by Lora Leigh
The feel of it.
The taste of him.
The release that had torn through her each time.
“Have you contacted Dawg yet?” Pushing her hands into the front pockets of her borrowed jeans, Lyrica forced herself to break the lock he had on her gaze.
“Not yet.” There was an edge to his voice that had her frowning back at him in confusion.
“Have you tried to?” That little glimmer of anger in his gaze was her first indication that if her life hadn’t already gone to hell then it was well and truly on its way there now.
“Can’t say that I have.” An arch of his brow, a tightening of his lips, and Lyrica felt her heart begin to race furiously in excitement.
Glancing away from him, she prayed for patience for several long seconds before focusing on him once again.
“Why haven’t you contacted Dawg? You have to get ahold of him.” How else would he know she was in trouble? That she needed him? “He, Rowdy, and Natches need to come home. What if Zoey’s in trouble, too?”
There was just one of Graham, and there were two men after her. What if he was hurt?
She felt her knees weaken at the thought. Graham could be killed …
But so could Dawg, Rowdy, and Natches. There was Alex, her cousin Janey’s husband. And Shane Mayes, the new sheriff. His father, Zeke, and stepmother, Rogue …
Oh god, everyone she knew would try to help her and they could all be hurt. What had she done? By coming back to Somerset she was placing everyone she loved directly in danger.
“I think I can handle this, Lyrica,” Graham assured her as her head spun with the knowledge of what could happen. “Dawg should have thought of what would happen if I learned I was taken from the list of those to be contacted if you were in trouble. Now he can guess as to who’s protecting you.”
“Pissing contest,” she said faintly, trying desperately to keep her wits about her.
She would have to find a way to leave the house and Graham. She would have to figure out where she could go, where she could hide. She couldn’t ask anyone she knew to help her. She couldn’t countenance pulling anyone else into danger, even her mother’s lover, Timothy, an ex–Homeland Security agent.
Timothy would never trust random agents to protect her. He would instantly contact Dawg. Then her brother and their families would fly home. Hell, Timothy would have them flown home.
She had to leave.
And she was going to have to do it quickly.
—
Graham watched as Lyrica’s face whitened, her slight body almost swaying only seconds after she informed him that Dawg had to return. Now she wasn’t arguing with him, wasn’t insisting that he call—she was angry.
Terror.
He could see that deep well of fear shadowing her eyes as her mind worked through the implications and the danger to those she loved suddenly rushed through her mind. And, having realized it now, that swift, mercurial little brain of hers was searching, sorting, considering, and weighing her options.
Her escape from him.
He almost grinned. At least she was thinking of him, no matter how angry he made her.
“I’m sorry you were dragged into this. I should have thought,” she finally said, shaking her head before staring back at him with such vulnerability it tightened his chest, and for the first time in his life, he felt something where his heart was supposed to be—melting.
Hell, someone besides his sister really gave a damn if he lived or died for them.
“Lyrica, sweetheart, this is a child’s game as far as I’m concerned,” he snorted. “Whoever had the balls to come after you hasn’t been covering their tracks as well as they thought they were. I won’t know just who they are but where they are, and exactly what the hell is going on, within forty-eight hours. And trust me, once I have the answers, I’ll have their hides for even daring to think they could strike out at you without repercussions.”
He was amused.
In the past hours he’d reached out to several underground contacts and sorted through the rumors and hints of jobs up for grabs. What he was piecing together was damned interesting. Even more interesting was the fact that if he was right, then his prey would be within striking distance even sooner than he’d imagined.
All he had to do now was wait for Elijah’s return to begin making contact and making the commander of that little group sorry he’d ever dared to take such a job without talking to Graham.
“Children don’t play with guns.” It was obvious he wasn’t convincing her.
Straightening from the door frame, he stepped back. “Come downstairs. I have the house secure, so we don’t have to worry about being overheard. And I have dinner ready.”
“I can move back into the room I normally use, then,” she stated, instantly piecing that one together.
Graham chuckled. She had always had the most incredible ability to make him laugh. He’d always liked that about her.
“We’ll discuss that,” he lied, amused. “Over dinner.”
Turning and moving down the hallway, Graham restrained his satisfaction when he realized she was following him.
She was still thinking, though. That wasn’t a good thing. Had she pushed aside whatever plans she was making after those first few minutes, then he wouldn’t have been nearly as concerned. But she was still building on whatever plots and plans were rolling through her mind.
Making his way downstairs, he listened for the pad of the leather soles of her sandals. He recognized the outfit she wore, but he’d be damned if he would let his sister ever wear it again. The way it shaped Lyrica’s pretty little body would be forever branded into his mind.
The violet silk of the strappy little top did very little to hide the fact that she was braless. The slim fit of the jeans hugged her hips and thighs like a lover’s caress and made him damned jealous. Hell, he wanted to touch her like that. Delicate little toes gripped the thongs of the sandals and revealed the pearly pink of the polish she’d painted them with. The whimsical color was so damned girly and flirty he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it.
“Have a seat.” Gesturing to the small table sitting in front of a set of shaded windows, Graham moved to the counter and the plate of cold sandwiches he’d just finished making when she passed the silent alarm he’d set to notify his cell phone of movement.
Still silent, she moved across the room and pulled out one of the four chairs.
Damn, when had he begun actually sensing when Lyrica’s Mackay genetics were kicking into overdrive and that far too intelligent brain of hers was beginning to plot world domination? Or at the very least, some scheme designed to make him totally insane.
Normally, Kye was right there with her. At those times, he actually developed heartburn. Now, though, it was worse. It wasn’t heartburn—the hairs at the back of his neck were actually starting to lift in primal warning.
Snagging a bowl, he dumped a healthy portion of potato chips into it then lifted the platter and moved both to the table where Lyrica waited.
As she watched him with wide, shadowed eyes, her hands clasped nervously in her lap, he had to restrain the curse hovering on his lips.
Son of a bitch, he was going to spend all his time trying to find ways not just to keep the assailants out, but to keep Lyrica inside as well. And there was no way to be effective at both.
Placing the platter and bowl in the center of the table, Graham retrieved the plates, set them out, then filled two glasses with ice and sweet tea while he considered his options.
There were several ways he could forestall what he sensed would be an attempt by her to run, to protect everyone she loved by trying to hide, rather than dealing with this. Each would be completely effective, though all but one had several drawbacks.
Keeping her tied to his bed was his particular favorite, but if she wasn’t into that, then he doubted he’d find much pleasure in it. He could lock her in the basement and seduce her there. The apartment-size low
er floor was secure, all but unbreachable, and fully furnished. There were far too many pieces of furniture that she could use as weapons once she realized she was pretty much a prisoner, though.
That left one last option. Confronting her with it.
Pulling out his chair, he straddled it, placed his forearms on the table, and watched her, waiting, knowing it was coming.
That gleam of mutiny. The fiery fight that filled her, the temper that was always just out of sight, making an appearance.
“Don’t you stare at me like that, Graham Brock,” she ordered him, voice low, lips tightening. “No one died and made you the boss of me.”
There it was.
“Keep telling yourself that,” he suggested softly, hearing the deep, unconscious rasp of command in his voice. A sound he’d rarely heard since coming home. “Convince yourself of that if you have to, Lyrica. Whatever helps you sleep at night. But if you slip out, if you run, if you give even a fucking second’s thought to facing this alone, then I promise you—take it to the fucking bank and cash this one, sweetheart—I will make damned sure you understand exactly how I can, and I will, ensure you never do something so stupid again.” Sitting back, he placed two sandwich halves and a handful of chips on her plate, pushed it to her, then served himself.
Her eyes hadn’t left his face. His expression hadn’t changed.
“Wanna try me?” he finally asked.
Pounding hard and heavy already, the pulse at her neck throbbed harder, faster. Her face was flushed, her gaze edged with an arousal he’d more than anticipated.
She cleared her throat before answering him. “Not at the moment.”
“And here I was hoping you would.” His teeth bit into the sandwich and he was rewarded with the faintest twitch of reaction from her.
Hell no, she had no intention of trying him. At least, not anytime soon. And in this case, he’d lied—he’d prayed she wouldn’t. Some lessons were best learned through pleasure rather than a need to prove exactly who was more dominant, who was the boss when it came to doing what he did best.
Protecting what he claimed as his.
SEVEN
“You’re not calling Dawg out of spite,” Lyrica said accusingly to Graham as he put away the remainder of the sandwiches and chips.
“You think?” Lifting his brows with heavy mockery, he pulled his cell phone from the holster at his side and placed it in the center of the table. “Bastard didn’t even let me know I wasn’t part of the group anymore. Damned inconsiderate if you ask me.”
She wasn’t certain if she should be amused by his consternation at being left out or outraged that it was the only reason he wasn’t contacting her brother.
“Dawg’s going to kick your ass, Graham. If Natches doesn’t beat him to it.” Crossing her arms on top of the table, Lyrica watched him worriedly.
The grin that tilted his lips was a little too playful. He sat back in the chair and watched her closely. Lyrica was trying damned hard not to think about the invitation she could see in his gaze.
“Natches isn’t going to take a bead on me for not calling nor will he kick my ass. He’ll throw his fist. Once. Dawg will get his turn and it will be over.” He seemed far too calm about it.
Lyrica shook her head. “That might be true, but you’re not considering one thing.”
“Oh, yeah?” His grin was confident, self-assured.
“Rowdy.”
Graham’s eyes narrowed back at her as though considering her answer. “Rowdy’s pretty laid-back. He lets Dawg and Natches get the bruises.”
“It all depends on how far you push him,” she informed him. “And I’m pretty certain that neglecting to let his wife know one of Dawg’s sisters, who she claims as her niece, is safe, would push him to that limit. Rowdy can be dangerous.”
“Rowdy also has the amazing ability to understand simple logic. Something Dawg and Natches aren’t so good at,” he snorted.
She couldn’t argue that one.
“But we’re not discussing Dawg and Natches.”
“Lyrica.” He leaned forward slowly, his amber eyes suspicious now. “Don’t you trust me to protect you?”
It had nothing to do with trust, Lyrica knew. It was desperation. If he was determined to do this, then he might need help.
“Backup never hurt anyone when guns are involved, Graham. You should know that,” she pointed out archly. “My family makes good backup.”
“Your family’s full of control freaks,” he snorted with a laugh. “Baby, you and I both know there would be no backup. They’d rush you out of here so damned fast it would make both our heads spin. And I think that’s what you’re counting on. Now, I’ll ask you again.” His voice lowered, his expression becoming more serious. “Don’t you trust me to protect you?”
She did.
Lyrica knew Graham would be a hell of a force to be reckoned with, just as she knew that if she stayed with him, she would end up being owned by him.
“I trust you to protect me, Graham.” She finally nodded as she clasped her hands on the table and stared down at her nails for a long minute. “I don’t doubt for a second that we’ll both survive and when the smoke clears, just like Dawg and the others, you’ll be victorious.” Mockery edged her voice as she lifted her gaze then. “But why do I have a feeling that if it wasn’t for the fact that they are my family, you would have called them the second you had a chance?”
“Of course I would have,” he answered, his gaze gleaming with unabashed laughter. “There’s no one I’d rather have at my back. But they’re not the only game in town and they aren’t even in town at the moment. Remember? I have other friends. And I have other friends just as well trained and just as adaptable as the Mackays are.”
She looked around the kitchen slowly before arching a brow and meeting his gaze once again. “Are you hiding them in the closets?”
“That’s as good a place as any,” he informed her with a little wink before leaning forward and pulling up the recorder program on his phone. “I’ll see if they want to come out and play after we go over everything that’s happened.”
She knew he was going to ask about that. From the second she’d seen him standing in the doorway to Kye’s room, she’d known he was going to make her go over everything.
“I’d rather just forget it.” She’d lived through it, wasn’t that enough?
“Are you always this difficult, sweetheart?” The expression on his face became more wicked, hungry, as his voice lowered, his gaze darkening. “I have a cure for all that energy.”
“Stop.” She couldn’t handle it. She didn’t want to handle it.
Leaning her weight on her arms, she let her gaze meet his fully. “I’m not one of your damned flavors of the month, Graham. I refuse to be. And I sure as hell refuse to lose Kye’s friendship so I can share your bed for a few weeks. And I really don’t appreciate your insistence on making sure your sister and I are never friends again.”
His gaze narrowed once again. “Kye has nothing to do with this, Lyrica. And trust me, you two are far too close for her to drop you as she has others.”
“But you’re just fine with taking that risk, aren’t you?” Lyrica pushed back from the table and flashed him a disgusted look.
“Do you think I’m going to force you into having sex with me?” he asked her carefully.
“You don’t have to force me and we both know it.” Keeping her back to him, Lyrica walked to the entrance of the sunroom, taking in the closed shades and the cool, dim shadows that washed over the heavily padded furniture.
“Just as we both know Kyleene won’t drop your friendship and Natches won’t really put a bullet in me for it.” He was closer.
That quietly, that smoothly, he’d left the table and she hadn’t even known it. She hadn’t heard so much as a creak of the chair or his shoes on the wood.
Turning quickly, she found herself staring at the white material covering his broad chest as his hands lifted to cup her upper arms.<
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“All you have to do is say no,” he whispered, his head lowering until his lips were at her ear, brushing against the far too sensitive lobe erotically.
She was losing her breath.
Lips parting, Lyrica fought to take in oxygen as her hands pressed against the tight plane of his abdomen. She tried to swallow against the tightness in her throat.
Suddenly her whole body was too sensitive. Her breasts swollen, nipples aching. The skin over her stomach remembered the brush of his fingers, the dampness between her thighs reminding her far too much of his lips and tongue tasting her there, throwing her into such a rush of pleasure that the need for it was almost addictive now.
“Do you want to say no, Lyrica?” Those diabolical, far too experienced lips moved to her neck as her head tilted helplessly for him.
Fiery, electric fingers of pleasure tore across the nerve endings just beneath his lips to the swollen, aching bud of her clit as it pulsed between her legs.
She couldn’t say no. Did she want to? It was for the best and she knew it. Saying no was the smartest thing she could possibly do at this point.
But she couldn’t.
When his lips moved to hers, she was waiting for them. Hers parted, a moan slipping past her throat as his lips covered hers in a kiss that rocked her to her soul.
One hand gripped the back of her head; the other lifted her closer to him, wrapped around her lower back as he bent to her, then lifted her as her knees gripped his hips instinctively.
There.
A trembling cry escaped the kiss as her fingers speared into his hair to hold him to her, to immerse herself in the pleasure rushing through her senses like a tidal wave. How had she ever kept herself from begging for this? How would she keep herself from begging for it when her time was up? When the few fragile weeks he allowed his lovers came to an end?
Tightening her thighs around his hips, Graham cupped the curves of her ass and clenched erotically, sending another swift strike of sensation to her clit. The heavy length of his erection rubbed her jeans against the sensitive folds of her sex and sent damp warmth spilling out sensually. His lips plundered hers, his tongue stroked, rubbed, and tasted hers, and each caress, each flash of heat, made her weaker, pushed her deeper into the pleasure overtaking her.
