as usual, what had become irritatingly familiar, the image of Nick Kealoha came to mind. She bit the corner of her lip. She knew what he looked like, every feature down to the lopsided grin he tended to have on his sensual mouth. The way one dimple would appear near his lower lip whenever he would smile, even the slightest bit. In that way he had—
Sinclair quickly opened her eyes, batting them several times as though that would scrub the image of Mr. Tall, Golden and Fine from her mind.
“Lord...help me,” she muttered and reached down to slip the ridiculously high heels from her feet to massage her arches.
Okay. She was definitely tired. She’d become accustomed to blocking his image from her mind the minute it bombarded its way inside, as though he had every right to take up residence.
Increasingly, his image was the first that came to her mind in the morning as soon as she woke. And it was the last one she visualized at night, right before bed.
Right before dreaming.
“Arggg!” The groan rolled out from between her tightened lips.
She refused to admit how it was affecting her, how his image had been flirting inside her mind for the past several months, relentlessly. Without ceasing.
It had started even before she’d seen his family’s show.
* * *
As soon as the Wildes had come to her for help with the situation, Sinclair had gone online to check out the Kealohas in an effort to get an idea of what she would be dealing with. It hadn’t been a hard task. As soon as she’d put their name into the search engine on her laptop, pages had filled the screen and she’d clicked through the various links and images. They were, in fact, quite...Google-able. Curious, she’d then decided to check out the show.
“Know thine enemy” had been a saying she had long learned to adhere to, even before completing her law degree. She’d settled down on her sofa and scrolled the various sites before finding the reality show.
That one show had done it....
Oh, Lord. She swallowed deep, the memories making her face burn. Her self-massage came to an abrupt halt, her fingers pausing midrub.
She’d promised herself not to watch another episode. There was absolutely no reason for her to continue, after all. She had watched simply to see the men of the A’kela Ranch—to watch and observe for anything she could use against the Kealohas. Strictly research fodder for her Wilde Boys, no more, no less.
For reasons she refused to analyze, although she’d promised herself not to watch another episode, she’d been spellbound. Like a deer caught in headlights, she’d sat on her loveseat watching episode after episode....
And what had started out as a mission simply to “know her enemy,” had turned into a marathon TV session that had her viewing both seasons one and two of the popular cable network show. Episodes where Nick seemed to be most present, she’d watched twice. Sometimes three times.
The man was drop-dead fine as hell, no two ways about it.
After that, his image had been scored into her brain, from his golden-boy good looks to the bright blue eyes that seemed to show mischief even if the camera wasn’t aimed in his direction. Even if he wasn’t the one the scene was focused on, he seemed to attract all the attention to his broad shoulders, narrow waist and muscled thighs that even behind the signature rugged jeans he wore couldn’t disguise the masculine appeal.
All of him had captured Sinclair’s attention. And although she should have been irritated at the way he seemed to know it, the way he carried himself as though he was the only man on the planet, alpha to the nth degree...she’d found herself getting wet. Just from looking at him.
Sinclair had noticed that although the show featured the Kealoha ranch, the actual Kealohas, both brothers as well as father, were rarely on camera. However, when Nick glanced into the camera and spoke, it was as though he was speaking directly to her.
She felt a tangible...warmth invade her body. Sexual.
Predatory heat...
Ingrained into her mind was the way his low-hooded, intense blue eyes would glance into the camera...his sculpted cheeks... And the hint of a dimple that would appear near his lower lip when he gave that ghost of a smile that Sinclair now associated with pure, raw, masculine...sex.
She sucked in a deep breath of air.
It all screamed that he was a man who knew his way around a woman’s body.
Her face flushed. Her panties grew wet.
Hot mess? Nah...she was way past that.
“Uhhhh!” The growl of frustration slipped from her lips and Sinclair quickly snapped her eyes open and batted them profusely.
She needed help.
Nick Kealoha was a player. Straight. Up. Player.
No two ways around it. It was all in his image. The way he carried himself. She’d read his bio...and she was not going to be played. Never had, never would.
Sinclair straightened her spine and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. She ignored the way her thick, wavy curls refused to behave, and how the once-straight strands were a memory of the past.
She ran a hand over her hair and circled the bunch in one hand. After opening a pocket of her messenger bag she’d tossed on the bed, she withdrew a covered band and deftly secured the thick, dense mass of curls.
No. She did not see him as one part of the “dynamic duo” that he and his twin had so cheesily been dubbed by the media.
She only saw the irritating man she had come to truly...have issue with.
Their communication had begun when Sinclair had taken over all dealings with the Kealohas immediately after Nick’s initial terse letter to the family, demanding retribution.
Although the Wildes, as well as Sinclair, had been surprised to find out that their adoptive father, Clint Jedediah Wilde, had fathered a set of twins more than thirty years ago, they had been happy, ready to meet their “brothers” and to hear their story.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t long after that that they realized the Kealohas, in particular Nick Kealoha, was not exactly in the “family reunion” sort of mood. His demand was concise, to the point. He and his brother were demanding they get what was theirs legally: interest in the Wyoming Wilde Ranch.
“Not even gonna happen,” had been the collective response from her Wilde Boys, big arms crossed over their large chests, faces set.
Although she didn’t feel like smiling, the image of the big men, hard looks across their handsome faces, brought a smile to her face.
Although the Wildes were adoptive brothers, sharing no blood link, the men were just about as close as three brothers could be. And when they felt threatened it was quite an impressive sight to see them rally together.
Ready to kick ass first and take names later, if necessary, as Holt Wilde had once so eloquently put it.
Not that it would come to that, Sinclair had
