“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.

Not that DeeDee seemed concerned with keeping him. She hadn’t been. Evidently it had been enough to achieve the status of his flavor of the month. She hadn’t lasted a month, Lyrica thought with a grimace. Kye had instantly squealed on the other woman to Graham, informing him with sisterly disillusionment that whether or not he wore underwear was information she really hadn’t needed.

DeeDee had been dropped instantly.

The other woman still blamed both Kye and Lyrica for her untimely exit from the bed of the Stud of Pulaski County, as Lyrica’s sister Zoey called him.

It wasn’t far from the truth.

Moving quickly from Graham’s bed to Kye’s bedroom and slipping into the massive walk-in closet her friend had invited her to make use of whenever she needed, Lyrica hurriedly chose jeans, a violet silk top with tiny straps, and violet sandals.

There was no point in even glancing at the bras hanging in the corner; Lyrica knew they didn’t fit. Kye was far more ample in her cup size. Clothes in hand, she locked herself in her friend’s bathroom, showered and dressed, then dipped into Kye’s vast store of makeup and hair care products.

An hour later, she stepped back into the bedroom only to come to a stop, her head lifting defiantly at the sight of Graham as he leaned casually against the bedroom doorway.

He’d changed from the light cotton pants he’d worn earlier. Jeans, a white button-down shirt, and boots covered the lean, powerful body, but nothing could hide the aura of seductive intent that filled his expression.

“You could have told me you were awake.” The gleam of hungry interest in his eyes had a flush rushing through her face.

For a second the memory of what had happened in his bedroom before she’d collapsed into the bed flashed before her eyes.

Graham sitting between her spread thighs, his tongue buried inside her. The way he’d pushed her into the chair next to the bed and buried the head of his erection between her lips.

The feel of it.

The taste of him.

The release that had torn through her each time.

“Have you contacted Dawg yet?” Pushing her hands into the front pockets of her borrowed jeans, Lyrica forced herself to break the lock he had on her gaze.

“Not yet.” There was an edge to his voice that had her frowning back at him in confusion.

“Have you tried to?” That little glimmer of anger in his gaze was her first indication that if her life hadn’t already gone to hell then it was well and truly on its way there now.

“Can’t say that I have.” An arch of his brow, a tightening of his lips, and Lyrica felt her heart begin to race furiously in excitement.

Glancing away from him, she prayed for patience for several long seconds before focusing on him once again.

“Why haven’t you contacted Dawg? You have to get ahold of him.” How else would he know she was in trouble? That she needed him? “He, Rowdy, and Natches need to come home. What if Zoey’s in trouble, too?”

There was just one of Graham, and there were two men after her. What if he was hurt?

She felt her knees weaken at the thought. Graham could be killed . . .

But so could Dawg, Rowdy, and Natches. There was Alex, her cousin Janey’s husband. And Shane Mayes, the new sheriff. His father, Zeke, and stepmother, Rogue . . .

Oh god, everyone she knew would try to help her and they could all be hurt. What had she done? By coming back to Somerset she was placing everyone she loved directly in danger.

“I think I can handle this, Lyrica,” Graham assured her as her head spun with the knowledge of what could happen. “Dawg should have thought of what would happen if I learned I was taken from the list of those to be contacted if you were in trouble. Now he can guess as to who’s protecting you.”

“Pissing contest,” she said faintly, trying desperately to keep her wits about her.

She would have to find a way to leave the house and Graham. She would have to figure out where she could go, where she could hide. She couldn’t ask anyone she knew to help her. She couldn’t countenance pulling anyone else into danger, even her mother’s lover, Timothy, an ex–Homeland Security agent.

Timothy would never trust random agents to protect her. He would instantly contact Dawg. Then her brother and their families would fly home. Hell, Timothy would have them flown home.

She had to leave.

And she was going to have to do it quickly.

—

Graham watched as Lyrica’s face whitened, her slight body almost swaying only seconds after she informed him that Dawg had to return. Now she wasn’t arguing with him, wasn’t insisting that he call—she was angry.

Terror.

He could see that deep well of fear shadowing her eyes as her mind worked through the implications and the danger to those she loved suddenly rushed through her mind. And, having realized it now, that swift, mercurial little brain of hers was searching, sorting, considering, and weighing her options.

Her escape from him.

He almost grinned. At least she was thinking of him, no matter how angry he made her.