by Lora Leigh
“I know she is,” he answered.
He’d seen it in her eyes, in her face. In the way she couldn’t break his gaze and held on to him until he’d forced himself to look away.
She hadn’t been that scared at the house while she had been in his care. Her expression hadn’t been drawn, her eyes hadn’t been shadowed with that same fear.
“Graham, what are you going to do?” Turning in her seat, Kye faced him demandingly now. “You can’t just leave her there.”
He shot her an amazed glance before focusing on the road once again.
“She has a brother, two cousins, a brother-in-law, a future brother-in-law, and myriad friends and other relatives, Kye. They showed me the fucking door and politely asked me to keep my nose the fuck out of it.”
“And you started listening to morons when?” she demanded loudly, her expression belligerent. “That’s my best friend, Graham. You have to do something.”
“Like what, Kye?” he demanded as the truck came to a hard stop at the light.
Turning his head he glared back at her, furious with her as well as himself, the Mackays, and Lyrica.
“What do you want me to do, Kyleene?” he asked her again, the hard rasp of his voice causing her shoulders to tighten in reaction as she stared away from him.
“I don’t have the answers either, dammit. So stop yelling at me.”
The light turned green. Graham accelerated through the intersection.
Kye remained quiet, her very silence a warning that she was thinking too damned hard. All he could do was wait. With Kye, there was no rushing her.
They were nearly at the edge of town before she shifted around once again to stare at him. And he didn’t like the look. His one brief glance at it assured him that his sister really was thinking too damned hard.
“I have an idea,” she stated serenely.
“Kye, look, let the Mackays handle this for now. If I think she needs my help then I’ll step in and take care of it. Agreed?”
“No, that isn’t agreed.”
Fuck.
He glanced at her again.
One knee was bent and resting on the seat as she turned toward him. She’d propped her elbow against the seat back while pushing her fingers through the side of her hair.
Classic devil child pose, he thought fondly even as he braced himself for what was coming.
“Hurry and get it the hell over with,” he growled. “I can see the wheels turning, Kye, but I don’t know how the hell you can come up with an answer that I haven’t.”
“But you have, Graham,” she said softly.
He frowned, not just at the tone of her voice but at the statement she’d made.
“Did I?” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “And when did I do that?”
“Last winter when bimbo number eight nearly caught you making out with Lyrica in the living room during the blizzard. Take Lyrica as a lover and she’ll be with you safe and sound until you and Elijah can figure out what’s going on.”
He blinked.
Damn, was that sweat he could feel popping out on his brow?
And why didn’t it completely offend him that his sister had suggested he do such a thing just to protect her best friend?
“Uh, Kye?” And how the hell had she known what had nearly happened on that couch?
“I actually made it into the room without either of you realizing I was there. Except I turned around and left as soon as I realized it was you and Lyrica.” Her expression was far too serious now, far too intent. “Don’t tell me you don’t want her. And I know she wants you. She always has.”
“And if I hurt her when it’s over, Kye?” he asked. “She’s your friend. Her brother and cousins are well able to protect her. If I step in, when it’s all over with, her heart will be broken and you know it.”
“If her heart gets broken and she’s still alive, then I’ll forgive you, Graham,” she promised. “Even if it breaks our friendship, I’ll forgive you. I wouldn’t have forgiven you for just playing with her. But I’ll forgive you for saving her. And if the Mackays are so damned capable, what the hell is she doing back at her apartment alone?”
Graham swallowed tightly.
“She’s already kindly turned down the offer of my protection,” he admitted softly, giving her another short look.
“Of course she did,” Kye laughed, amusement filling her face as she watched him. “She’s not stupid. She knows what a tomcat you are, brother dear. And your bimbos aren’t exactly complimented by your friends. But Lyrica’s different. No one will think badly of her. And she’s scared, Graham. If you approach her the right way . . .”
“Enough.” A hard shake of his head and he bit the word out with a hard rasp.
He couldn’t handle this. He was not going to discuss seducing her best friend with her.
It wasn’t going to happen.
Kye just smiled serenely. “Very well.” She shrugged, turning to face forward once again. “But if you change your mind, I’m here. Lyrica’s not every other woman you’ve taken to your bed. She won’t be easy. But she would be safe.”
“What the hell do you know about the women I’ve taken to bed?”
Her lips parted as though to actually answer him.
“Forget it.” He jerked his hand from the wheel to hold it up in a gesture of silence. “I don’t want to know. Just forget I asked.”
Another of those little shrugs. “If you change your mind,” she offered again. “Like I said . . .”
“You’re here,” he snapped. “I know, Kye. I know. You’re here.”
NINE
Her brother and cousins were going to make her crazy, Lyrica told herself several days later as she moved through the crowded rooms that housed the weekend’s largest lake party. Usually, Kye would have already shown up, but so far, Lyrica hadn’t found her. Perhaps, she thought, she should have called to make certain her friend was going to be there.
Unfortunately, damned near everyone there knew her, too, which meant it wouldn’t be much longer before someone called Dawg.
The live band was pounding out a country tune with a hard, fast rhythm. The crowd was milling around the house and the main grounds, and some were already slipping into the private areas of the yard. It was growing late, and intoxicated couples were finding the shadows while some weren’t even bothering with shadows.
The rumors that the Collier parties sometimes slipped into sexual free-for-alls just might be true. And here she was, alone amid the escalating carnality that could be glimpsed and laughed at.
What had seemed like a good idea when she’d heard of the party, while she was fighting nightmares and memories, didn’t seem nearly as smart now.
It was Saturday night, and the summer partying season was just kicking off. The lake was crazy this time of year. These beginning-of-the-season parties and the desperate, winter-weary revelries never failed to end up with the sheriff being called and usually an ambulance or two as well.
If Dawg caught her here, he’d chew a strip of hide off Lyrica’s ass a mile long. Not to mention what her sisters would have to say. Her mother, Mercedes, would give her that look of disappointment that would make Lyrica want to shrink inside, while Timothy would just chuckle, pat her on the head, and tell her it was just those Mackay genetics running roughshod over her good sense.
She hated the Timothy part the most. His amusement and assumption that she probably couldn’t help herself.
Still, she eyed the crowd that seemed packed into the structure as she entered it. She hadn’t been to many of the lake house parties, mostly because her brother and cousins knew far too many people. It wasn’t uncommon for her to be stopped at the door and escorted to a quiet room while her brother was called.
She’d gotten tired of that years ago.
She made out much better at the bars outside of town, or even in Louisville or Lexington instead. Places where Dawg Mackay wasn’t so well-known.
Stepping back into
the entryway, Lyrica surveyed the large entry and living area, wondering how many guests were calling her brother as she stood there.
She should have stayed home. Or gone to a bar, Lyrica thought in disgust as she pushed her way through the crowd, hoping to find an empty corner where she could hide for a while.
As she passed the bar she snagged a cold beer that the bartender set out for another guest who’d made the mistake of turning his back. She always managed to get carded at private parties. She’d never heard of such a thing until coming to Kentucky. She’d never been carded in Texas, even when she’d slipped into the bars.
But then, she hadn’t had a brother like Dawg Mackay overseeing every breath she took, either.
Sipping at the beer, she spied what appeared to be an empty corner behind several large, thickly growing potted plants on the other side of the room. Perfect for observing while hiding, she thought in relief.
Until she began to slip around it and came to a shocked stop.
“Fuck yeah, baby. Fuck that dick,” the male groaned, eyes closed as he held the thick hips of his partner and pounded into her from behind.
The slick length of his erection was a blur of movement as he found a few more explicit phrases to throw out to her. His fingers held her hips so tight, the hem of her dress bunched above them, that Lyrica was certain the other woman would carry bruises.
But Lyrica would forever carry the memory of seeing her former schoolteacher’s cock shuttling between the thighs of the prissy, pursed-lipped mayor’s sister, who ran city hall like an iron-fisted prude.
A second later she was being pulled from the sight, as completely unbelievable as it was, by her neighbor Sam, who was laughing her ass off at Lyrica’s shock.
“Sam, that was gross,” she hissed as the other woman continued to grip her wrist and drag her from the room into a long hallway that had yet to fill with guests.
“The look on your face was priceless.” Sam was still laughing, her hazel eyes filled with mirth beneath the ever-present bill of the black, low-profile ball cap she wore.
The long ponytail was pulled through the adjustable band behind her head as usual. Dressed in men’s loose shorts, a sleeveless white T-shirt, and sneakers, Sam had a masculine aura that never failed to fascinate or shock most people.
She didn’t make excuses for herself and she damned sure didn’t apologize for who she was.
Not that she had to make excuses or apologize for anything. The new criminal investigator for the city of Somerset had enough clout with not just the city, but also the state, that she could afford to carry a little arrogance.
She was nice, though, and kind, Lyrica thought, if a little harder than most thirty-year-old women she knew.
Tanned, toned, and edging toward muscular, that male-aura thing just reached out and grabbed a person. Men were both fascinated by her and fearful of her power over them. Most women were just fascinated by her. Lyrica was equally amused and damned envious of how well Sam carried herself.
“Come on, this part of the house hasn’t filled up yet, but don’t count on it staying that way for long. You could be shocked again before the night’s out.” Sam was still far too amused to suit Lyrica.
“Come on, we’ve called her Miss Priss since we met her,” Lyrica groaned. “And that was my senior year history teacher. That was just wrong.”
Sam snorted. “What are you doing here, Miss Innocent? You should be home, tucked nice and safe in bed, dreaming of sugarplums.”
“Don’t piss me off, Sam,” Lyrica warned good-naturedly. “I could make a bad enemy.”
“So can newborns,” Sam assured her as she glanced over at Lyrica with amused flirtatiousness as they found a quiet corner, shadowed and relatively secluded, with a half-dozen couples lingering there to drink and chat.
“That was low, Sam,” Lyrica said. “Really low.”
Tipping the beer to her lips, Lyrica took a long drink, wishing there weren’t too many of Dawg’s friends here to allow her to go to the bar for a real drink.
“Really, what are you doing here, Lyrica?” Sam asked then, leaning forward, her arms propped on her spread thighs.
It was such a male position that once again Lyrica was reminded of the woman’s strength.
No excuses and no apologies.
“The hell if I know.” Lyrica sighed as she glanced around the shadowed room again. “Boredom, maybe. And I was hoping Kye would be here. She usually stops by the lake parties on the weekends.”
“Kyleene Brock? Graham’s sister? Girl, you’re going to get in trouble if you keep running with her.”
“Kye?” Lyrica laughed. “No way, Sam. You know better than that.”
“She’s trouble waiting to happen is what I know,” Sam assured her with a laughing little roll of her eyes.
“Kye?” Surprise had Lyrica watching the detective closely then. “What’s Kye doing? She never gets into trouble.”
Perfectly plucked, slender brows arched at the retort.
“Really?” Sam drawled. “Hmm, maybe that was someone else who looks exactly like Kye Brock running around and hitting damned near every party I’ve been to since arriving in Pulaski County and wreaking such havoc that we actually look forward to her brief visits just for the entertainment.”
Kye? Wreaking havoc? That so did not sound like her friend.
She shook her head. “Graham wouldn’t allow it.”
“Unlike you, sweetie, no one calls and tells on little Kye. Evidently, she doesn’t mind using all the juicy little trysts she’s seen to keep everyone’s mouth shut.”
Kye Brock? Threatening to tell secrets?
Lyrica took another long drink of the beer, shocked.
“She’s a firecracker,” Sam observed then, the lack of amusement in her voice pulling Lyrica’s attention back to her.
“That just does not sound like Kye.” She shook her head, confused. “I’d have to see that one to believe it.”
“You obviously don’t know her so well.” Sam shrugged.
Lyrica had already suspected that one but she’d never suspected the extent of it.
“Evidently not,” Lyrica agreed.
“You and your sisters just confuse the hell out of me.” Sam shook her head then, a grin edging at her lips. “You’re definitely Mackays, but nothing like your brother and his cousins. They were wild as the wind.”
“They were deviants when they were younger.” Lyrica laughed at the tactful way of describing Dawg’s, Rowdy’s, and Natches’s sexual exploits.
“They were at that,” Sam agreed, her gaze leveled on Lyrica then, the look in her hazel eyes interested and a little amused. “Yet Dawg’s sisters are kept perfectly protected?”
That was a question, not an observation.
Leaning back in her chair, Lyrica watched the other woman for a long moment, wishing she had another drink.
“Perfectly protected, huh?” She gave her head a little shake. “I believe we’re only as protected as we want to be. Dawg worries.”
“He loves you.” She nodded. “Everyone knows that. Hell of a burden, though.”
“Blessing,” Lyrica corrected her. “One we curse, berate, and rail at, but at the end of the day, a blessing.”
Sam chuckled at that before lifting her glass and sipping the liquor she was drinking.
As she lowered her glass, the detective directed her a frank, assessing, more-than-interested look.
“And what of you?” she asked then. “Are you as innocent as everyone thinks, or just as wild as your best friend?”
“Personal interest, Sam? Or just curiosity?” Lyrica tipped her head to the side as she met the other woman’s gaze directly.
Sam snorted at that. “Honey, everyone knows you have your heart and sights set already. We’re just not certain whose heart you’re set on yet. I was just curious as to whether or not you wanted to play a little until you decide what you’re going to do.”
Lyrica laughed at that, crossing one knee over
the other as she leaned forward to rest her elbow against her leg. “That’s proprietary information. Besides Sam, I didn’t take you for the playing type. You’d never accept not being first choice.”
“Hmm,” Sam murmured. “An interesting observation.” Then she shrugged. “Well, if you ever decide your first choice is a wasted cause, give me a call,” she suggested.
Hell, Lyrica couldn’t help but like this woman. Perfectly plucked brows on strong, well-defined features. If she wasn’t mistaken, those shapely fingers were well manicured as well. The men’s clothes should have hung on her, but she was so comfortable in them that she wore them as though they were made for her. Beneath the man’s shirt, shapely breasts were neither hidden nor emphasized.
Samantha Bryce was just Samantha Bryce, and Lyrica wished she could be more like her.
“You know, Sam, I just might be tempted to do that,” she stated, smiling back at her.
“Uh-oh.” Sam made the little sound as Lyrica felt a presence she hadn’t expected.
“Tempted, are you?” Graham growled as he moved around her chair, his fingers curling around her wrist as he pulled her from the chair. “You better be tempted to get your ass out of here because I just heard the bartender call Dawg. You have about . . .”
“Half an hour.” She sighed in resignation before glancing back at Sam. “Night, Sam.”
“Night, Lyrica,” Sam called back to her, definitely amused, probably ready to laugh at her again. “See you soon, honey.”
Hell, Somerset’s most eligible lesbian had just called her “honey.” She felt privileged.
Sam wasn’t known for her endearments.
Following in Graham’s wake, she stared at the black material covering the powerful muscles of his back and thought of the white shirt she’d managed to steal while at the Brock estate. She really liked that black shirt, too. She wondered if she could get him out of it and add it to her collection.
“Where are you taking me?” she finally asked curiously as he began dragging her upstairs.
