To Tame a Wilde. Kimberly Kaye Terry

her.

      She was here for business. She turned her attention to the man she’d come to do battle with.

      And that is exactly what it was in her mind: a battle. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the woman standing so close to him.

      And it definitely wasn’t any of her business who the woman was. The same woman whose breasts—breasts that Sinclair doubted were her own—had been pressed against the side of Nick Kealoha’s face as if she were about to breast-feed the man, when Sinclair had approached the door.

      Sinclair knew she was being unfair; she didn’t know the woman. For all she knew the massive boobs could actually belong to the woman. She mentally shrugged, pretending not to feel the least bit of anything about the woman, her breasts, or where they had been pressed....

      Nor the man they had been pressed against. Not really. None of that mattered.

      She was just feeling a tad bit...irked. She took in a physical and figurative breath and silently recited one of her favorite quick-but-calming mantras. It took a few seconds longer than normal, but she got it together.

      She turned her gaze to Nickolas Kealoha, after nodding to the woman next to him. His gaze was already locked and loaded on hers.

      This time, the breath she took was anything but figurative. Nickolas Kealoha was breath-stealingly fine.

      Bright blue eyes kept her regard from beneath thick lashes, lashes that from the distance she was from him seemed impossible...ridiculous for a man to possess.

      Even though he was sitting behind the desk, the sheer...massiveness of the man was enough to make her breath catch at the back of her throat. She had to remind herself to breathe. In. Out. In...

      Big arms, thick with bulging muscle, were pressed against the desk. His chest seemed carved from granite. She bit back the moan when she caught sight of the small tuft of hair that splayed from beneath the fitted black T-shirt he wore under his chambray shirt.

      Her gaze cataloged the long, muscular, thick thighs that even the simple work jeans he wore couldn’t disguise. At his lean waist he wore a belt and large buckle with some type of crest. From her vantage point she couldn’t tell what exactly was depicted on the belt buckle.

      Because, yes...she was only interested in his belt buckle and most definitely not the thick...outline...that lay just south of the buckle.

      “Like I said... If I’m interrupting anything...” she repeated. She cleared her throat and allowed the sentence to dangle.

      “Of course not,” the woman cut in, before Nick could say a word. “I was just leaving.”

      Sinclair saw him cut the woman a quick glance, no doubt cataloguing the shit-eating grin on her face, just as Sinclair had seen the sly look on the other woman’s face, as well. It hinted at a long association, a certain familiarity.

      Sinclair noted the obvious closeness between the two, for future reference.

      And completely forced herself to ignore the ugly stab of jealousy she felt. Along with the immediate desire to swipe the grin from the woman’s face.

      The woman grabbed the pink beat-up Stetson that sat on Nick’s oversize desk and jammed it onto her head, grabbing the thick ponytail and negligently tossing the thick rope of hair in front of her shoulder, so that the ends dangled beneath her breasts.

      The movement was so quick and casual, Sinclair knew that it was one the woman did a lot, without thought.

      “Yes, please come on in. Ms. Adams, I presume?” Nick asked casually, one thick eyebrow raised in question, as though unsure who she was. At the same time his eyes roamed over her as though she was dessert on the dinner menu.

      Sinclair clenched her lower jaw so tightly she feared she’d need an emergency visit to the dentist if she wasn’t careful.

      She inhaled a deep, fortifying breath.

      Control, Sinclair... Control, she reminded herself. She was here for her Wilde Boys, and that was it. As soon as this was over she was out.

      She simply had to remind herself of that fact.

      “Ms. Adams?” he asked again, and Sinclair’s eyes met his. He stood and began to walk toward her, his stride long, purposeful.

      As though against her will, she backed up a fraction. When her back hit the door she stopped, embarrassed.

      Even from across the room, it was as though his piercing blue eyes were drilling a hole into her.

      He came closer, his long legs eating up the short distance in mere seconds. He stopped less than a foot away from where she stood in the doorway, his gaze leisurely traveling over her face and down the length of her exposed neck...to the deep V juncture of her silky blouse.

      His eyes lingered on the swell of her breasts.

      As though he had every right.

      Sinclair cleared her throat.

      “Please...come in,” he murmured, voice low. Sexy.

      She felt a shiver run over her body.

      His eyes finally moved back up to lock with hers.

      Sinclair fought with everything she had to keep her eyes open. It was as though an odd lethargy had invaded her body and the strange pull he had on her increased.

      They had spoken on the phone many times, and his voice had captured her attention from the beginning. They’d even had that unforgettable Skype experience, one that still made her blush because of what she’d done that night, alone in bed, thinking of him and his deep, rumbling voice and handsome face. But seeing and hearing him live?

      Dear God. The fascination she’d had...the pull he’d had on her.... The one that had been increasing over the past six months of their association was set to detonate. She could feel it.

      It was a low, rich rumble that resonated through her body, catching her completely off guard.

      It surrounded her.

      Sinclair’s eyes briefly closed, no longer able to fight it...

      As though touching her, his voice reached out and...caressed her. Did things to her. She felt a trickle of moisture dampen her panties.

      A shiver of awareness slithered down her body and she struck out her tongue to dampen lips that had gone completely dry.

      “Sinclair.” His deep, rich voice made her heart catch. She forced her eyes open and realized he was close. Too close.

      Back up! she silently yelled—begged—him.

      She felt claustrophobic.

      Her gaze met the level of his throat. His neck, thickly corded with muscle, worked as he seemed to swallow.

      Immediately her breasts reacted. Heavy, they felt engorged, her nipples pressing urgently against the thin silk of her brassiere. One she should have thought twice about wearing, as it had about as much protection against the heat of his stare as a thong in a snowstorm.

      It was as though she knew this man...really knew him. On a level that made no sense to her.

      It makes no damn sense, Sinclair! she silently screamed at herself.

      Come on...his throat is sexy, a mocking voice piped in, laughing at her.

      As soon as the thought entered her mind, Sinclair rejected it. She dragged her eyes away from his throat. Since when did she find a man’s throat sexy?

      Frick!

      Okay. Control. Bring back the control, girl, she admonished herself.

      But, God... The combination of his voice and those hypnotic blue eyes, along with his impossibly handsome face...not to mention his body—big, hovering, masculine body. It all summed up to making her feel like a house cat in heat. Trapped, with no outlet.

      She hadn’t been in the least bit afraid