by Lora Leigh
“Well, if Dawg killed you, Graham, then Kye wouldn’t have to worry about any more of your little snuggle bunnies running around the house at all hours,” she pointed out innocently, though the thought of it had the power to make her burn with jealous anger. “I think she lives in fear of seeing any more of your naked lovers traipsing down the hallway. She’s convinced she’s been traumatized, you know.”
Several months before, she and Kye both had watched in amazement as his lover had stepped into the kitchen completely naked, then opened the fridge and gathered a variety of fruits and cheeses, along with a bottle of wine, before moving upstairs once again.
For the briefest second, amazement transformed his features.
“Kye lives in fear of it, or you do?” he growled, his voice deepening, turning darker.
A flush raced over her face. She could feel the heat of it, the anger spurring it, and narrowed her eyes back at him in response.
“I just hope you use protection. It would be a shame if that fine body of yours started wasting away from some bug you’d picked up and couldn’t get rid of.” She mocked his response lightly. “There’s little enough eye candy in this county as it is. Losing some of it would be a crime.”
“Viper,” he muttered.
“Prick,” she countered, a brow arching with a satirical grin. “Really, Graham. You’re pretty to look at and all, but I’m sure your attitude would spoil the view eventually.”
His arms dropped from his chest and he prowled closer to where she sat on the couch.
Oh, boy.
She had no idea what she’d set loose inside him, but there was no doubt something was free. His eyes glittered with it, his expression hardening as he moved closer.
“That tongue of yours is going to get you in trouble,” he warned her.
Suddenly, the daring and curiosity that had filled her moments before deserted her. He wasn’t hiding that hunger now. In that moment, he didn’t give a damn if she saw the lust raging in his eyes and on his face.
“So Dawg tells me often,” she informed him as she moved quickly to her feet. “You should discuss it with him,” she suggested. “Tomorrow. Good night, Graham.”
Turning, she moved to leave the living room and the hunger that flared so bright, so hot in his eyes …
“Like hell.”
A hard band wrapped around her waist, pulling her to a hard stop as she was brought against the powerful body behind her in one smoothly executed move.
Oh god.
She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t even fantasized about this. Not like this. So dark and dominant that it awoke a knee-weakening submission inside her she had never imagined she possessed.
“Graham.” The soft exclamation escaped her lips as he pulled her around and brought her body against his once again, holding her to him as he stared down at her silently.
His gaze burned with lust. Narrowed and intense, it went over her face as she watched him, breathless. Her breasts rose and fell swiftly against his hard chest, her nipples pressing imperatively into the thin silk as though to reach heated flesh.
“You always have that look in your eyes,” he muttered, one hand moving to cup her neck as it pushed beneath her hair. “Hungry but innocent.”
She fought to breathe as she watched his lips move, not really caring what he was saying. She wanted him to kiss her. Wanted him to give her whatever it took to ease the hunger that clawed at her each time she saw him.
How unfair was it, the way she craved just the sight of him, when it was more than obvious he had no problem staying away from her?
His thumb brushed over her jaw, sending a rush of sensation racing across her flesh.
“Are you going to kiss me, Graham, or just keep spoiling the view with your attitude?” she finally whispered, desperate for that touch, that taste of him.
“Kissing you would be the biggest mistake of my life.” He sighed, but he wasn’t letting her go.
“Yeah, mine, too.” She breathed out, curling one arm up around his neck. “So why not just make it together?”
She lifted to him.
His head lowered.
The second their lips met it was as though the hunger, carefully contained, escaped with a rush, determined to be imprisoned no longer.
His hunger was voracious. Her need was unquenchable.
Graham’s lips slanted over hers as he lifted her closer, his tongue pressing between her lips, feeding on her need as he tasted every lush, sensual promise she made in return.
The lash of heat and overwhelming pleasure wasn’t expected. In all her fantasies, all her heated explorations of her own body, she had never imagined pleasure like this. Hadn’t guessed it could be so hot, so filled with such exquisite pleasure.
Spearing her hands into the overlong hair at the back of his head, Lyrica curled her fingers into the rough silk feel of it to hold him to her. She couldn’t bear the thought of stopping. Couldn’t imagine ever living without his touch, his kiss, now that she’d had it.
Heat rushed through her system as he nipped at her lower lip, licked it as he lifted her into his arms, a low, muttered groan vibrating in his chest as he lowered her back to the couch. A hard, muscled thigh pushed between hers, spreading her legs as he came over her. At the same time he loosened the knot of her robe, pushing it to the sides of her breasts as he broke the fiery kiss.
Lyrica stared up at him, dazed, drunk on the pleasure racing through her as Graham gripped her hands and lifted them to the armrest above her head, holding them securely with one hand.
“So damned pretty,” he muttered, his lips moving to the line of her neck as she tilted her head back to accommodate the caress.
Every muscle in her body tightened at the sensations tearing through her as he licked, kissed, and rasped the slender column of her neck. His teeth raked over it, the sound of his harsh breathing meeting her panting breaths as he released her lips and helped her from the robe. At the same time, the slender straps of her gown were pushed down, her arms sliding from them as the material was removed and tossed aside.
A broken moan of need escaped her lips, though she fought to still it to ensure Kye didn’t hear if she came to check on her. It was impossible to hold back as Graham’s lips moved to the swollen curves of her breasts.
Pushing the sensitive curves together, he licked, nibbled, his lips kissing as they moved from one tight nipple to the other.
Lyrica fought just to remember how to breathe past the pleasure. She’d never known such heated, electric sensations. Had never known hunger could rise so hot, so fast through her body.
Then his lips covered one tight, beaded nipple, suckling it hungrily into his mouth as his hips moved between her thighs. The hard denim-covered wedge of his erection pressed against bare, slick flesh, ground against it, sending pleasure to mix with diabolical greed at the distended bud of her clit.
Mewls of need fell from her lips as she bit at them to hold back her cries. She couldn’t let them escape. She had to hold back. If Kye heard them, she’d never forgive Lyrica. She hated it when her friends became fixated on her brother.
A low, desperate whimper escaped as Graham’s hand moved from the curve of her breast to her thigh. His fingers moved up to grip the curve of her hip.
“Oh god, Lyrica,” he groaned, the dark rasp of his voice sensual and filled with lust. “You’ll be the death of me.”
Lyrica trembled, and her eyes opened to watch as he levered his body back to stare down at the bare, glistening flesh of her sex.
Slowly, he spread her thighs farther apart and pushed the knee resting against the back cushions into the upholstery as he lifted her other leg until her calf rested over his shoulder.
“Graham.” Her voice shook, hunger and the fear of the unknown, need and uncertainty, rushing through her as he drew his hand along her inner thigh.
“Shh, just for a moment,” he crooned, his voice like dark velvet gliding across her senses. “I’ve dreamed of this, Lyric
a. Let me have it, just for a moment.”
His head lowered.
Lyrica’s eyes widened at the first lick of his tongue across her sensitive flesh. Her hips arched, a moan slipping past her lips, her fingers sliding into his hair to grip the heavy strands.
Fiery, intense pleasure rushed through her system with furious intent, tearing through her, drowning any fear that might have been growing inside her.
There was no fear now. There was pleasure. Exquisite, heated, drugging pleasure she couldn’t have resisted even if she wanted to.
He pursed his lips as he kissed the hard bud of her clit, drawing a rapturous flare of sensation from the tender flesh as her hips jerked against his lips.
“Graham. Oh god, Graham.”
His tongue licked over, around the swollen bundle of nerves. Pleasure whipped and built through Lyrica as he tasted her, kissed the saturated flesh, then with a greedy tongue delved into the swollen folds to find the aching center of her body.
His tongue flicked over the narrow entrance, spreading heated, electric ecstasy with the quick, hungry licks and shallow penetrations that never seemed enough. With each touch, each taste he took, she needed more. Ached and begged for more.
“Damn you,” he groaned, spreading the folds apart with the fingers of one hand to deliver another hungry kiss to her clit.
But this one lingered.
His tongue flicked over her and sensation slashed through her as she drew her hips up to meet his kiss once again.
Each touch, each lick pushed steadily increasing waves of pleasure through her system. She was lost in a blinding sea of sensation and desperate to sink deeper. Desperate for more as she felt the pad of his thumb slide against her entrance, pressing into it, spreading her flesh open as the waves began to tighten, to build.
She was so close.
Clenched, aching, her hips lifted to him, trembling, shuddering with each driving surge of sensation as she gave herself to the storm pounding at her senses.
“Graham, where the hell are you!” Strident and filled with ire, the feminine voice of Graham’s current conquest filtered through the living room doors as Lyrica froze, her eyes flashing open to stare at Graham as betrayal tore through her.
Graham’s head jerked up, shock and guilt reflecting in his eyes as Lyrica began struggling beneath him, desperate now to be free of him.
“Stay!” he hissed, pushing her back to the couch, leaning over her, one hand over her lips as the door opened.
The couch hid them. The fire had burned down, the weakened flames and glowing embers casting an intimate glow over the room.
“Graham, are you in here?” the irate woman called out again.
Lyrica was dying inside. She could feel the pain tearing through her, the knowledge that he had just left his lover’s bed and had dared to touch her. Dared to show her everything she couldn’t have—
Her heart was ripping in two. The pain was blinding, agonizing as her eyes remained locked with his.
Let him see. Let him see how it hurt, let him see that he had just destroyed something she now knew that he ached for just as much as she did. Because she would make damned sure he never had a chance to touch her again.
Because another chance would end the same way. With the knowledge that she was no more than a stolen, forbidden moment. Something he could throw away whenever his latest lover came calling his name again.
“Dammit, I’m getting tired of this,” the other woman muttered angrily, fury vibrating in each word.
A second later, the door snapped shut again.
Lyrica didn’t take her eyes off his. Pain washed through her in waves, making her breathing choppy, the fight to hold back her tears iffy.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his thumb lifting to brush back an escaping tear. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
His hand lifted from her lips.
“Get off me!” She kept her voice low, quiet, despite the need to scream, to rage.
She struggled against him again, pushing at his shoulders, ragged gasps tearing from her throat as she fought to be free of him.
“Lyrica, wait,” he growled.
“Get off me before I start screaming,” she demanded, her voice rough, low.
She didn’t want his skanky little bunny to know about what he’d just done any more than he did.
“We need to talk—”
“Fuck you!” she cried out furiously. Her voice was still low, still quiet, but the rage tearing through her was only rising. “Get off me, Graham, or I swear to god, you’ll regret it. I promise you …” Kicking, pushing, she fought to be free of him.
She had to be free of him.
Oh god, she hated him. She hated what he was doing to her, hated what he was making her feel. She hated this pain. Hated the need still tearing through her body, the inner anger and hunger to stay right where she was.
Suddenly, she was free.
Graham jumped from her, pushing his fingers through his hair as a brutal curse hissed from his lips.
“Stay here, dammit,” he snarled, catching her before she could leave the room.
“Why? So she won’t see me and fuck your little party up?” she demanded harshly.
“No,” he whispered, holding her in front of him, staring down at her. The regret she saw in his face made her hate him, hate herself. “So you won’t be hurt any more than I’ve already hurt you. Just stay here, Lyrica. Give me three minutes. Just three minutes …”
Releasing her, he brushed past, and the sound of him leaving the room broke the control she’d fought to hold on to. Sobs tore from her, almost as silent as the tears that whispered from her eyes.
She sank to the hearth, wrapping her arms around herself as she bent her head to her knees and fought to quiet the brutal sobs shuddering through her.
They were quiet, but still devastating to her.
—
And to the man on the other side of the door listening to them.
It was better this way, he thought wearily. He’d been insane to touch her to begin with. He’d known better, yet the hunger that tore at him demanded otherwise.
A hunger he had no choice but to turn and walk away from. For both their sakes.
TWO
Two months later
The snow had melted from the Kentucky mountains, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be more before the season was over. The early March weather was a little cooler than normal—too damned bad it didn’t do a thing to cool down his body.
Pulling into the crowded parking lot, Graham gripped the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip as a grimace tightened his jaw.
He was supposed to stay away from her. He’d sworn to himself he would stay the hell away from her. She deserved better than a man who couldn’t trust. A man whose anger burned because of the very fact that he couldn’t stay away from her.
Glaring at the brightly lit house with music pulsing in the air and humanity milling about it, he knew he should turn around and just leave. Hell, she was over twenty-one. She was a woman grown and well old enough to decide if she wanted to be here or not.
At least, that was the argument he’d given her brother, Dawg Mackay. Unfortunately, saying no to the Mackays wasn’t always the easiest thing to do. Sooner or later, a man just threw his hands up in surrender, did what he had to do, and hoped it was over. Mackays were like water against stone sometimes. They just fucking eroded good common sense.
The Mackay males had decided there were certain parties that the Mackay females weren’t to attend, and in Pulaski County and the counties surrounding it, everyone listened. If one of Dawg Mackay’s sisters was seen at a party with certain qualities, then a call was to be made. If a Mackay couldn’t be reached, then there was a list, a short list, of numbers to call. Hesitate to make the call and when the day came that you needed a favor from one of those Mackay men, good luck.
For some reason—Mercury in retrograde, bad karma, just bad fucking luck, he didn’t know wh
at—for some damned reason no one was reachable but Graham this time. And it just had to be Lyrica Mackay attempting to have a life without her brother’s permission.
Hell, he felt sorry for the Mackay daughters who were rapidly approaching their teen years.
u better get here! cause dude this bitch is burnin’
Distaste pulled at his lips as he read the text. He was going to have to teach that bastard how to write, and how to describe a beautiful woman.
With the text came video.
And there just had to be video, didn’t there?
Pulling up the file texted to his smartphone, Graham tapped the icon and waited the second or so it took to download.
He should have let it be, he thought, swallowing tightly as it came up. Because Lyrica was definitely burning.
So damned hot she made his fingers burn to touch her.
The music was a hard country tune, fast and rhythmic, and it played perfectly to her ability to move like the erotic fantasy she was.
And she was moving.
Laughing, her gaze centered on the redneck bastard dancing with her, she held the longneck bottle of beer comfortably in one hand as the other curled over her head. She moved with gut-clenching, erotic grace, hips swaying, the tops of her pretty breasts sheened with perspiration, her long, straight black hair flowing to the middle of her shoulder blades.
Then the son of a bitch dancing with her reached out to clasp her hips—
And she let him pull her to him. Laughing, her emerald green eyes gleamed with latent fire before she moved back to tease further with the sensual gyrations of her seductive body.
“Fuck me!” The snarl tore from his lips before he could hold it back. “I’m going to paddle her ass!”
He tried to push back the thought of what he intended to do to it after he watched it blush a pretty pink, for branding his senses. But the fantasy was still there. Just as it was every day, every night, every time he breathed.
Exiting the vehicle, he slammed the door shut, listened for the automatic door lock, then strode quickly toward the house.
She was going to make him insane—that was all there was to it. After the night of the blizzard, after tasting her, there had been no peace for him. He had a taste for her now, one he couldn’t get out of his senses or make himself forget.
