Releasing her, he brushed past, and the sound of him leaving the room broke the control she’d fought to hold on to. Sobs tore from her, almost as silent as the tears that whispered from her eyes.

She sank to the hearth, wrapping her arms around herself as she bent her head to her knees and fought to quiet the brutal sobs shuddering through her.

They were quiet, but still devastating to her.

—

And to the man on the other side of the door listening to them.

It was better this way, he thought wearily. He’d been insane to touch her to begin with. He’d known better, yet the hunger that tore at him demanded otherwise.

A hunger he had no choice but to turn and walk away from. For both their sakes.

TWO

Two months later

The snow had melted from the Kentucky mountains, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be more before the season was over. The early March weather was a little cooler than normal—too damned bad it didn’t do a thing to cool down his body.

Pulling into the crowded parking lot, Graham gripped the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip as a grimace tightened his jaw.

He was supposed to stay away from her. He’d sworn to himself he would stay the hell away from her. She deserved better than a man who couldn’t trust. A man whose anger burned because of the very fact that he couldn’t stay away from her.

Glaring at the brightly lit house with music pulsing in the air and humanity milling about it, he knew he should turn around and just leave. Hell, she was over twenty-one. She was a woman grown and well old enough to decide if she wanted to be here or not.

At least, that was the argument he’d given her brother, Dawg Mackay. Unfortunately, saying no to the Mackays wasn’t always the easiest thing to do. Sooner or later, a man just threw his hands up in surrender, did what he had to do, and hoped it was over. Mackays were like water against stone sometimes. They just fucking eroded good common sense.

The Mackay males had decided there were certain parties that the Mackay females weren’t to attend, and in Pulaski County and the counties surrounding it, everyone listened. If one of Dawg Mackay’s sisters was seen at a party with certain qualities, then a call was to be made. If a Mackay couldn’t be reached, then there was a list, a short list, of numbers to call. Hesitate to make the call and when the day came that you needed a favor from one of those Mackay men, good luck.

For some reason—Mercury in retrograde, bad karma, just bad fucking luck, he didn’t know what—for some damned reason no one was reachable but Graham this time. And it just had to be Lyrica Mackay attempting to have a life without her brother’s permission.

Hell, he felt sorry for the Mackay daughters who were rapidly approaching their teen years.

u better get here! cause dude this bitch is burnin’

Distaste pulled at his lips as he read the text. He was going to have to teach that bastard how to write, and how to describe a beautiful woman.

With the text came video.

And there just had to be video, didn’t there?

Pulling up the file texted to his smartphone, Graham tapped the icon and waited the second or so it took to download.

He should have let it be, he thought, swallowing tightly as it came up. Because Lyrica was definitely burning.

So damned hot she made his fingers burn to touch her.

The music was a hard country tune, fast and rhythmic, and it played perfectly to her ability to move like the erotic fantasy she was.

And she was moving.

Laughing, her gaze centered on the redneck bastard dancing with her, she held the longneck bottle of beer comfortably in one hand as the other curled over her head. She moved with gut-clenching, erotic grace, hips swaying, the tops of her pretty breasts sheened with perspiration, her long, straight black hair flowing to the middle of her shoulder blades.

Then the son of a bitch dancing with her reached out to clasp her hips—

And she let him pull her to him. Laughing, her emerald green eyes gleamed with latent fire before she moved back to tease further with the sensual gyrations of her seductive body.

“Fuck me!” The snarl tore from his lips before he could hold it back. “I’m going to paddle her ass!”

He tried to push back the thought of what he intended to do to it after he watched it blush a pretty pink, for branding his senses. But the fantasy was still there. Just as it was every day, every night, every time he breathed.

Exiting the vehicle, he slammed the door shut, listened for the automatic door lock, then strode quickly toward the house.

She was going to make him insane—that was all there was to it. After the night of the blizzard, after tasting her, there had been no peace for him. He had a taste for her now, one he couldn’t get out of his senses or make himself forget.

And that was pissing him off.

This wasn’t the time. The wrong time in his life, the wrong time for his heart, the wrong time for his soul. It was simply the wrong damned time for this. He’d always known Lyrica could get under his skin, get beneath his defenses, but he’d never imagined she’d get in this deep. That she would weaken him at a time when he had no choice but to be strong.

As he entered the house and made his way purposefully to the patio, his jaw clenched with the anger that thought brought.

A chorus of boos met his appearance and he knew his reason for being there was expected. Just as they weren’t for the Mackays, parties weren’t his style. If he was going to get crazy with a woman, then he was going to get crazy without witnesses.

The sound of disappointed calls had the tempting motions of Lyrica’s delicately rounded body stilling as she turned to him.

Immediately her eyes narrowed, and before he could reach her she lifted that damned beer to her lips and finished the drink in seconds, before he could take it from her. Not that he would have. That was her brother’s prerogative, not his.

“Ready to go?” he snapped, glancing at the bottle with an air of disgust.

“Not really.” Her brows arched as a mocking smile shaped her lips. “You ready to leave without me?”

He grunted at that. The question was so preposterous it didn’t deserve an answer.

“You walking out or do I have to drag you out?” He sighed.

Damn, he really hoped she was walking . . .

She laughed at the question. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Evidently, laughter was contagious. At least, hers was, because the curious crowd twittered with her.

Hell, he could read that look in her eyes—she was going to make damned certain this was as difficult as possible.

Breathing out in exasperation, he flicked a glance at her clothing and considered his options as everyone waited and watched.

She looked damned good, he had to say that for her.

Five feet, four inches tall, her three-inch heels pushed her to five-seven. She wore jeans that licked over every inch of skin from just below her hips until they disappeared beneath the dark brown leather boots that ended just above her knees.

Decision made.

He didn’t give her time to block him or guess what he was doing. Amid the cheers of the crowd he moved forward, bent, and had her over his shoulder in a second, one arm anchoring the backs of her knees as she screamed in outrage.

Just for effect, he reached up with his free hand and slapped her shapely bottom as laughter and catcalls echoed behind them.