My Double Life: Wild and Wicked

by Joanne Rock

  Admitting there was more than sex at stake here would be like admitting...too much. And damn it, she wasn’t foolish enough to fall for Jesse.

  “There couldn’t have been more than sex involved, Jesse, because you went out of here more hangdog than I’ve ever seen you aside from when your team lost the pennant race that second season you played baseball.” She opened a drawer near the sink, fished out a towel and threw it at him. “Obviously you hated the whole idea of a relationship from the get-go. I don’t know why you ever brought it up.”

  He mopped off his face with the towel and then scrubbed his too-long hair to dry it out. Kyra’s gaze tracked his muscles in action as he stretched his arms above his head, twisted his shoulders.

  “You’ve got it all wrong.” Jesse folded the towel over the back of a barstool that sat at her kitchen counter. “I would have been overjoyed if this had been all about sex. It’s precisely because there’s more at stake here that I’m scared as hell to mess it up. Sorry if I acted like an ass about the whole thing, but I don’t have a clue what I’m doing when it comes to dating.”

  His honesty deflated her anger. She’d never thought of him as a sort of dating-virgin. Maybe they were on more even ground, after all.

  She had wanted Jesse so badly, but this morning she’d realized that sleeping with him had made things more complicated than she’d ever dreamed. Her irrational behavior over the whole Greta incident only proved she couldn’t keep an emotional distance from the man.

  She definitely needed to drag this conversation back on firmer terrain before she fell as head-over-heels for him as every other woman he’d ever met.

  Kyra leveled a finger at his chest. “Well for starters, you can’t kiss women outside the main relationship. That’s a standard taboo.”

  “No kissing other women. Duly noted.” Jesse edged closer, his every muscle defined and highlighted by his wet clothes. “As long as you present plenty of kissing opportunities for me, I don’t think I’ll find that a problem.”

  * * *

  JESSE WATCHED THE swirl of emotions parade across Kyra’s face—the unguarded sensual response to his words, the confusion and finally the lip-pursing resistance that told him he was getting nowhere with that approach tonight.

  Damn.

  He hated that he caused so much uncertainty for her. She deserved a hell of a lot better than what he could ever offer her. Yet for the first time in his life he found himself genuinely wishing he was capable of giving a woman more.

  Much more.

  But he didn’t trust himself not to hurt her. And that was no way to start a relationship.

  Kyra slid out of her seat to move back toward the microwave and her very practical dinner. “Sorry, Jesse. I think we both know better than to offer each other any further sensual opportunities. Maybe you were right all along when you said we’d only screw up our friendship.”

  Panic chugged through him. It would hurt enough just knowing he’d never see Kyra naked again. He couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to hang out at the ranch and sneak out one of her horses or try to make her blush. “You don’t think we’ve really messed that up, too, do you?”

  “I think we’re pretty damn close.” She pressed the buttons that would start the oven all over again. “Honestly, I’m having a hard time figuring out how to relate to you in the wake of last night. Guess I sort of underestimated how sex could screw with things—pardon the pun—but chalk it up to a first-timer miscalculation. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you that day at Gasparilla when you said this wouldn’t work.”

  She blinked too fast. A definite indication she was upset and refusing to let it show.

  But ruining their friendship?

  His brain refused to hear this message. He’d jumped from one woman to another without even blinking his whole life and Kyra had remained his one constant. The Crooked Branch had been his home base when he’d been on the road with his baseball team—the one place where no one expected him to be charming or successful or to pretend he had the world by the tail.

  Here, with Kyra, he’d always been able to just be.

  “But you believe me that I never intended anything to happen with Greta, at least.” How could that pushy woman’s one impulsive act cost him his best friend?

  Of course, as soon as he thought as much, he knew. If he lost Kyra’s friendship, it wouldn’t be Greta’s fault. It would be his own damn doing because he’d approached the commitment thing all wrong.

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with her. Or the kiss.” She tucked a blond strand of hair behind one ear, her quiet, unassuming air so totally at odds with every other woman he’d ever dated. He’d probably never noticed she was beautiful because she never flaunted herself in front of him.

  At least not until that eye-opening day at Gasparilla.

  “It doesn’t?” He found it hard to believe she wasn’t pissed about the kiss. Greta had put a squeeze-hold on him like an anaconda. If he’d ever seen Kyra in another man’s grasp like that, he would have lost his damn mind.

  “No. It has more to do with you acting like you’ve sentenced yourself to a prison term by going out with me. I’ll admit I’ve always had a little bit of a thing for you, Jesse.”

  He nearly hit the floor with the shock of that particular news. She’d had a thing for him?

  The automatic warmth he’d felt in reaction to the statement quickly turned to panic as he realized the fallout from this could be worse than he’d expected.

  Shit.

  He never wanted to hurt her.

  Perhaps sensing his shock, Kyra rushed to reassure him. “But I’m over it now. You don’t need to sacrifice yourself to me just because we’re friends.” She shrugged her shoulder in a gesture that seemed too precise to be totally careless.

  Or was that wishful thinking on his part?

  “I don’t think I ever tried to sound like I was making a sacrifice.”

  “But you didn’t exactly behave like a man overjoyed to ask me out.”

  Maybe she had a point there. “But that wasn’t because of you.”

  “That was just because you’re a commitment-phobe.” As the microwave timer began to beep, Kyra tugged an Aztec-printed potholder from a drawer near the sink. “I realize that. That doesn’t make your resistance any more flattering.”

  Jesse made a mental note never to ask a woman out before he had fully resolved any internal conflict on the subject. Obviously he sucked at masking his emotions. “What can I do to make you give me a second chance?”

  She bit her lip. Furrowed her brow. Obviously wrestled with the whole notion of second chances. It scared him to realize just how important that second chance had become for him.

  “I don’t think I can. I’m over you, remember?”

  How could she be over him when he hadn’t even applied himself to the task of winning her in the first place? “Come on, Kyra. Have you ever considered getting involved with someone just because? Just for the fun of it? Just because you felt like it? Couldn’t I ever potentially warrant a date like that again?”

  She sighed. “I’m not saying yes.”

  Then again, she wasn’t saying no. Jesse counted that as progress. “Understood.”

  “First of all, if we ever decided to date again, you couldn’t bullshit me.” She juggled the steaming cardboard tray on the potholder and dumped them both on a lone placemat at the kitchen counter.

  “Done.”

  “Second, if you ever want to ask me out again make sure you do it with some sincerity.” She rummaged through another drawer and came out with a fork. Waving it at him like a weapon, she expounded her point. “No woman wants to think she’s being courted out of some misguided sense of responsibility. I’d like to think a man asks me out because he really wants to be with me and only me.”

  He could do that. Because damn it, he really did want to be with Kyra. He’d been thinking about her nonstop for two weeks running.

  It was just the only Kyra
part that caused him to think twice. He’d never been a one-woman man in his life. Could he pull it off now?

  Just as he was thinking hell yes he could, Kyra sighed and stabbed at her Chicken Kiev. The woman who’d been so intent on cooking dinner now seemed to do little more than mangle her meal.

  Tired of waiting for him, no doubt.

  “You’d better go, Jesse. I need to get on the phone tonight to see if it’s too late to offer up Sam’s Pride at the horse auction in Tampa this weekend.” She shoved some broccoli around her cardboard plate. “I’m thinking with all the action going on at an event like that, I might be able to trick him into loading onto another horse trailer and closing a sale on him.”

  “Wait a minute.” He didn’t want to talk about that damn horse or how badly Kyra wanted to boot him out of the business altogether. Not yet anyway. “I can do this, Kyra. You and me.”

  She looked up from her dinner to meet his gaze, and a tear perched on the outer corner of one blue eye. “This isn’t the same as you talking me into riding with you at night while my father was sleeping, or convincing me to compete in the jumper class instead of the show ring. There’s a lot more at stake here for me.”

  Shit.

  He’d already screwed this up and he hadn’t even managed to get to the date part yet. The lone tear Kyra blinked away wrenched his insides more than the practiced pouts of a whole legion of femmes fatales.

  Still, he backed away, knowing he’d been at fault for putting that tear there, if only for a moment. And instead of defending his actions or getting upset about what he and Kyra might have had together, Jesse found himself pleading on behalf of her horse.

  “Don’t sell Sam’s Pride tomorrow. He deserves another chance.” His wet socks trailed footprints across the ceramic tiles as he made his way toward the door. “Don’t force us both out of your life yet.”

  Kyra scrubbed her wrist over her eyes and stabbed another bite of chicken with her fork. “He’s just a horse, Jesse. Half our business has been built on raising them and selling them. I need that extra money.”

  Yeah, so she could wall him out of every area of her life.

  “I’m starting work on the houses full-time on Monday. I don’t stand a chance of being in your way here.” Already the thought of spending that much time away from the ranch didn’t set well with him. Who would he regale with stories about his first day as an honest-to-goodness working stiff?

  “I have to put the business first, Jesse.”

  I have to be practical, Jesse. She didn’t voice the sentiment, but Jesse heard it between the lines.

  Why the hell didn’t he have the right words to convince her otherwise?

  Then again, she’d probably made up her mind already and Jesse had never been able to compete with her tough-as-nails resolve once she decided what she wanted.

  Her voice scratched just a little, however, as she tossed out one final “Goodbye.”

  * * *

  “IT WAS A HELL of a performance.” Clicking on the overhead light in his truck cab, Clint finally broke the silence that had fallen thick and heavy in the course of the last twenty miles.

  He hadn’t known what exactly to say in the wake of Greta’s last desperate play for Jesse Chandler, but seeing how much passion she’d thrown into the effort had humbled him just a little. Obviously, she liked the guy more than he’d given her credit for.

  Not that he was one bit sorry how the evening had turned out.

  Jesse didn’t deserve a spitfire like Greta. Hell, that guy could barely keep pace with Kyra Stafford, who—from Clint’s observation—seemed to be the sanest woman on earth. No way could Jesse ever wade through the complex tangle of over-the-top behavior that characterized Greta Ingram.

  Now, she sat in her corner of his truck, her wet purple scarf clinging to totally outrageous curves while she stared out the window at the gray blur of rain.

  “What was a great performance?” She swiveled in her seat to face him. With the help of the overhead light, Clint could see her green eyes were all the more bright for the tears she hadn’t shed. “You riding in to the rescue on a damn white horse? Excuse me if I don’t applaud, I’m just a little choked up over that really warm reception I received from the so-called man of my dreams.”

  Clint had to admire her spunk in the wake of disaster. “I wasn’t referring to me. You’re the one who put your heart on the line and had the nerve to go for what you wanted. And when Chandler was too blind to see what was right before his eyes, you bucked up and shipped out of there just as cool as you please.”

  She shoved a wet hank of hair off her forehead. The small stretch combined with her transparent outfit made him recall exactly why she’d graced two Sports Illustrated covers in a row. Greta Ingram might be a little down on her luck, but she was a feast for the male eye.

  Not that he was interested in her because of that.

  Pretty women were a dime a dozen in Alabama, but none of them had ever affected Clint the way Greta did. Despite her perfect exterior, Greta had the guts of a prizefighter and a wilder spirit than any horse Clint had ever tried to tame.

  She met his gaze with a level look of her own. “Sometimes we don’t have any choice but to walk away.”

  Clint heard the message. Knew Jesse Chandler wasn’t the first person Greta had needed to leave behind. One day soon he’d find out who else had been foolish enough to let this woman go.

  “Damn straight. No sense sticking around someone who doesn’t recognize your worth.” Clint thought he noticed her shiver out of the corner of his eye. “You cold?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Hell yes, you’re freezing.” He reached a hand back behind the bench seat and pulled out a blue cotton blanket that had seen better days. “It’s clean, I swear. You want me to pick you up something to eat?”

  Greta spread the blanket over herself and shot him a surly look that was halfhearted at best. “Why are you being so nice to me today? You’ve been borderline hideous every other time we’ve ever spoken.”

  He steered the truck over the back roads toward the suburbs of Tampa. The roads were peppered with palm trees and a few houses, but for the most part, they passed little traffic. The rain had slowed to a mist. “Didn’t I tell you I was going to break out the refined manners tonight if you let me take you out? I’m not some hick from a Mississippi backwater town, you know. We Alabama guys have class.”

  “Mississippi. Alabama. There’s a difference?”

  “I’m going to let that slide because you’re not a U.S. native.” Even though he was pretty sure she was trying to yank his chain. “And yes, there’s a huge difference.”

  He saw her gaze stop on a McDonald’s sign and stay there. He wouldn’t have pegged Miss Supermodel for fast food, but he had to at least offer.

  “You want me to stop—”

  “Bacon double cheeseburger, please. And a strawberry shake.”

  He slowed down but didn’t put on his signal light. What woman wanted carryout burgers on a date? “I could take you somewhere—”

  “No! This is perfect.”

  Clint turned into the drive-thru lane. “You like burgers that much?”

  “I’ve been waiting half my life to finally eat them again. I lived on coffee and cigarettes the whole time I was modeling. I feel as if I’ve been given a new lease on life.” She poked him in the side as he was calling his order into the drive-thru speaker. “Can you get fries with that?”

  He ordered enough food for a small army and then edged the truck out onto the main road. “You mind eating while we’re on the road?”

  “Actually, this is perfect because I can watch you drive.”

  Or at least that’s what Clint assumed she said. It was damn hard to tell when the woman’s mouth was full.

  “Did you just say you wanted to watch me?” Because he was going to be very turned on if that was really the case.

  “I want to learn how to drive and buy a car. It’s good for me to pick up
the shifting rhythm, so I’ll just observe while I eat.” She popped another fry in her mouth and furrowed her brow as he hit fourth gear. “Where are we going?”

  Personally, he was really hoping for third base.

  “I thought I’d show you a great American tradition.”

  She licked the sauce oozing out one side of her burger with a sensualist’s delight. “I’ve lived in the States on and off for years. I’ll bet I’ve already seen it.”

  He rather hoped not. “I don’t know. You might not have since you don’t drive.” He couldn’t help but smile. “Are you familiar with the age-old pastime called parking?”

  12

  GRETA SMOTHERED A laugh. Clint Bowman was nothing if not entertaining, but she wasn’t entirely certain she should allow herself to relax with him yet. Behind tonight’s affable manner lurked a man with lots of dark corners and hidden depths.

  Translation—Clint could still prove dangerous to a woman wary of men she couldn’t control or, at very least, understand.

  Jesse had been every bit as dark and enticing as Clint with his bad-boy ways, but at least Greta had the peace of mind that he channeled them into games of seduction. While she’d never stood a chance at controlling him, she’d understood him. And she’d never been fearful of sex and all the erotic delights that went along with it.

  But after the tense atmosphere of her childhood, Greta refused to get tangled up with any man who possessed a scary temper or who liked to power trip. And while Greta hadn’t pegged Clint for that type, she still hadn’t managed to peg him for any type. Period.

  Deeper emotions frightened her far more than a guy sporting a set of handcuffs or a wicked grin.

  “I know exactly what parking refers to, Clint Bowman. And I may be a cheap date, but I’ve given you no indication that I’d be easy.”

  “Amen to that.” He turned off the main road onto a quiet stretch of highway lined with towering Georgia pines and banyan trees. “You’re talking to the guy who kicked off our first date by watching you tangle tongues with another man. I didn’t think for a second you’d be easy.”