To Have a Wilde. Kimberly Kaye Terry

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      He adjusted the front of his jeans absently and walked the stallion farther inside. No sooner had he’d walked inside than his steps halted and his gaze narrowed as it slid over the occupants of the massive stable.

      He checked his irritation, barely, after seeing the small gathering of film crew that still lingered inside.

      In the mood he was in, that was just what he needed to make his day complete.

      “Damn,” he growled as he walked his animal toward its stall.

      After a long day helping his men brand the new shipment of cattle, including two new prize bulls, seeing his stable still teeming with film crew added more fuel to the fire already burning.

      Yeah, that was just what the hell he needed.

      Squashing the immediate need to tell them to get the hell off his property, Key gritted his jaw and recalled why he’d allowed the TV film crew on his family’s property in the first place.

      Family, ranch and preserving Hawaii. Those, and those alone, were his reasons for putting up with the intrusion into the daily lives of him and his family, ranch family included.

      The attention from the show helped to bring awareness to the Aloha Keiki, the foundation his mother had started, which helped young, disadvantaged youth bring in much needed money to the poorer communities on the island. The money specifically was designated to help with agriculture, as well as scholarship opportunities for those who aspired to go to college. Through gardening and the community orchard his family had started years ago, which the children and volunteers tended to, the money it generated went to those families in need in the small town near the Kealoha Ranch.

      At 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 СКАЧАТЬ