by Lora Leigh
She knew now what was awaiting her. She knew the lashing flames and spearing bolts of ecstasy that would consume her, and she ached for it. She hungered for it.
For him.
The thick support of one of the cushions that covered the lounge chairs met her back. Graham covered her, his hips pressing and rubbing into the vee of her thighs.
“Damn you,” he growled, his lips moving from her mouth to her neck, placing stinging kisses as the short length of his beard rasped against her flesh.
The erotic abrasion had her lifting to him, needing more. Fingers tightening in his hair, she held his lips to her neck, encouraging his teeth to scrape against it. His lips and tongue drove her insane as they stimulated the oversensitive nerve endings and responsive flesh.
“Damn clothes,” he snarled suddenly. Lifting his weight from her he pushed the silken top over her breasts.
Unbound, her nipples pebble hard, the swollen curves felt too tight, too sensitive as he cupped one with his palm and lifted it to his lips.
The sound of AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” sang from the kitchen, the ringtone instantly pulling Graham’s attention from the needy tip of her breast.
“Fuck!” he bit out.
Jumping up from the lounge chair, his jaw tight as his gaze raked over her in hungry regret, he rushed to the kitchen.
—
Every cell in his body was screaming in outrage as Graham stomped to the kitchen and jerked the cell phone from the table. Activating the call, he brought the device to his ear with a sharp, “What?”
“You have friendlies entering the driveway,” Elijah hissed. “And don’t cuss me. I just found out myself when Cranston called Doogan. Now call Doogan and get me the hell out of here.”
“And how did they know where she was, Elijah?” Graham asked carefully, anger tearing through him. “Just how loud did you squeal?”
“Hell no,” Elijah retorted, the denial sharp. “I didn’t tell them shit. But I’m pretty damned sure Doogan might have texted Cranston. I saw him texting. Twenty minutes later the alarm coming into your property activated an image of Campbell’s truck racing past. Now get me the hell out of here.”
Graham disconnected the call.
Staring back at Lyrica as she stepped into the kitchen, her expression questioning, he couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t for the best.
“You’re about to be rescued,” he stated as he shoved the phone into the holster he’d taken it from earlier. “Your brother-in-law and god knows who else is pulling into the drive now.”
She didn’t speak; she just watched him. Damned if he could read that look, either. Somber, intense, expectant. What the fuck was he supposed to say or do? He was so damned hard he could drive spikes with his dick. The need to fuck her was like a hunger that burned and raged through his senses.
“Don’t leave, Lyrica.” He forced the words past his lips, and dammit, that was more than he’d ever given any other woman. He’d never regretted seeing one leave before, and he’d never wanted to ask one to stay longer.
“What would staying accomplish?” she asked softly. “I’ll end up in your bed and you’ll break my heart. Is that something either of us wants or needs, Graham? Do we want that between us?”
“And you think you can just walk away from it?” he asked, almost amused at the idea of it. “Son of a bitch, you really are too damned innocent for this, Lyrica. Otherwise you’d know it’s simply not that fucking easy.”
A frown pulled at her brow as she pushed her hands into the pockets of the jeans she wore and stared at her feet for a long moment. As her head lifted, her lips parting to speak, a hard fist landed on the front door.
“The cavalry,” he said, mocking her softly. “You’ve been rescued, baby.”
Turning, he strode from the kitchen and along the hall to the front door. Checking the security monitor at the entrance, he glimpsed Brogan Campbell’s hard features as well as Chief of Police Alex Jansen. Behind them, former special agent Timothy Cranston of the Department of Homeland Security.
He could sense Lyrica behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her at the kitchen entrance, still watching him with those dark, solemn emerald eyes. She wasn’t going to say a damned thing, was she? No protest, no regret. She was ready to leave, plain and simple.
Turning back, he jerked the door open and stepped back.
“There she is, safe and sound,” he snarled back at the men, ignoring their surprise. “Take her the fuck home and see if you can’t keep her ass out of trouble long enough to find out who the fuck is trying to kill her.”
He’d be damned if he’d watch her walk out of his house. Hell, he didn’t know if he could watch her walk away. He’d end up throwing her over his shoulder like a damned captive and trying to hide her away until he could get his fill of her.
Instead, he turned, moved to the stairs, and stalked up them quickly.
“Graham.” The sound of her voice stopped him just before he reached the last step.
He couldn’t help but turn. She stood in the foyer, staring up at him, her expression tightening his chest even though he had no idea why it should fucking hurt.
“Thank you for saving me,” she said softly, her hands pushed into the front pockets of those damned jeans again. “For not hesitating.”
“It’s no more than I’d expect one of your family to do for my sister,” he stated coldly, his hand lifting to the banister, his fingers tightening on it furiously. “It’s what friends do. Right?”
Pausing, heavily lashed lids blinked over damp emerald eyes before she finally nodded. “Yeah, it’s what friends do.”
Graham slid his gaze to the men standing behind her.
They knew. He could see it in their eyes, in the narrow-eyed suspicion and the gleaming anger reflected in them.
“Stop glaring at me, gentlemen,” he said derisively. “I promise, she’s not in the running for flavor of the month. She turned me down flat. You’d be real damned proud of her.”
They could see themselves out now.
Turning his back on them, he finished the final steps before striding quickly to his bedroom. Hell, he didn’t have time for this bullshit anyway.
The crack of the bedroom door slamming into the frame wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he thought it would be.
—
Lyrica flinched at the sound of wood crashing into wood as she stepped from the front door, her heart jumping into her throat at the sight of a half-dozen police officers standing at attention, rifles held ready in their hands as sharp gazes swept the area carefully.
Alex was in front of her, blocking the view of her, Brogan behind her, while Timothy and Jedediah Booker each covered a side.
“Brogan?” Pure terror crashed into her system at the sight of the security they’d left outside.
“It’s just a precaution, sweetheart.” Tim was suddenly there, his voice amused, affectionate. “Come on, we have to do the drama thing or Dawg would think we weren’t taking this seriously. You know what a damned bitch he can be when he thinks we’re not watching after his baby sisters.”
He was holding her close to his side, though, the four men keeping near to her as they escorted her to the waiting black SUV with the back door open at the bottom of the rock-lined steps that led to Graham’s front door.
She was shaking.
As Alex stepped aside from the open door and helped her into the SUV, his expression was far too serious and intent. This wasn’t just precaution.
Timothy followed her as she slid in, pushing her to the passenger side of the seat as Jed and Brogan moved into the front seats and Alex slid into the back row, directly behind her. She should have stayed in Graham’s house, she thought. If she had, then her sisters’ men and her mother’s lover wouldn’t be here protecting her and risking their safety.
“Did Graham call?” she asked Timothy, rubbing at the fingernails of one hand.
“No, Graham didn’t call.” Tim couldn’t hide t
he steely anger in his voice as he spoke. “He should have.”
She swallowed tightly. “Someone messed with my phone. And Kye couldn’t call me from hers. She used Graham’s because hers was acting so weird when she tried to call last night. He was afraid the numbers on my contact list might be compromised.”
Immediately phones were pulled. Brogan tossed Jed his phone and Lyrica watched silently as the back of each phone was opened, batteries were pulled, and the phones inspected carefully. Finally, they were put together again, turned on, and rechecked.
“Phones are clear, Lyrica,” Tim promised her, turning to watch her somberly.
“Mine wasn’t, Tim,” she informed him. “Graham wouldn’t lie to me and he wouldn’t lie to Kye.”
“I never imagined he would.” Running his hand over the top of his head, Tim blew out a hard breath. “Graham’s partner checked in with their boss and the boss notified us of your whereabouts. We’ve been trying to get hold of you since last night. We’ve had damned near every cop in four counties looking for you as well as countless DHS agents in the area. We were about to call Dawg when I received the text informing me of your whereabouts.”
“Graham’s boss?” Lyrica frowned back at him now. “Graham joined DHS?”
Kye had been certain over the past few months that something was up with her brother, that he was acting far too secretive. Evidently, she was right.
“No, he hasn’t joined DHS.” Tim sighed, glancing away from her momentarily. “I spoke rather loosely perhaps. Graham doesn’t work for DHS, but sometimes, he reports any anomalies he sees. He reports this to another agent who then reports to D.C.”
“I hate it when you lie to me.” And he was lying; she knew all the signs. Her mother had laughingly relayed those signs to all her daughters to ensure that, in his efforts to protect them, Tim didn’t keep needed information from them. “And I’m telling Mom as soon as I see her. Maybe you’ll tell her the truth.”
Tim grimaced before wiping his hand over his face in irritation. “Dammit, Lyrica. I swear to god, the Mackays are going to drive me to an early grave and that’s the damned truth.” He cursed under his breath.
“Graham’s not officially an agent, Lyrica, and his work with whatever agency he’s with can’t be mentioned. Especially to his sister, Kye.” Brogan met her gaze in the rearview mirror then. “Give us time to get you back to your mother’s place and we’ll explain everything.”
She rather doubted they would explain anything more than they absolutely had to. She knew these men, and she knew their protectiveness and determination to keep the true extent of their work from those they loved. How much her sister Eve knew of Brogan’s work, she wasn’t certain. But Piper laughingly claimed that as far as she could tell, Jed was no more, no less than the contractor he claimed to be, even though she knew he and Tim locked themselves in Tim’s office far too often to “discuss” things.
Tim only did that when he was gathering information on things that were going on in the county that he needed to report back to DHS.
Retired, her ass.
Her mother as well as her sisters all knew Tim wasn’t nearly as retired as he pretended to be.
“Your mother’s beside herself with worry,” Tim told her softly as he reached over and patted her shoulder gently. “We’ve all been damned worried.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Tim. I tried to call.”
“I guess Graham has the phone?” Brogan growled then. “I’ll head back and pick it up later. We’ll need it.”
Lyrica lifted her head, turned, and stared through the darkened window of the SUV rather than answering.
Yes, Graham had her phone, but she’d left more than that at his house. She could feel everything inside her longing to return, to assure him she didn’t want to leave. That she didn’t care which flavor he wanted her to be that month, as long as he tasted her again.
How pitiful was she? How desperate?
Just as she had always known she would be.
If Tim and the males of her extended family hadn’t shown up, she would be in his bed now. She didn’t have the strength to deny him again. Nor did she have the strength to shock him into stopping as she had that morning.
She’d known it had simply been a reprieve. Staring into his eyes after he’d pulled back from fucking her mouth, the taste of him still lingering on her tongue, she’d been shocked by her own response, by the acts she’d already shared with him. Rocked by the pleasure and hungers she hadn’t known she could share with any man, she’d needed time to come to terms with it. Or a chance to deny herself what she wanted most.
As she’d lain beneath him on the lounge chair in his sunroom, she’d known there was no running, no denying. There was no way she could walk away from him.
Until Tim had arrived with a protection detail to rival the president’s.
Seeing the police officers stationed to cover her exit from the house, the way she was escorted to the SUV, and how she was blocked by large male bodies now, she knew every iota of freedom she’d wrested from Dawg over the past few years was over. Once he found out about this, she’d probably be locked up so tight and so deep that she wouldn’t taste sunlight for days on end.
Dawg was too protective.
But, she admitted at the moment, she was terrified, too.
And all she wanted was to run and hide in Graham’s arms again.
EIGHT
Two weeks later
Lyrica stared back at Tim as he read the investigation report her brother-in-law, Brogan Campbell, and her future brother-in-law, Jedediah Booker, had brought into Tim’s office earlier. Dawg, Natches, and Rowdy had helped, he’d stated, and they’d verified everything through the Kentucky State Police as well as the Department of Homeland Security.
The contact list on her phone had been jammed by a high-tech device that affected only the numbers on that list when they were attempting to call Lyrica. The device was new technology, and detection for it hadn’t been perfected yet.
“Fourteen hours after you were shot at, a young woman perfectly matching your description was found two blocks over,” Tim continued, watching her somberly. “She was an informant for the state police on a drug gang moving into the area. Everything points to a case of mistaken identity.”
Were they crazy? Did they really believe something so preposterous?
“Mistaken identity?” Tilting her head, she stared back at him in disbelief, certain she must have misheard him.
“Lyrica, I’ve had this investigated on three different fronts.” Tim leaned forward, his somber expression and fierce hazel eyes piercing. “We’ve covered it ourselves. We’ve followed every lead, every shadow that could be found. The state police have covered it on their end and the Department of Homeland Security sent a team out to look into it as well. We’ve all come to the same conclusion. The assailants thought they’d found the informant they were looking for when you checked into the hotel. You should be safe now.”
She should be safe now? She’d gone through all this because they were searching for someone else? Someone had died, even though Lyrica had been mistaken for her?
And why did she have such a hard time believing this?
“This can’t be real,” she whispered painfully, staring around the room at the men that filled it. “It’s just wrong.”
It didn’t feel right. Nothing had felt right since the night she had stepped out of that elevator and realized someone was in her hotel room.
Her brother grimaced, his pale green eyes filled with regret and concern. “Sometimes the realization that there are no monsters in the shadows is the greatest battle, sweetheart.”
And how very skewed was that one?
“Great.” Rising quickly to her feet, she ran her hands down the sides of her hips, straightened the hem of her cotton shirt, then faced her family with that same sense of unreality. As though she wasn’t fully there, yet wasn’t really dreaming either.
The odd sensation had her off ba
lance, and it refused to allow the fear that had filled her for the past weeks to recede.
“I’m going back to my apartment, then,” she announced, ignoring Dawg’s objection.
It was instinctive, she thought. Two weeks of believing she was in danger, only to be told there was really no danger, left her sick to her stomach with the knowledge that she seemed to be the only one that found this mistaken identity supposition to be so very convenient.
No one should have died. But someone had to throw her family off the fact that she was going to die. Or was she simply so paranoid now that she couldn’t see the truth?
“Lyrica, wait another day or so.” Tim came slowly to his feet, the white shirt he wore folded back at the sleeves, his slacks still appearing freshly ironed.
Sometimes it was very hard to associate the man she had known for the past few years with the man her brother and cousins knew before he met her mother, Mercedes.
“I’m not waiting, Tim. I’ve waited two weeks just to learn that someone else was murdered that night despite the fact that I nearly died as well.” Shaking her head, she ignored the fact that Dawg stood silently, his pale gaze far too intense and knowing. “I want to be alone for a while. I want to be home.”
In the short time she had lived there, her apartment had become home. It had become a haven away from the craziness that her family could sometimes be. That their lives never failed to be.
It wasn’t Dawg’s fault. It was just that he had a past, one that had already threatened her older sister Eve. He was terrified it would affect her and Zoey now. But he didn’t stop there. No, Dawg worried over every phase of their lives, even their nonexistent-because-he-fucked-it-up love lives.
Of course, he knew where Alex and Brogan had found her before he’d been told what had happened. They wouldn’t have hid it from him. And if Brogan and Jed hadn’t told Dawg, then gossip would have reached him quickly. There had been no fewer than twelve police officers with the chief of police when Alex rode with Brogan and Jed to collect her.