To Have a Wilde. Kimberly Kaye Terry
Читать онлайн книгу.
times the burden of responsibility and decisions he and Nick made on a daily basis, without their father’s input, due to his recovery from the stroke he’d had after their mother’s death, was overwhelming.
But it was a responsibility that he and his twin shouldered willingly.
Although when it came to the attention the show had given the ranch, his “player” of a brother was having less difficulty than Key because of the added attention from women.
He’d agreed to allow the television crew to come in and film the lives of the men and women who worked the Kealoha Ranch to bring awareness, globally, to the impact of ranching in Hawaii as well attention for their mother’s foundation. The desire he and his family had to preserve the environment while forging ahead in the new generation was a cause important to the Kealoha family.
It was what his father wanted, what he promised his wife he would always champion. A’Kela’s recent passing had left a hole in their lives that could never be filled.
To that end, Key, Nick and their father, Alekanekelo Kealoha, had made sure to follow through with their promise.
And if allowing television cameras into their daily lives was what it took, Key was determined to go through with it. It was what his mother would have wanted. It had become the mantra for Key and his brother.
And now that his father was recovering from the massive stroke he’d suffered after the death of his wife, a woman he loved more than life, it was up to Keanu and Nick to make sure they honored their mother’s last wish.
He drew in a deep sigh and turned narrowed eyes toward the gathering of Borg. The name brought a reluctant half smile to lift a corner of Key’s wide mouth. His housekeeper, Mahi, had given the moniker to the collective crew.
At the age of sixty-five, Mahi was a self-proclaimed junie of all things sci-fi with Star Trek: The Next Generation being one of his all-time favorites.
Key had to admit calling them the Borg was as good a definition as any, as they tended to present a collective nest type of thinking.
Which made him think of the one he referred to, privately in his own thoughts, as the Queen Borg....
Against his will his glance raked over the group, checking to see if the one who was the main source of both the state of his overall irritation, as well as his constant hard-on, was anywhere around.
He ignored the strum of disappointment when he didn’t see her.
Although damn if he wouldn’t know if she were there. Whenever the woman was within any distance of Key he could pick up her scent. He was no better than one of his prize stags in rut whenever she was within a fifty-yard radius.
He turned his attention back to his horse and began to remove the tack. Within moments, he slowly turned back in the direction of the film crew.
The Queen Borg...his inner voice mocked him. The name didn’t come close to fitting the woman. She was fine, from head to damn toe, Key thought, frustration warring with his libido. He knew he’d given her the nickname, even if only in thought, in an effort to minimize the attraction he felt for the sexy, long-legged producer.
She strode toward the group, a small tablet in her hand, her assistant close by. Key’s attention went front and center on the woman who had occupied more space in his mind than he’d allowed a woman in a long, long time.
More than he had allowed any woman. The truth struck, deep and swift. He had never permitted any woman beyond family to get close to him.
As he watched her walk confidently toward the group of mostly men, he checked his rise of anger when several of them stood straighter, wide grins on their faces.
Although her assistant walked beside her, all eyes were on Sonia.
Not that he could blame them.
As soon as she approached the group, one of the men, the lighting technician he believed, clamped a hand on her shoulder. At this distance from the group Key couldn’t see her clearly; however, there was something in her posture that made him wonder if she liked the familiar touch.
He felt the irrational anger rise again, and he swiftly took a step toward the group before he checked himself, his immediate response being the overwhelming need to remove the man’s hand from her shoulder.
He frowned. What the hell was with him? It wasn’t his business who she wanted to touch her, or not.
He ignored the mocking inner voice that called him a damn liar.
His hungry gaze traveled over her, from the top of her shiny brown hair to the tips of her cowboy boots, a frown pulling his brows together.
She wore a white, sheer gauzy type of shirt that was opened to the waist, revealing a plain tank top underneath and soft jeans that, although they had several ripped spots scattered over them, appeared to be from actual wear and not manufactured. Even the cowboy boots she wore appeared to be authentic, not like the fashionable ones he’d noticed several of her crew wearing. Nine times out of ten he and his men laughed as, one by one, most of them stopped wearing them, as by the end of the day they were limping from pinched toes.
Even in her shoe choices, she was authentic and one of a kind, and admiration strummed through him despite his determination not to find anything more attractive about the woman.
He continued his perusal of her.
Nothing she wore screamed sexy. Nothing that should make him want to walk over, haul her up into his arms, throw her over his shoulder, take her to the nearest stall and see if she could make good on the promise of that hot little body of hers.
It wasn’t the clothes getting him hot and bothered.
It was what her body did to the clothes that had his cock hardening to granite.
With breasts that made him think of two deliciously plump mounds of sweet, sinful chocolate ice cream, complete with succulent hard cherries on top, they were large but firm...with just enough jiggle to reduce a grown man to a teenage boy with one look.
Not to mention what the image of him lying between her legs as he sucked and tugged on those glorious breasts of hers did to him late at night when she tended to show up, nightly, in every dream he had.
Damn...Key drew in a breath. From experience he knew that within close proximity of each other, one look from him sent her nipples into hard peaks beneath his gaze. She was just as aware of him as he was of her.
He continued his long-distance appraisal. From his vantage point he caught the way her washed-out jeans molded and cupped her firm buttocks, appreciating the soft sway of her hips as she walked toward the group.
It made his palms itch, his imagination going into hyperdrive wondering if her ass would fit into both palms of his hands with the type of perfection he’d imagined in dreams he’d had of her, more erotic than any during his entire adolescence.
It didn’t take much imagination on his part to imagine just how perfectly her cheeks would fit into his hands. No way around it. The woman had a glorious backside. Neither did it take a leap of imagination to envision how she would look naked, spread-eagle beneath him...or what he’d do to that soft, sweet ass of hers once he had both cheeks cupped in the palms of his hands as he stroked into her warmth.
And no one woman had ever accused Key of having a lack of imagination.
“Damn,” he muttered, his cock painful in its hardness.
“Sir?”
One of his stable hands wrung his attention away from the sexy producer. He turned slowly, reluctantly away and glanced at the young man feeding one of his prize Thoroughbreds in the next stable.
Key shook his head as to clear it, yet found his attention torn between the stable boy and Sonia, whom he kept in his peripheral view.
When the lighting technician placed his beefy hand again on Sonia’s shoulder and squeezed, Key gritted his teeth together,