“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.