“Make you pay?” she whispered, the full curves of her breasts rising and falling temptingly. “You make us sound like enemies, Graham. I’ve never been your enemy.”

Releasing her hip, he let his hand move to her thigh, testing the firm muscle beneath, letting himself become immersed in the thought of those lovely legs gripping his hips.

He moved his hand from the steering wheel and reached up, intending to pull her to him, the only action, the only hunger he could make sense of at the moment.

“No, you’re not my enemy, sweetheart,” he agreed. He’d make damned sure of it.

She caught his wrist before he could touch her hair, her head pulling back, the anger he’d sensed in her earlier suddenly flaring in her eyes.

“And I’m not one of your bimbos, your snuggle bunnies, or your damned cheap-ass tramps that tromp naked around your sister as if she wants to see their silicone-filled breasts or nasty-ass bushes. And I’ll make damned sure my brother never sends you after me again.”

He watched her.

Eyes narrowed, his hand returned to the steering wheel as she jerked the door open and moved to leave the car.

“Lyrica.” He said her name softly, the warning in it bringing her to a stop. She turned slowly to stare at him over her shoulder. “If you ever need me, I’m here. But take this to heart, baby—tease me again, and I’m going to fuck you. Every way I know how, and I’m sure I’ll think of a few new positions just for you. But I will fuck you. When it’s over you’ll be hurt, I’ll feel bad as hell for it, and I’ll make an enemy of every Mackay I know. Do us both a favor, a big favor. Stay the hell out of my bed.”

Her lips curled in disgust. “Don’t worry, Graham. I never was into trashy studs or used seconds, no matter how damned good they think they are. No matter how damned different I thought they were.”

With that, she pushed herself from the car, closed the door all too gently behind her, then strode across the sidewalk to her patio door as though she were out for a midnight stroll. As though her body wasn’t burning for him. As though her need to return to him wasn’t just as high, just as imperative as his need to have her return.

In the end, it was far better she didn’t, because Graham knew he would destroy them both with his lust for her. And hurting her was something he didn’t want. He wanted that even less than he wanted to repeat the mistakes of the past.

THREE

June

As the elevator reached the fourth floor of the small hotel, Lyrica Mackay expelled a weary breath and wished she’d asked someone to make this trip with her.

Kye would have been the obvious choice, but Lyrica was trying desperately to stay away from the Brock house after her last confrontation with Graham. Her emotions were still too ragged, her body still too determined to remember every second of every touch he had whispered across her body.

Those memories tortured her, tormented her, and there was nothing she could do to hold them back.

The muted ping of the elevator reaching her floor sounded, forcing back her memories as the door slid open. What caused her to pause, she would never understand, couldn’t explain. Why she placed her hand on the elevator door to hold it open, she never questioned.

Her body tense, she stared up the long corridor to her room. Her gaze locked on her hotel room door, her senses heightening, certain her door was open.

It shouldn’t be open.

She remembered closing it securely when she left. She’d put out the Do Not Disturb sign, too. There was no reason for housekeeping to be there.

There was a strange sense of disbelief filling her. It sent adrenaline rushing through her system, a warning prickle of danger burning through her mind as she tried to tell herself to move. She should go directly to the lobby and complain.

No one had been at the registration desk when she’d arrived though. She’d considered stopping and requesting a cup of the coffee that smelled freshly made behind the receptionist’s counter. She’d even paused and looked around for the young man who had been there earlier, wondering where he had gone.

As she stood there, one hand still braced on the open elevator door out of instinct and the other tightening on her purse strap, a figure moved in the doorway.

Disbelief held her still and silent as their eyes met across the long distance. Dressed in black, masked, a handgun held firmly in his hand, the man’s gaze narrowed on her.

His black shirt fit snugly. He wasn’t in great shape, but overpowering her would be easy. He was taller, his legs longer. He could outrun her.

His arm came up slowly, a smile pulling at his lips as triumph gleamed in his eyes.

Instinct lent strength. Jumping back and hitting the door close button of the elevator, she was suddenly thankful for whatever urge had kept her hand on the elevator door. It closed quickly, moving swiftly back to the lobby as she began to pray.

Seconds later she pushed through the doors as they opened and raced into the lobby, searching desperately for the still-absent receptionist.

She didn’t dare wait. There wasn’t time.

Running through the doors, she considered the parking garage where her Jeep was parked, but knew that would be the first place her would-be assassin would look.

Assassin.

Who would want to kill her?

Running down the sidewalk, pushing herself to move faster than she ever had, Lyrica turned up the alley and began running through the dark shadows that lay over the backstreets. She didn’t know London, Kentucky, well enough. She only came there occasionally. She usually shopped in Louisville.

God, she had to find someplace to hide. She had to find a chance to call her cousin’s husband, the chief of police in Somerset. Alex would send someone after her. He would call someone he knew in London and make sure she was safe.

She couldn’t hear anyone behind her, but she knew how little that meant. She didn’t dare pause or slow down. She didn’t dare let herself believe she was safe. Turning at the next shadowed corner, she kept running, trying desperately to be quiet, grateful she’d worn sneakers rather than the low heels she’d considered.

Why was she being chased? Who would want to hurt her?

Unless . . .

Someone had targeted her older sister two years before. Eve had been placed in danger because of Dawg’s enemies. Had they returned?

They couldn’t have. Dawg was certain they were dead.

Coming to a hard stop, she realized she’d turned into an alley with no exits. Brick walls surrounded her now, and the only way out was back the way she had come, toward the dark figure with his ever-ready gun.

A cat squalled out from beyond the alley entrance, the clatter of metal meeting cement brief, but assuring her she had only seconds. Whoever wanted to kill her was getting closer.

Looking around in terror, she moved quickly to the heavy Dumpster at her side and wedged in beside it, praying he didn’t think to look there. As she all but crawled behind it, her breath escaped in a muffled sob as she realized there was a deep indent at the base of the building.

It had likely been covered once, but the bricks had been chipped away and disposed of at some point. She squeezed herself into it, huddling as close to the boarded back as possible and holding her breath as the footsteps came closer.

“I know I saw that bitch turn in here,” someone hissed.