Текст книги "Nauti Enchantress"

Автор книги: Lora Leigh

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“I don’t hear a lot of certainty in your tone.” His lips feathered from her jaw to her neck.

The feel of his mouth moving over the sensitive flesh, stroking it, sent a frisson of exquisite pleasure raking across her nerve endings, drawing a startled gasp of surprise from her at the extremity of it.

“You’re just playing with me,” she cried out weakly, even as her head tilted to the side to allow him free rein against the rioting nerve endings pulsing beneath the flesh of her neck. “You know you are, Graham. I won’t be your toy.”

A cry fell from her lips as his free hand pushed beneath the hem of the borrowed shirt, moving unerringly to the swollen curve of her breast. Immediately, one exquisitely hard nipple was caught between his thumb and forefinger, and he rolled it with wicked experience.

“Oh god . . .” Her knees weakened.

Sensation raced from the imprisoned tip to the swollen bud of her clit. Pleasure coursed through the heated nerve endings, sending flash fire strikes of clenching, painful pleasure whipping through her vagina.

It was so good. So good.

“You’re such a little liar,” he growled, continuing to hold her wrists to the wall above her head as his teeth raked over her collarbone. “You want this just as damned bad as I do.”

Probably more, she thought, dazed, immersed in her body’s rush to ecstasy.

Before she could process the move, he had the borrowed shirt lifted, his hands releasing her wrists to whip the material over her head as he turned her, pushing her face-first against the wall.

Palms flat against the barrier, her breathing short and choppy, she moaned as his hands caressed down her sides before gripping the curves of her ass firmly. Electric heat raced from where his lips pressed against her shoulder before trailing kisses to her nape, then moving slowly, with shudder-inducing sensations, down her spine.

What was he doing to her?

She’d never read about this. The romances she’d stolen from her sister Zoey had never described this. Or described how she was supposed to handle it.

“You have to stop,” she whispered, closing her eyes as she rolled her forehead against the wall.

He filled his hands with the curves of her ass, parting them.

Her eyes flew open, a gasp escaping her as the damp warmth of his tongue slid down the crevice, pausing only momentarily at the tight, dark entrance between them. She went to her tiptoes, wicked pleasure shocking her.

Just as quickly her thighs were spread by broad, strong hands, wide shoulders holding them apart as he turned her, sitting between her thighs as his hands gripped her hips and his tongue speared into the drenched entrance of her vagina.

Shock no longer applied.

Disbelief was long gone.

As quickly as Graham made the move and penetrated her with licking, hungry strokes of his tongue, her senses were flung into such fiery chaos that reality no longer existed. Fighting to breathe, her fingers outspread, with the pads pressing firmly into the wall, Lyrica found her eyes opening.

Looking down the line of her body, she met the golden gaze of the man devouring her, flecks of rich, deep gold gleaming in his eyes as he stared up at her. As he let her watch, let her see his tongue as it retreated from the clenched depths of her pussy to move with languid strokes to the throbbing bud of her clit.

“You’ll destroy me,” she cried out, one hand moving from the wall to spear into the damp waves of his hair as he gave her clit an erotic, luxurious kiss.

His lips tightened on the bundle of nerves, suckling at it heatedly as his tongue flicked over it before licking with a deeper pressure just to the side, where the firm strokes seemed to ignite a spark that burned hotter, deeper through her sex.

She couldn’t fight.

With one hand he urged her thighs farther apart, the pad of his thumb sliding against the narrow entrance before parting her flesh, stretching it slowly and slipping inside. There, the rasp of the callused pad stroked, caressed, moving inside her as more of the slick heat flowed from her and carnal need began beating at her senses.

With the stroke of his thumb, the fiery lash of his tongue at her clit, a wicked, tantalizing pleasure and decadent intensity rushed through her like a flaming wave. Heat built and spread, igniting, and in a split second exploded through her senses in fiery waves of ecstasy that she knew she’d never recover from. A pleasure that seemed never to end.

She shook, her body jerking at each slamming tide of rapture, and a distant part of her, an instinctive spark of self-preservation, warned her, screamed at her, demanded that she stop the headlong rush into her own destruction.

A destruction born of a pleasure she didn’t know if she could deny herself.

“Fuck!” Graham’s curse was barely heard, the knowledge that he was moving from between her thighs, barely registering.

The broad, heated crest of his cock parting the bare folds of her sex ignited the need inside her once again. A need the violence of her orgasm had only increased.

“Graham . . .” Her voice was heavy, her senses whirling between the vicious, overwhelming need and that small glimmer of self-preservation. “I’m a virgin.”

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, rolled down her cheek, and preceded the hitch of her breathing as she fought back the heavy sob fighting to be free.

Was she insane?

The thick crest of his erection was pressed against the clenched entrance of her pussy, ready to thrust inside her, to send them both spiraling out of control, and she had to open her mouth?

Was she crazy?

She knew he would break her heart. Loving him as she did, aching for him as she had, it would only be worse now. It would scar her soul. It would tear her apart from the inside out until there was nothing left of the woman she had been, and the woman she would become would be a stranger to her.

And Graham would be Graham. Too wicked, too experienced, too impossible to contain or to ever fall in love with the innocent woman who had loved him from the moment she’d met him at a sun-drenched marina six years before.

He would just be Graham.

And she would become no more than another of the little playthings whose names his sister could never remember, and whose presence in his bed would be easily forgotten.

She would be no more than the current flavor of the month . . .

–

“What did you say?”

He was dying.

Graham stood poised at the very entrance to rapture, at the portal of agonizing pleasure, and he couldn’t push through. The head of his dick throbbed violently, blood pounding at the thick crest, and all he could hear was the whispered sob of a woman who knew only how to love. She had no idea how to just feel good. How to just take the pleasure for what it was, wring every last ounce of ecstasy from each touch, and still survive without hurting.

What he would do to her would go beyond destruction of the innocence in her eyes.

The sob that whispered from her was a sound he had never expected, despite the fact that he should have known. He did know, he amended.

She was a woman who still believed in love.

God help him, no woman could be that good an actress, could she?

“You’re what?” Lowering his head to press his forehead against her trembling shoulder, he swallowed tightly, fighting with every iota of self-control he possessed to pull back, to ease his tortured flesh from the slick, heated entrance of her body.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice shook. The words, so soft they were barely coherent, brought an agonized groan from his chest.

Damn her.

Damn him.

God, he was dying to have her. He couldn’t force himself away from her, couldn’t stand the thought of jacking off another night to the remembered taste and feel of her.

“You think this ends here?” he growled, the heightened lust and agonized need ripping at his senses. “That being a virgin is enough to keep me out of your body?”

A muffled sob sounded from her. “I’m sorry, Graham. I’m so sorry . . .”

“Six months.” He nipped at her shoulder, licked over the mark. “It’s been six months since I tasted you, Lyrica, and I’m so damned desperate to fuck you . . .”

He jerked back, her instinctive cry causing a grimace to tighten his expression. He pulled her around before dragging her to an easy chair and pushing her into it.

Surprise rounded her richly emerald eyes as the position placed her at the perfect height to allow him to push past her parted lips.

Gripping the base of his cock, he stared down at her, daring her to deny him. He was within seconds of begging her not to deny him.

He had to clench his teeth to hold back the broken growl of anticipation when she reached out, fingers trembling, to curl around the thick length, just above his own hand.

How innocent was she? he wondered. How much experience had the redneck bastards sniffing after her given her?

Was her innocence physical only?

Keeping her gaze locked with his, Graham slid his fingers into the mass of black silk at the side of her face, clenched, and held her still as he pressed forward.

–

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

What was she doing?

What was she allowing to happen?

The dark, plum-shaped crest touched her lips as they parted. The heavy veins that wrapped around the thick shaft pulsed and pounded beneath her grip.

“That’s it, baby,” he crooned, his voice tight, rough. “Part those pretty lips for me.”

Her first taste of him was a shock to her senses. She could taste herself, a delicate, feminine taste she hadn’t expected. Beneath it was a darker, male taste. Like a coming storm edging over the mountains.

Then he was filling her mouth, the clench and throb of his flesh pulsing against her tongue as she let it rub against the underside, just beneath the head.

The moan that slipped past her lips shocked her.

The hunger that rose inside her wiped away her hesitation.

This she had read about. She had watched it. It seemed a bit more familiar than what he had done to her.

She tightened her lips around the wide crest as he pressed deeper, filling her mouth with him, his hips flexing, thrusting in shallow strokes as she began to suck.

“Ah, baby, your mouth,” he groaned, the heavy lust and pleasure filling his voice and sending shocking waves of pleasure racing through Lyrica. “It’s so damned good . . .”

He wasn’t touching her. Just his pleasure, his verbalization of it, and she could feel the rising chaos threatening to overtake her again.

“Use both hands.” His voice was thicker, heavier. “Stroke the shaft for me, Lyrica. Stroke it while your hot little mouth makes me crazy.”

Dazed, growing higher by the second on the knowledge that she could make him so hard, so desperate, Lyrica tightened her mouth on him. Drawing on the flesh filling her mouth, stretching her lips, a moan escaped her throat, vibrated against the heated width of his erection, and had his hand tightening in the hair at the side of her head.

“Lyrica, sweetheart . . .” The pace of his thrusts changed, lengthening, quickening as her fingers stroked around the heated flesh of his shaft.

The heavy throb of his erection against her tongue increased as the salty male taste of pre-cum spilled on her tongue.

She was dying for him.

Whimpering in desperation, her hips rocking against the seat of the chair, thighs clenching at the burning heat in her clit, Lyrica knew she was becoming lost in the pleasure again. First in hers, now in his.

She was fighting a losing battle.

“That’s it. Ah hell, Lyrica. That’s it, baby, suck my cock, sweetheart. Rub your tongue right there . . .” His voice thickened. “Ah hell, it’s better than every dream I’ve had of fucking your pretty mouth. Every fantasy.”

She cried out, the sound lost in his heavy groan as his thrusts increased, the thick flesh driving nearly to her throat, pulsing and throbbing . . .

“That’s it,” he groaned again. “Fuck. Baby. I won’t last much longer. Look at me, Lyrica.”

Forcing her eyes open, she stared into the savage expression above her. His eyes were even more golden than before, dark blond hair falling over his forehead, the short, bad-boy length of his beard and mustache shadowing a strong jaw and chin. Perspiration beaded his face, ran in a lazy rivulet down the side of his cheek.

“Pull back, Lyrica,” he demanded roughly. “Fuck. I’m going to fill that pretty mouth if you don’t pull back.”

Pull back?

She hadn’t come this far just to pull back.

Tightening her lips on him, sucking at him harder, deeper, another moan escaped her throat.

“Ah fuck. Hell. Lyrica. Damn you. Damn you, take it. Every fucking drop.”

A hard throb of his cock and the first heated jet of his release hit the back of her throat.

Both hands were in her hair, holding her head still as short, quick strokes sent another pulse of salty male cum to follow the first. Then he was groaning her name, burying himself deep enough she nearly choked as several more quick, hot pulses of sperm shot to her throat and sent a rush of pleasure to explode in her womb.

How was that?

Crying, shuddering, her body was so tight, so racked by sensation and heat, that Lyrica felt a sob tearing from her rather than the groan she expected. She felt abraded from the inside out by the emotions rushing through her, mixing with her pleasure, excitement, adrenaline.

She was flying through space and time and nothing, no one, existed outside this moment, this man, and the pleasure he’d dragged her into.

–

Dressed, the dried sweat washed from his flesh, Graham sat in the easy chair next to the bed and stared at Lyrica as she slept, barely a half hour later. She’d collapsed into the chair as he’d pulled from her mouth, leaning into the upholstered back, the way her eyes drifted closed and exhaustion suddenly marked her expression breaking his heart.

She’d barely stayed awake through his careful cleaning of her face, breasts, and thighs. She’d showered, but excitement had laid a sheen of moisture over her flesh that would be extremely uncomfortable as it dried.

She needed to sleep.

He’d stolen precious reserves of energy from her. Energy she shouldn’t have possessed after the hellish night she’d endured as she fought to race from a killer.

Reaching out, he brushed back the long fall of hair that shadowed her fragile face.

Delicate black brows arched perfectly over her closed eyes. The thick, lush lashes that lay against her cheeks were surprisingly long. High cheekbones, that straight, autocratic Mackay nose, and stubborn chin.

She was so damned beautiful she still took his breath just as easily as she had that first afternoon he’d seen her standing on the dock of Mackay Marina. Short, too slender, her emerald eyes haunted, her face suffused with a flush as her gaze stroked over him . . .

He’d hardened instantly and hated himself for it. She’d been fucking eighteen. Barely eighteen, and all he could think of was pulling her beneath his body and fucking them both silly.

Until he’d come up on the wrong end of her cousin’s fist a few hours later.

He almost grinned as he cupped his chin and worked it at the memory of Natches’s blow.

Natches had outlined briefly, but very clearly, exactly what would happen to the son of a bitch who dared to follow through on the promise Graham’s eyes had been making as he’d stared at Lyrica.

Not that Graham hadn’t hit back. He had.

Like a snarling bear with a smarting dick, he’d put Natches on his ass before informing him that even on his worst day he’d never taken advantage of a kid. Not that Lyrica had been a kid. She was eighteen, lush, and so damned beautiful he’d barely been able to stand it. But she’d still been far too vulnerable, far too innocent for the likes of Graham Brock.

Tonight, she’d proved it.

Too innocent.

A virgin, and he’d fucked her mouth with a desperation and total lack of consideration that shocked the hell out of him.

And what made it worse?

He knew damned good and well he was going to be between her thighs, buried balls deep and fucking them both into a release that might end up getting him killed.

She was Natches Mackay’s favorite female cousin, and he was pure hell with that sniper rifle he still kept cleaned and ready to bury a bullet in a man’s head. Once he and his cousin Rowdy and Dawg Mackay—Lyrica’s brother—returned, they’d all three come after his hide.

Damn. It would be worth it, he thought grimly. The pleasure he found in this woman’s touch would be worth facing the wrath of the Mackays, their friend (and vengeful ex–government agent) Timothy Cranston, and whoever the hell was trying to kill her.

He’d take out the bastards who’d dare to terrify her. He’d fight her brother, both her cousins, and whoever Cranston wanted to send out for him.

It would be worth it.

But then what?

The question echoed through his mind, something he didn’t want to think about.

What then?

He wasn’t a forever man and he knew it. The option didn’t even exist. His secrets went deep and they threatened to destroy him if he wasn’t extremely careful. Him as well as the fragile, delicate woman he couldn’t seem to stay away from, if those secrets weren’t as dead as he hoped.

Added to that, someone was trying to kill her, no doubt as an act of vengeance against her brother and cousins.

The Mackays thought they’d taken care of the last of the homeland terrorists determined to destroy Somerset, Kentucky, and the world as they knew it last year. They were wrong.

Evidently they were still there.

Well hidden. Well funded. Determined to remain hidden and to destroy anyone who dared to threaten them.

But how in the hell did Lyrica Mackay threaten them? And why go after her and draw her brother’s attention back to them?

There were far too many fucking questions and he didn’t like the feel of any of them.

One thing was for damned sure, though—to get to Lyrica, they’d have to go through him first.

SIX

“We’re clear inside and out.” Elijah stepped into the kitchen, expression intent as he shifted the tool belt he wore about his hips into a more comfortable position. “Won’t matter if they have a bug every half inch in this place, they’re not going to broadcast through the diffusers I made.” There was pure triumph gleaming in his dark eyes as he propped his hands on his hips and stared back at Graham with a grin. “You and your little Mackay are wrapped up snug as a bug in a complete blanket of privacy.”

“Enough so that it would tip someone off?” Graham asked the other man.

The privacy was all well and good, but as much as he wanted it, he didn’t want to become suspect simply because nothing was getting out.

Elijah shook his head, shaggy hair falling over his eyes for a moment before he brushed it back. “The diffuser perfectly mimics normal broadcast interference while occasionally allowing a series of prerecorded television and radio conversations I put together to simulate normal, everyday conversations. In this case, phone calls, sports shows, and male conversations. There are no female voices or even hints of such. Trust me, you’re covered.”

It wasn’t the first time the man had created a device designed to completely stymie possible listeners.

“Any trace of watchers?”

The chance of anyone having identified him or suspected that Lyrica was in the vehicle with him as he drove out of London was thin to none.

“Nada,” Elijah assured him with another quick shake of his head. “And I have about a dozen motion cameras set around the property sending data to my laptop. If anything even resembling a human hits the program it’s running through, then I’ll know about it.”

Were their bases really covered so well?

“How could they know you have her?” Elijah kept his voice low, his back to the windows. “There’s nothing that could have connected her to you.”

Graham nodded absently before leaning against the counter behind him and crossing his arms over his chest as he considered his options.

Staring back at the other man thoughtfully, he considered the angles he could see. Elijah was doing the same, he knew. As laid-back and relaxed as Elijah appeared to be, Graham could detect the tension just beneath the surface.

“No one’s contacted me yet,” he murmured. “Dawg has a system set up . . .”

Elijah cleared his throat uncomfortably. “He took you off the list the night before he left.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, his gaze met Graham’s regretfully. “He didn’t say why. Brogan called me to let me know a few hours before I passed you heading out of the county last night.”

Graham straightened slowly, anger beginning to simmer inside him. “Then let them look for her. Once the bastard and his asshole cousins get home then I might let them know where the hell she’s at.”

“Come on, man.” Elijah grimaced. “Don’t put me in the middle here. Jed and Brogan find out I know shit and haven’t told them, then they’re going to try to hurt me.”

“Try” being the operative word.

“Then duck faster than they try to hit,” Graham growled. “The least he could have done was let me know he didn’t fucking trust me to protect his sister anymore.”

Elijah rubbed at the back of his neck as amused mockery filled his expression. “Maybe protecting her safety isn’t what he’s worried about, boss. Dawg has it in his mind it’s her virtue he’s protecting, I think.”

“And why the hell would he worry about that?” There were days Graham was damned thankful for his training and his ability to lie in the face of his own guilt.

Elijah laughed as knowing surprise filled his face. “Come on, man, you two get around each other and it’s like setting a fuse to dynamite. It just hasn’t exploded yet.” His brows lifted. “That I know of anyway.”

Graham’s jaw clenched. “Keep your damned mouth shut about her whereabouts,” he ordered the other man again. “Let’s see if any of them are smart enough to know where she’s at.”

He pulled her cell phone and battery from his back pocket then and tossed the two on the kitchen table. “I’ll call the airfield and authorize the chopper for you. Fly out to D.C. and meet with Doogan. Give him the battery and phone and tell him to find out who the hell is tracking it and how they managed to block her entire contact list from incoming or outgoing calls. When he locates the bastard, I want to know where the hell he’s at.”

“Damn, I have to meet with Doogan?” Elijah asked him in disgust. “Come on, Graham. That ain’t right. I’m convinced that man has bad mojo or some shit. Every time I get around him, I get my ass shot at.”

Graham’s boss wasn’t the sanest man in the world, but he focused his insanity at the enemy rather than at any friendlies.

“You have thirty minutes to get to the airfield. I want you back this evening and I want you taking care of those cameras. You keep the outside secure; I’ll work on keeping Lyrica out of sight.”

And the ideas he had for that threatened to make his jeans damned uncomfortable.

“But Doogan gets me shot at,” Elijah muttered, repeating the earlier accusation. “I don’t like that man, Graham.”

“Damn, Elijah, what makes you think I care if you like him?” Graham glared at him, amazed at the agent’s cowardice in the face of the new assistant director of Homeland Security. “Tell him I said if he gets you shot, I’ll shoot him. How’s that?”

“Does he listen to you?” Elijah frowned back at Graham far too seriously.

“For god’s sake, are you two?” Doogan wasn’t that bad. The man was a little eccentric, but Graham knew he wasn’t actually dangerous. He just tended to get a little overly daring when he had the right agents for the job. No doubt he would consider Elijah the right man for some job that could put him in the line of fire. But hell, that was part of the job description.

Right?

Invariably, someone did get shot if they weren’t extremely careful.

Graham was always extremely careful.

It sounded as though Elijah needed to learn caution.

“I feel about two whenever I get around that bastard,” Elijah muttered. “Hell, I was almost cryin’ for my mommy last year when he hijacked my ass from FPS. And trust me, my momma wouldn’t give a shit. That should tell you how desperate I am.”

“You have twenty minutes to get to the airfield,” Graham stated blandly. “Give Doogan my regards.”

“Give Doogan your regards?” Elijah grumbled mutinously as he threw Graham another disgusted look. “I’ll give him something. My damned Glock shoved straight up his ass. That’s what I’ll give him.” Then his dark eyes narrowed. “And you’re forgetting something. Sam Bryce knows exactly who went after her last night. You think she’s not going to tell her boss?”

Sam Bryce knew better. Until he gave the word, she wouldn’t say shit if Dawg himself held a gun to her head.

Elijah turned then, opened the door, and stalked from the house as Graham continued to stare at him expectantly, intently.

The fact that the agent wasn’t happy with his current orders didn’t worry Graham. Elijah would follow the program whether he liked it or not.

The question was whether the man would keep his former commander out of the loop. The fact that Lyrica was Brogan Campbell’s future sister-in-law and that Elijah’s orders were more personal than agency related threatened Graham’s assurance that he would do as he was told.

Fuck it.

Knowing he’d been cut out of Lyrica’s protection list without so much as a notice changed all the damned rules. He wasn’t risking possible exposure to call Dawg, his cousins, his buddies, or his friends. If they didn’t like that then they could kiss his ass.

Lyrica’s safety, and her place in his bed while she was there, was more important than Dawg’s paranoia where his sister’s virginity was concerned.

Pushing his fingers restlessly through his hair at the thought, Graham moved to the door Elijah had stalked through and tested the lock. He then pulled the shades down over the windows before adjusting them to allow him to glimpse anyone moving outside, while hiding the inside away from curious eyes.

Moving through the house to adjust the rest of the shades similarly, he took his cell phone from the belt holster he wore and quickly pulled up Sam’s number.

“Hey there,” she answered, her voice soft, her tone familiar. “How’s it going?”

“As expected,” he answered. “Sis still there?”

“Still sleeping.” Amusement filled her voice. “She was up most of the night pacing the floors and cursing you.”

Graham grinned at the knowledge that Kye had no doubt cursed him loudly.

“Sorry about that. She may be staying there a while longer.”

“Not a problem. She filled the car with cases, so I think she may have suspected. Tell me, did you contact the lost puppy’s owner?”

The lost puppy. No doubt Lyrica would be incensed if she knew the title she’d been given for the call.

“Naw. It’s a cute little thing, though.” He grinned as he spoke. “I’m thinking about keeping it for a while. It’s lonely around here by myself.”

Silence filled the line for long moments. “The puppy has a home, my friend. Don’t forget that. And the owner might not be the sort to appreciate anyone thinking he can steal it away.”

“Then I guess they should have been more careful about the care and security of the little thing,” he growled. “As well as the fact that they dropped a friend from puppy-sitting duties without informing him. I might have been more inclined to give the puppy up if he had.”

Sam laughed.

The muffled sound was rich, filled with amusement and wicked knowledge.

“You are in so much trouble, my friend,” she continued, laughing. “And I can’t wait until the fireworks. I think your sister and I will find front-row seats to the spectacle.”

No doubt they would, and sell extra tickets in the process for the hell of it.

Graham snarled silently. “I used to like you.”

“Sure, you did—that’s why you tried to stick me with good ole Doogan when I applied for this position. I haven’t forgotten that, you know.”

Doogan really wasn’t that bad, Graham told himself as he disconnected the call and shoved the phone back into the holster pocket. Hell, he’d never had much trouble out of Doogan himself.

Except for that little fiasco in South America.

Graham frowned as he set the alarms to the house and the fenced main yard.

There was the accident in Russia . . .

He paused and stared out at the pool.

Doogan had nearly gotten them both killed in Cuba a few years before . . .

Okay, so maybe he was that bad, but hell, Doogan had a dirty job. For as long as Graham had known the man, Chatham Doogan had carried a hell of a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. No matter how many times things had gone from sugar to shit, Doogan couldn’t have done better . . .

Well, he could have refrained from sleeping with the daughter of that dictator in South America. And no doubt he could have held back just a little when he beat the shit out of that Kremlin guard for hitting his little wife . . .

Dammit.

Doogan was a damned good friend anyway.

–

Lyrica slept until late afternoon, awakening with a dull headache and weary resignation. She was stuck with Graham until Dawg returned home. That knowledge didn’t help the pressure building in her temples in the least. The memory of the flames consuming her earlier only increased her certainty that if she didn’t get away from him, and quickly, then there would be no denying him, no matter what he wanted. No matter how much it would destroy her.

Rising from his bed—his bed.

Yep, she was all but officially part of the Graham Brock fuck-me club. The one she had sworn to his sister she would never join.

Kye was going to kill her, there was no doubt. And it wouldn’t be a merciful end.

Graham’s sister would cut a friend out of her life so fast for becoming focused on her brother that it would make her head spin. She didn’t care about letting anyone and everyone know that hooking up with her brother was a betrayal of their friendship. And she had stuck to her word every time it had happened.

Lyrica might have focused on Kye initially because of her fascination with Graham, but it was the friendship that had grown in the past year that had become more important to Lyrica. That and the knowledge that Graham went through women nearly as fast as other men went through underwear.

Graham of course didn’t wear underwear. That little piece of information had been relayed by last June’s bimbo, DeeDee or something. She’d been very smug, very triumphant as she informed Lyrica and Kye of that little fact after his sister made the same observation concerning his women.