This wasn’t the time. The wrong time in his life, the wrong time for his heart, the wrong time for his soul. It was simply the wrong damned time for this. He’d always known Lyrica could get under his skin, get beneath his defenses, but he’d never imagined she’d get in this deep. That she would weaken him at a time when he had no choice but to be strong.
As he entered the house and made his way purposefully to the patio, his jaw clenched with the anger that thought brought.
A chorus of boos met his appearance and he knew his reason for being there was expected. Just as they weren’t for the Mackays, parties weren’t his style. If he was going to get crazy with a woman, then he was going to get crazy without witnesses.
The sound of disappointed calls had the tempting motions of Lyrica’s delicately rounded body stilling as she turned to him.
Immediately her eyes narrowed, and before he could reach her she lifted that damned beer to her lips and finished the drink in seconds, before he could take it from her. Not that he would have. That was her brother’s prerogative, not his.
“Ready to go?” he snapped, glancing at the bottle with an air of disgust.
“Not really.” Her brows arched as a mocking smile shaped her lips. “You ready to leave without me?”
He grunted at that. The question was so preposterous it didn’t deserve an answer.
“You walking out or do I have to drag you out?” He sighed.
Damn, he really hoped she was walking . . .
She laughed at the question. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Evidently, laughter was contagious. At least, hers was, because the curious crowd twittered with her.
Hell, he could read that look in her eyes—she was going to make damned certain this was as difficult as possible.
Breathing out in exasperation, he flicked a glance at her clothing and considered his options as everyone waited and watched.
She looked damned good, he had to say that for her.
Five feet, four inches tall, her three-inch heels pushed her to five-seven. She wore jeans that licked over every inch of skin from just below her hips until they disappeared beneath the dark brown leather boots that ended just above her knees.
Decision made.
He didn’t give her time to block him or guess what he was doing. Amid the cheers of the crowd he moved forward, bent, and had her over his shoulder in a second, one arm anchoring the backs of her knees as she screamed in outrage.
Just for effect, he reached up with his free hand and slapped her shapely bottom as laughter and catcalls echoed behind them.
“You ass,” she cried out, but she stilled her struggles.
Well, she stilled them for a few seconds. The feel of her hand smacking at the back of his jeans had his lips curling in amusement as he stalked out the front door.
“Hey, Graham, you have a wildcat on your hands!” Elijah Grant laughed as he moved to Graham’s side.
Although the other man carried a beer for effect, he was as sober as a judge on Sunday. Dark hazel eyes watched the area carefully beneath lowered lids, and if Graham knew Elijah, there was a weapon hidden somewhere beneath the sweatshirt, jeans, and boots he wore.
Probably several.
“Elijah Grant, I’ll just have Zoey kick your damned ass,” Lyrica threatened him furiously.
Elijah grimaced, then a grin touched his lips as they entered the parking lot. “Tell her I like my doms in black leather instead of baggy sweats. If she dresses the part, I might let her try.”
A furious snarl tore from Graham’s burden as Elijah chuckled at her response.
“Why didn’t a Mackay collect her?” the other man asked then. “She doesn’t give her brother or cousins near that much trouble.”
“Hell if I know,” Graham muttered. He was still trying to figure out what the purpose of it was himself.
“So what’s your count at now?” Elijah asked.
His count. After this, how many favors did he still owe the Mackays?
“Hell if I know,” he repeated with an edge of anger. “I wasn’t aware I had a count until recently.” Until the Mackays had needed someone to follow Lyrica and her sister Zoey when they took an overnight shopping trip to Louisville just before summer ended the year before.
“Yeah, they get a man like that.” Elijah sighed.
“Graham Brock, let me down this minute,” Lyrica ordered. “I swear if you don’t let me go I’ll tell Kye how to run those damned bimbos of yours out of the house within hours. I know how to do it. Ask Declan. I swear I’ll do it.”
Graham glanced toward the heavens, praying for patience. If she didn’t stop, he was going to end up doing something neither of them would appreciate once they came back up for air.
“Poor Declan,” Elijah murmured. “Really, Lyrica, you and Zoey should leave the man alone long enough to get him some. Let him enjoy his freedom.”
Declan Mackay, Natches’s adopted son, had been fighting a war with his cousins almost since the day they’d arrived. It wasn’t a cruel war. It wasn’t one of dislike, not really. But it was an amusing one.
Reaching the Viper, Graham nodded to the door and waited as Elijah hurriedly opened it.
“Your chariot awaits, princess.” Graham snickered as he bent, turned, and expertly maneuvered her into the passenger seat. He’d perfected the move during those years when he’d had to collect his baby sister from parties. Though she’d been about fifteen at the time, he thought in disgust, not twenty-four.
What the hell was Dawg Mackay thinking? Kye would shoot him with his own gun if he attempted something like this now.
At least Lyrica didn’t attempt to jump from the car.
Crossing her arms over her breasts, she stared straight ahead, silent and furious.
“Think she’ll consider the fact that this is Dawg’s fault, not yours?” Elijah asked, the laughter waiting just below the surface more than evident in his tone.
“No.” Closing the door, Graham raked his fingers through his hair in resignation, his gaze meeting the other man’s. “Why do you think Dawg likes to cash in his favors this way? It’s so much easier than facing the music himself.”
The music being his sister’s fury. Lyrica was widely known to be the one sister who had no reservations when it came to getting even with her brother. She’d spent two months living in his home when she was twenty, making his life hell with such simple teenage maneuvers that Dawg had sworn to her that he wouldn’t interfere in her life as he did with her older sisters.
He didn’t keep that promise when it came to certain parties though.
“Good luck, buddy.” Elijah chuckled as he backed away from the car, watching as Graham opened the driver’s-side door.
“I’ll need it,” Graham called back as he slid into the low seat and started the motor.
“Can we put the top down?” Lyrica asked, her fingers moving immediately for the radio and flipping it on as she pushed the volume up.
Way up.
He blinked over at her, completely taken aback by the cheerful smile and steady regard. He was so surprised that she was able to find and press the hardtop control before he realized what she was doing. Glancing up to see the top halfway folded back, he wondered if there was any way in hell he was going to survive the night.
As the roof settled into place, she sat back in her seat, buckled her seat belt, and threw him another smile. “I told Dawg if he sent you after me then I was staying the night with you. Did he mention that?”
God love her brother’s heart. Maybe the man knew what the hell he was doing after all.
“He mentioned something about staying with Kye,” he admitted.
“Hmm.” Lifting one hand, she studied her nails for a second. “Did you mention Kye wasn’t home this weekend?”
“Did I mention I wasn’t staying after I dropped you off?” he asked. An empty threat. He’d never leave her at his home alone. He rather liked his house standing just as it was.
“Awesome!” She threw out a perfectly modulated teenage exclamation of pleasure. “The house to myself. Tell me, how hard will you spank me when you come home to find guests in your bed?”
Like hell. “Guests?” he growled.
The smile she gave him was pure intended retribution. “Guests, love. Old man Henner’s bluetick hound dogs. All twelve of them. I’m certain they’ll just love that big bed bimbo number six couldn’t say enough about.”
Training was an amazing thing. It kept him from wincing at the insulting disgust in her voice.
Vindictive little wretch.
He was damned glad he’d worn his jacket as he turned on the seat heater and amped the temperature higher to compensate for the open top.
Pulling out of the parking spot, he continued to ignore the threat next to him, gave in to the hard throb of the vehicle’s motor, and accelerated quickly.
She was silent as he drove along the narrow lane, fiddling with the satellite radio stations before settling on a channel belting out R&B music. As he turned the volume down to a seductive level, he was aware of her turning in her seat so she could watch him assessingly.
“Kye should have been home by now,” she stated as he pulled onto the main road.
“She’ll be there sometime tonight. She didn’t say when.”
Kye had spent the past three weeks in California with their aunt and uncle, under duress. Her aunt pulled the guilt trip from hell to get her there. She’d flown home the second she was able to get away. Her mother’s sister, as Kye called her, was a manipulating pain in the ass.
“I’ll call her when she gets home. You can drop me off at my apartment instead of Dawg’s tonight. I’ll harass him in the morning.”
The statement had him glancing at her. “What apartment? I thought you moved back in with your mother.”
“My, aren’t you out of the loop,” she drawled in a voice that some men would mistake as a promise.
Graham knew better. He knew her well enough to detect the anger in her tone.
“It would seem so,” he grunted. “Dawg didn’t mention an apartment. He just said you were threatening to spend the night with Kye if he sent me after you.”
“Actually, the exact wording was, ‘Send him and I’ll sleep with him.’ Evidently he didn’t take the warning to heart. Does he not know you’re looking for the next flavor of the month?”
Lifting his arm to rest on the edge of the open window, Graham rubbed at the side of his face, the rasp of the short beard covering his jaw reminding him of more than the fact that he hadn’t shaved.
“I probably haven’t mentioned it to him,” he murmured, wondering how fast he could get his tongue down her throat and his fingers buried in her pussy if he pulled the car over to the side of the road somewhere.
She’d protest at first. He knew her. Contrary little minx that she was, she wouldn’t give in easily after the way they’d been interrupted during that snowstorm.
Chloe had been stuck at the house after he’d told her their affair was over. He hadn’t noticed the snow piling up until she’d mentioned it, after he’d informed her he was taking her home.
“Perhaps you should mention it to him,” Lyrica suggested. “Then he might take me seriously.”
“Hmm, I’d be opposed to warning him first if that’s what you intended to do,” he pointed out. The thought of tasting her again, feeling the tight warmth, and tasting the flow of sweet heat as his tongue rimmed the snug entrance had him a little distracted.
“You’d be opposed to warning him first?” The low, furious tone of her voice nearly had him grinning.
“Yeah, I would be,” he admitted. “He or Natches would feel the need to hit me. They still pack a mean punch, sweetheart. I’d at least like to experience what I’m getting my ass kicked for first.”
Like hell. There were nights—hell, every night after he lay down in bed—that he would gladly take an ass whipping for one more taste of her. Thankfully, he was stronger before and after those moments.
“I’m going to kick your ass for being a moron,” she stated, eyes narrowed, the emerald green almost neon as she glowered at him.
“Hmm, think that’s how it’ll go, do you?”
He didn’t agree.
Graham flicked another glance at her. That blouse she wore dipped low over the soft rise of her breasts before meeting to buttons between them. He could have it unbuttoned in a second or two, he guessed.
He could have one of those sweet nipples in his mouth again, his tongue licking over the hard little tip, each stroke, each tug of his mouth making her burn hotter . . .
“Where are we going, Graham? Because if you’re actually taking me to your house, I really will slip those dogs in on you.”
She would be too damned busy lying beneath him as he slipped into her, he thought.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked, ignoring the threat.
“My apartment, Graham. Are you having trouble hearing tonight?”
He was having trouble keeping his mind out of her pants, and that was damned dangerous territory.
He didn’t answer the question, but increased the pressure on the accelerator of the Viper instead. He had to get her to that damned apartment. He could remember, think, and fantasize all he wanted, but he knew the hazards of actually taking what he wanted.
“Address,” he growled.
Since when did Dawg Mackay allow his sisters to move out on their own? That was damned dangerous. They were, after all, Mackays.
Lyrica gave him her address, watching him closely as she named the apartment complex the Mackay cousins had bought six months before. That explained it. She may have felt like she was on her own, but she was still beneath their eagle eye. At least, Graham was certain that was what Dawg told himself.
After giving him the address, she sat back in her seat, silent then. Graham kept waiting for another smart-ass comment or question, feeling like the anticipation of it would likely have him breaking a sweat soon.
“Why did you do that during the snowstorm?” Her voice was soft, the hint of vulnerability in it digging sharp claws into both his conscience as well as his temper.
He should have been prepared for the question.
Telling her he’d been helpless against the hunger that rose inside him wasn’t the wisest course of action, and he damned sure wasn’t going to take it.
“Is that why you’ve stopped coming to the house?” he asked rather than answering her. “Because of what happened?”
He glanced at her, aware of the steady look she had leveled on him, that quick little mind of hers working, gauging his response, his honesty.
Damn her. Damn her. She reminded him far too much of what he wanted only to forget.
“Answer me first.” There was a note of hurt in her tone, one that suggested she knew he was trying to avoid the question and was coming up with her own reasons for that.
Rubbing at the back of his neck for a second, Graham kept his expression clear, with no hint of a reaction. What the hell was he supposed to say anyway?
“What does it matter?” he finally asked her. “It was regrettable. I never should have touched you.”
He should have stayed in his room, because he had known she was there. He had known she would be there watching the snow. He’d sensed her in the house that evening, just as he always did.
He should have just spent the night fucking Chloe, despite the fact that their relationship, as well as his desire for her, was over. He could have done as he had been doing for months and let thoughts of touching Lyrica have their way while he fucked his “flavor of the month,” as she and Kye called his lovers.
Lyrica didn’t say anything more. Linking her fingers in her lap, she stared out the windshield, lips pursed, jaw tight, as the air around her seemed to hum with her anger.
Hell, he’d never seen her so pissed she was speechless.
That was almost scary.
As he drove past the city limits, Graham told him
self that if he’d hurt her, he was sorry, and it was the last thing he’d wanted to do. But he was damned if he knew how to handle what she made him feel. And now was not the time to figure it out.
Pulling into the parking lot of the apartment complex, he parked the Viper in the slot marked with the apartment number she’d given him.
It was a ground-floor patio apartment. A privacy fence separated each side of her small yard from her neighbors’, while leaving the front onto the parking lot clear. Which made little sense to him, he admitted.
“Call Dawg,” he suggested as he put the vehicle in park and turned to look at her. “One of these days someone’s going to get hurt when they have to drag you or Zoey from a party. He’s been lucky so far.”
She rolled her eyes. “Every house owner on the lake knows if we show up to a party to let him know. As long as the parties aren’t getting wild then he lets it go.”
“This one was getting wild?” The thought of Lyrica being amid some of the depraved things that went on at the lake parties had conflicting emotions tearing through him. Fury and lust, just to start with.
“It would have.” She shrugged, unclipping her seat belt. “In another couple of hours the patio would have been empty and couples would have been doing the happy-happy in the shadows.” She waggled her brows suggestively.
“The happy-happy?” he muttered, wondering at the phrasing.
“The happy-happy,” she said, voice lowering, a sensual, hungry rasp to her voice. His entire body tensed in reaction.
His cock, already hard and throbbing in interest, gave a hard jerk, his balls tightening as she turned and gripped the dash and the back of his seat before lifting slowly toward him.
“You know, Graham,” she whispered, green eyes gleaming in need, in helpless hunger, “that feeling you get when you’re burning inside with the pleasure, certain the flames are going to consume you, drag you to a place where ecstasy fills every particle of your mind?” Her lips were a breath from his as he held her gaze, and he let himself sink inside the melting pleasure she described. “Tell me, did you find that place the night of the snowstorm after you left me? Did you use your bimbo to relieve the lust you teased me with?”