“Come on, we’ve called her Miss Priss since we met her,” Lyrica groaned. “And that was my senior year history teacher. That was just wrong.”

Sam snorted. “What are you doing here, Miss Innocent? You should be home, tucked nice and safe in bed, dreaming of sugarplums.”

“Don’t piss me off, Sam,” Lyrica warned good-naturedly. “I could make a bad enemy.”

“So can newborns,” Sam assured her as she glanced over at Lyrica with amused flirtatiousness as they found a quiet corner, shadowed and relatively secluded, with a half-dozen couples lingering there to drink and chat.

“That was low, Sam,” Lyrica said. “Really low.”

Tipping the beer to her lips, Lyrica took a long drink, wishing there weren’t too many of Dawg’s friends here to allow her to go to the bar for a real drink.

“Really, what are you doing here, Lyrica?” Sam asked then, leaning forward, her arms propped on her spread thighs.

It was such a male position that once again Lyrica was reminded of the woman’s strength.

No excuses and no apologies.

“The hell if I know.” Lyrica sighed as she glanced around the shadowed room again. “Boredom, maybe. And I was hoping Kye would be here. She usually stops by the lake parties on the weekends.”

“Kyleene Brock? Graham’s sister? Girl, you’re going to get in trouble if you keep running with her.”

“Kye?” Lyrica laughed. “No way, Sam. You know better than that.”

“She’s trouble waiting to happen is what I know,” Sam assured her with a laughing little roll of her eyes.

“Kye?” Surprise had Lyrica watching the detective closely then. “What’s Kye doing? She never gets into trouble.”

Perfectly plucked, slender brows arched at the retort.

“Really?” Sam drawled. “Hmm, maybe that was someone else who looks exactly like Kye Brock running around and hitting damned near every party I’ve been to since arriving in Pulaski County and wreaking such havoc that we actually look forward to her brief visits just for the entertainment.”

Kye? Wreaking havoc? That so did not sound like her friend.

She shook her head. “Graham wouldn’t allow it.”

“Unlike you, sweetie, no one calls and tells on little Kye. Evidently, she doesn’t mind using all the juicy little trysts she’s seen to keep everyone’s mouth shut.”

Kye Brock? Threatening to tell secrets?

Lyrica took another long drink of the beer, shocked.

“She’s a firecracker,” Sam observed then, the lack of amusement in her voice pulling Lyrica’s attention back to her.

“That just does not sound like Kye.” She shook her head, confused. “I’d have to see that one to believe it.”

“You obviously don’t know her so well.” Sam shrugged.

Lyrica had already suspected that one but she’d never suspected the extent of it.

“Evidently not,” Lyrica agreed.

“You and your sisters just confuse the hell out of me.” Sam shook her head then, a grin edging at her lips. “You’re definitely Mackays, but nothing like your brother and his cousins. They were wild as the wind.”

“They were deviants when they were younger.” Lyrica laughed at the tactful way of describing Dawg’s, Rowdy’s, and Natches’s sexual exploits.

“They were at that,” Sam agreed, her gaze leveled on Lyrica then, the look in her hazel eyes interested and a little amused. “Yet Dawg’s sisters are kept perfectly protected?”

That was a question, not an observation.

Leaning back in her chair, Lyrica watched the other woman for a long moment, wishing she had another drink.

“Perfectly protected, huh?” She gave her head a little shake. “I believe we’re only as protected as we want to be. Dawg worries.”

“He loves you.” She nodded. “Everyone knows that. Hell of a burden, though.”

“Blessing,” Lyrica corrected her. “One we curse, berate, and rail at, but at the end of the day, a blessing.”

Sam chuckled at that before lifting her glass and sipping the liquor she was drinking.

As she lowered her glass, the detective directed her a frank, assessing, more-than-interested look.

“And what of you?” she asked then. “Are you as innocent as everyone thinks, or just as wild as your best friend?”

“Personal interest, Sam? Or just curiosity?” Lyrica tipped her head to the side as she met the other woman’s gaze directly.

Sam snorted at that. “Honey, everyone knows you have your heart and sights set already. We’re just not certain whose heart you’re set on yet. I was just curious as to whether or not you wanted to play a little until you decide what you’re going to do.”

Lyrica laughed at that, crossing one knee over the other as she leaned forward to rest her elbow against her leg. “That’s proprietary information. Besides Sam, I didn’t take you for the playing type. You’d never accept not being first choice.”

“Hmm,” Sam murmured. “An interesting observation.” Then she shrugged. “Well, if you ever decide your first choice is a wasted cause, give me a call,” she suggested.

Hell, Lyrica couldn’t help but like this woman. Perfectly plucked brows on strong, well-defined features. If she wasn’t mistaken, those shapely fingers were well manicured as well. The men’s clothes should have hung on her, but she was so comfortable in them that she wore them as though they were made for her. Beneath the man’s shirt, shapely breasts were neither hidden nor emphasized.

Samantha Bryce was just Samantha Bryce, and Lyrica wished she could be more like her.

“You know, Sam, I just might be tempted to do that,” she stated, smiling back at her.

“Uh-oh.” Sam made the little sound as Lyrica felt a presence she hadn’t expected.

“Tempted, are you?” Graham growled as he moved around her chair, his fingers curling around her wrist as he pulled her from the chair. “You better be tempted to get your ass out of here because I just heard the bartender call Dawg. You have about . . .”

“Half an hour.” She sighed in resignation before glancing back at Sam. “Night, Sam.”

“Night, Lyrica,” Sam called back to her, definitely amused, probably ready to laugh at her again. “See you soon, honey.”

Hell, Somerset’s most eligible lesbian had just called her “honey.” She felt privileged.

Sam wasn’t known for her endearments.

Following in Graham’s wake, she stared at the black material covering the powerful muscles of his back and thought of the white shirt she’d managed to steal while at the Brock estate. She really liked that black shirt, too. She wondered if she could get him out of it and add it to her collection.

“Where are you taking me?” she finally asked curiously as he began dragging her upstairs.

“The second level has an exit by the main road.” He didn’t sound as though he were pleased. “If we’re lucky, we might get you past whichever Mackay comes looking for you.”

“Why bother?” She rolled her eyes as she made him work at dragging her up the stairs. “He knows I’m here. If he asks me about it, I won’t lie to him.”

“You make things far too interesting sometimes.” He didn’t sound as though he approved.

She approved of the way part of his hair was pulled back from the sides of his face and banded with a leather tie at the back of his head. He looked tough. Dangerous and tough. The bad boy personified.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him you dragged me out for him. He might wonder why you cared. Hell, I wonder why you care.”

At that, he came to an abrupt stop.

He turned to stare back at her and she watched a battle rage in his eyes and wondered just what the hell it was he was fighting himself over. She’d seen that look in her brother’s eyes before. Watched him as he confronted his sisters and fought to try to protect them while still maintaining their love for him.

Like Dawg, Graham was an incredibly strong man with a sense of decency and a code of honor that likely only he understood, but that everyone else could definitely depend upon.