse had been raised at the Crooked Branch, and although the gelding had the sweetest disposition with Kyra, the temperamental three-year-old wanted nothing to do with anyone else. She couldn’t sell a horse that balked at responding to anyone but her. Although Kyra had always been a solid horse trainer, the case of Sam’s Pride stumped her.

  But once Kyra had come up with the scheme to catch Jesse’s attention last week, she’d forgotten all about today’s appointment with the equine specialist. A horse whisperer of sorts.

  Clint frowned, crossed his arms. “I waited around down by the barns, but everything is all locked up tight at the office and stable.” Frank gray eyes sized up her outfit as he took a step back. “You want me to head back down there while you—dress?”

  “Good idea.” She appreciated a practical man. God knows she’d never run across many in her life. Between her manic-depressive father and her committed-to-pleasure best friend, however, Kyra’s experience with males had probably been skewed. “I’ll be five minutes if you’re ready to face Sam’s Pride without the benefit of coffee, ten minutes if you’d rather fuel up first.”

  Clint Bowman smiled and touched the brim of his hat like a character out of an old Western movie. “Coffee it is.”

  He turned on one booted heel and made his way across her driveway, headed for the barn.

  Kyra gave herself a long moment to watch him and wonder what her life might be like if she could get over Jesse Chandler and pursue a guy like Clint.

  Unfortunately, her night with Jesse hadn’t come close to curing her crush. Maybe her method hadn’t worked because she hadn’t been able to convince him to carry out her original plan to its full extent.

  She needed the complete Jesse Chandler experience, beginning to end. The whole shebang.

  For years, she’d had a vision in her head of having her first time with Jesse. Perhaps she just needed to fulfill that longtime fanciful vision in order to shake her attraction to him.

  Only then would she be able to pursue someone more appropriate for her.

  Someone like Clint Bowman.

  She turned away from the intriguing picture of a real cowboy in her driveway to make the coffee. Putting clothes on had never taken her more than sixty seconds anyway.

  No sooner had she dumped the coffee grounds into the filter than she heard raised voices outside.

  Or rather, a lone, raised female voice.

  “...I’ve walked across every red carpet in Europe on these heels, I’ll have you know.” The tone was a mixture of feminine indignation and catty pride. A woman on a roll.

  Intrigued, Kyra set down the coffee scoop to peer out her kitchen window.

  Greta the German Wonder-bod stood toe-to-toe with the Great American cowboy, one French manicured finger leveled at his chest. What on earth was Greta doing at the ranch on a Sunday morning?

  “For that matter,” the model continued, shifting her weight from one practically nonexistent hip to the other, “ask anyone who owns the runways from Milan to Paris, sweetheart, and they’ll all point to me. I earned that reputation with four-and-a-half-inch heels strapped to these very same feet.” Greta tilted her chin at Clint, a gesture which only drew attention to the fact that despite the four-and-a-half-inch heels in question, the horse whisperer still had an inch or two on her.

  “If I can manage all that on my own, I’m fairly certain I can negotiate a little gravel by myself.”

  Kyra couldn’t hear Clint’s reply, but she saw his mouth move, saw him apply one hand to his hat in the same courteous gesture he’d shown to Kyra and then she saw Greta’s cheeks turn a huffy shade of pink before she stormed away from Clint and toward the house.

  This was getting more interesting by the moment.

  Kyra finished pouring water into the coffeepot, slopping a little onto the ceramic tile countertop in her haste.

  A fierce rapping on her front door prevented her from cleaning up the mess.

  Tempted to ignore the summons, Kyra tugged open the door again anyhow, too curious to simply go get dressed.

  Greta barged inside, oblivious to common good manners. Dressed in a slinky purple silk skirt and a gold bikini top that looked like something I Dream of Jeannie might have worn, Greta cocked one slight hip. “Who the hell is that guy?”

  “Nice to see you, too, Greta.” Kyra searched her brain for a way to avoid answering the question directly. She’d never been the type to lie, but she hardly wished to discuss her horses or Clint Bowman with Greta. “If you’re looking for Jesse, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. He’s not here.”

  Greta smiled as she dug through a brown leather satchel she carried on one shoulder. “He rarely wakes up in the same bed he goes to sleep in. Hadn’t you noticed?”

  Kyra took a deep, cleansing breath and struggled not to grind her teeth. “Is there a reason you’re here?”

  “I came to warn you away from Jesse.” Her German accent had softened to mild, clipped tones—a more Americanized Marlene Dietrich. She pulled a silver cigarette case from her bag and flicked it open to reveal a handful of long, skinny smokes with a foreign label stamped across the butts. “He’s very much taken.”

  Kyra reached over and flipped the case closed again, unwilling to fill her house with smoke fumes. “And you think I’d be interested in this because...?”

  She’d be damned if she showed Greta Ingram how much she cared about Jesse. She’d protected her friendship with him from envious girlfriend-wannabees for plenty of years. She sure as hell wouldn’t get sucked into a catfight with a woman who was bound to be disappointed in the nonexistent commitment a consummate bad boy could offer.

  Greta shoved the case back into her purse with a frown. “Just trying to save your heart a little wear and tear. I’d hate for you to get all hot and bothered over Jesse only to find out later that he’s the unequivocal property of a woman you have no chance of displacing.”

  With a jaunty little shake of her perfect blond mane, Greta smiled at Kyra as if to soften the blow.

  Not that Kyra was exactly reeling from the threat.

  She backed into the low rock wall outlining a small fountain and miniature garden planted in the center of the foyer. Tucking her short cotton robe around her thighs, she eyed Greta as the German model paced the smooth stone floor with the restless grace of a hungry feline.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you just refer to Jesse Chandler as someone’s unequivocal property?”

  Greta paused her pacing to fold her arms and shoot Kyra the evil eye. “Yes. Mine.”

  Despite the woman’s hideous lack of manners, Kyra couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for any female who so completely misunderstood a guy like Jesse.

  “Don’t you realize you’re consigning yourself to an abysmal case of heartbrea
k if you try to tie yourself to a man who’s more proud of his bachelorhood than his record-breaking minor league batting average?”

  “His what?” Greta blinked, furrowing her perfectly shaped brows.

  Kyra suspected it wouldn’t be the last time this woman’s quarry confused the hell out of her.

  Sighing, she started again. “Jesse won’t ever commit himself to any one woman.”

  Well aware of this fact, Kyra guessed that her best friend’s propensity to roam was probably half the reason she’d pursued him in the first place.

  Okay, rampant lust might have something to do with it, too. But beyond that, Kyra knew she would be safe trying out her long-unused feminine wiles on Jesse.

  He’d never try to tie her down any more than she’d tie him. After her mom had died long ago, leaving her father in the grips of manic depression that made him emotionally off-limits, Kyra preferred not to trust other people with her heart.

  But she and Jesse both valued their independence. She wouldn’t need to worry that he’d ever get the wrong idea about potential romance between them. Yet Jesse was supremely capable of supplying her with the multiple Os she’d dreamed of, the sensual heights she’d hoped for but had never experienced until last night.

  For a moment, Kyra wondered what things might have been like between her and Jesse if she hadn’t been a bit wounded and Jesse hadn’t been so wary. How cool would it be to hang out with her best guy friend forever and luxuriate in the great sex without worrying about getting her heart stomped?

  Too bad that would never happen.

  Greta hissed a long breath between pursed lips, almost as if she was exhaling the smoke Kyra had denied her. She cast Kyra a look of exaggerated patience. “The only reason Jesse hasn’t committed fully yet is because I haven’t made it apparent that I want exclusive rights. Once we sit down and discuss this, he’ll be thrilled to be mutually monogamous.”

  The no-nonsense, I’m-doing-you-a-favor expression assured Kyra that Greta believed every word she was saying.

  Two weeks ago, Kyra might have felt sorry for her naiveté. But now she found herself experiencing boatloads of jealousy at the thought Greta might be able to sway Jesse into a relationship Kyra would never be able to manage.

  And even if he dodged Greta, what about the next slinky runway goddess who came along? Would Kyra ever be able to look at those women and not feel twinges of envy for the time they got to spend with Jesse?

  But she’d be damned if she’d show any weakness to Greta. As far as the rest of the world knew, Kyra Stafford had never been—and would never be—hung up on Jesse Chandler.

  “Fine.” Nothing she said at this point would save Greta from believing what she wanted anyway. No sense arguing her morning away when she needed to join Clint in the barn and get down to business about Sam’s Pride. “Thanks for the heads-up on your relationship with Jesse. Believe me, I’ll be the first one to run in the other direction if he starts spouting the merits of monogamy.”

  A little voice from the deep recesses of her brain called her a liar. Kyra staunchly ignored it.

  Nodding, Greta hitched her bag up higher on one shoulder. “I’ll let you get back to your coffee.” She stared rather pointedly at the empty mug Kyra had been flinging around throughout their conversation. “And your cowboy.” She rolled her eyes at the mention of Clint and sniffed.

  Before Kyra could explain that Clint wasn’t “her” cowboy, Greta charged through the front door and stomped down the front walk as if her four-and-a-half-inch spikes were as durable as high-top sneakers.

  Kyra couldn’t imagine where the woman was headed as there wasn’t a car or other mode of transportation in sight.

  Obviously, Jesse was in over his head with the persistent German beauty. Not that it mattered to Kyra. He was a grown man and he could extricate himself from his own problems.

  Her only concern was finding an opportunity to wrest a whole night of pleasure from him—complete with the deed that would save her from her unwanted virginity. She could be with Jesse without falling victim to his heartbreaker ways, damn it. Surely all the years she had known him—all the occasions she’d had to see the man behind the myth—would help her remain immune.

  Although, after the twinges of jealousy her visit with Greta had inspired, Kyra had to admit she liked the idea of him moving to offices across town in two weeks to start his house-building business.

  That left her plenty of time to enjoy Jesse Chandler on a brand-new level.

  Happily ever after and monogamy be damned.

  * * *

  JESSE CHECKED his watch as he stood outside the private stables at the Crooked Branch. He’d been able to stay away from Kyra, for what? Three whole hours?

  So maybe he hadn’t done a great job of putting space between them. But he’d recalled the house-call appointment for Sam’s Pride and he was more than a little curious about the horse whisperer Kyra had hired.

  Besides, this was his last window of opportunity to oversee strangers’ activities at the training facility. For years he’d taken it upon himself to be around when new staff members started their work or when new vendors showed up. Kyra was extremely keen about her business, but Jesse sometimes worried that her isolation on the ranch allowed her to be slightly naive about human nature.

  For that matter, she often cut herself off from people on purpose, preferring equine company to the two-legged variety. Maybe it had something to do with growing up responsible for a manic-depressive father who had abdicated his authority along with his capacity to love.

  Whatever the reason for Kyra’s loner tendency, she hadn’t developed the same abilities to read people that Jesse possessed. So he’d made it his personal mission in life to make sure no one ever cheated, deceived or swindled her.

  God knows she seemed so self-sufficient in every other area of her life and work. Jesse had to contribute where he could.

  Convinced he was hovering around the Crooked Branch for completely altruistic reasons and not because he simply wanted to see Kyra today, Jesse charged through the stable doors and into the high-tech horse environment Kyra had designed herself.

  Wide masonry alleyways and spacious stalls lined both walls. Year-round wash stalls were housed inside the barn, providing the horses with more showerheads and better water pressure than the bathroom in Jesse’s apartment.

  The stables bustled with noise and activity as Crooked Branch staffers led the horses to the turnout pastures for some morning exercise. But the door to Sam’s Pride’s stall—the one at the very end of the long corridor—remained shut.

  Picking up his pace, Jesse’s boots clanked down the clean barn floor toward the closed door. He’d bet his motorcycle that there wasn’t a million-dollar thoroughbred housed in a more state-of-the-art facility than the one Kyra Stafford managed. The only scent that hinted the place was a barn emanated from the pile of sweet-smelling hay tucked inside an open supply room.

  Slowing his steps as he neared the closed stall door where Sam’s Pride normally resided, Jesse’s ear tuned to the soft throaty laughter inside the enclosure.

  Soft, sexy-as-hell laughter.

  Followed by a man’s low whisper.

  An icy-cold, clammy sort of fear trickled through his veins as he realized the feminine voice belonged to Kyra. Only it wasn’t quite fear that he felt.

  More like mild dread. A little anger.

  Jesus-freaking-Christ, he was jealous.

  The realization rolled over him with surprising clarity considering Jesse had never been jealous of anyone for anything before.

  But he was pretty damn positive that this unhappy feeling in his gut could only be attributed to the fact that another man was making Kyra laugh right now. God forbid the guy made her blush, too, or Jesse would have to kill him.

  He hadn’t realized until just this second how badly he wanted to be the man to make her cheeks turn pink someday.

  Gritting his teeth, Jesse burst through the stall door, determined
to make sure everyone inside Sam’s Pride’s private retreat knew exactly how pissed he was. And the sight that greeted his eyes did zero to soothe him.

  Kyra stood beside her favorite horse, stroking his nose and cooing to the beast while a way-too-touchy stranger stood beside her, his hands placed friendlylike over her hips.

  In just the same spot Jesse had touched her last night.

  Leveling a finger at them both, he didn’t think about what to say. He merely blurted out the first thing that came into his mind.

  “Care to tell me what in the hell happened to monogamy?”

  7

  KYRA WAS THE FIRST to move, the first to break her physical connection with the Don Juan in a Stetson.

  Too bad she didn’t look nearly as contrite as she should. In fact, her expression struck him as downright furious as she turned a snapping blue gaze on him.

  “Care to tell me what happened to basic good manners?” she shot back.

  Sam’s Pride sidestepped in his stall, impatiently stomping his hooves in reaction to Kyra’s displeasure. The Romeo cowboy merely crossed his arms and shuffled back to watch Kyra.

  Damn the man.

  Jesse had never noticed other guys ogling her before yesterday. Now, he felt male eyes on her generous breasts everywhere he went. “Good manners are low priority in the midst of my best friend being debauched.”

  The cowboy in the corner lifted an eyebrow. “Your best friend?”

  “Damn straight.” Jesse was only too happy for an excuse to glare at the letch. His day would be complete if only this joker would take a swing at him.

  But Kyra’s gropey companion simply nodded and did a piss-poor job of hiding an amused smile.

  Kyra shouldered her way in between them. “There was no debauchery involved here, Jesse, and I seriously resent the implication. You just interrupted an important moment between me and Sam’s Pride and I won’t be forgiving you anytime soon if you’ve set back his treatment because of this morning’s melodrama.”

  She patted her horse on the nose before plowing out of the roomy stall.