ONE

The blizzard raged.

A curtain of heavy white fluff poured from the skies, blanketing the ground and laying an enchanting veil of wonder over the land. The heavy, wet snow was thicker than it had been when Lyrica arrived at Kyleene Brock’s house. Now, the silent icy flakes were twirling and dancing in the heavy winds, creating a wondrous ballet of nature at its most beautiful.

And at its most dangerous.

Lying on the couch, her head propped against the thick pillowed armrest, she ignored the fact that the black chiffon and embroidered silk gown fell back to her thighs and that her robe had worked open from the loose knot she’d tied it closed with.

Kye’s brother, Graham, wasn’t here, she reminded herself. That was how she’d ended up stuck here with Kye after they had realized how heavy the snow was falling. Her friend hated staying alone. The house was too big and too lonely when it was just her.

Kye had acted as though something was bothering her, too, something she may have wanted to talk about. Not that she’d gotten around to talking about it. The minute the electricity had gone out and the other girl had realized they were stuck there for the night, she’d become almost angry, or worried about something. Something she had refused to discuss.

Pushing aside the thought, Lyrica concentrated on the scene outside instead.

The winds howled and swirled through the naked branches of the trees, whipping the thick flakes into masses of heavy drifts. The sight of it was magnificent, majestic. Mother Nature was throwing a glittering, pure white cape over the land outside and she was doing it with style.

Had Lyrica been at her mother’s inn, or the small apartment she rented in Somerset, the show wouldn’t have been quite so beautiful.

So romantic.

It was a night meant to be shared with someone other than a friend. A night to be sheltered in strong arms rather than reclining alone before the fire.

Lifting one arm over her head, she pulled at the waves of her hair absently, twirling them around her finger, tugging at them as she watched the snow fall and felt the bittersweet regret she felt each time she came to the Brock home.

When she’d heard Graham had returned the summer before, she’d been certain she would have a chance to . . . what? A chance at his heart? A chance to be held in his arms, to feel his kiss?

A chance to be his next flavor of the month?

No doubt, that was all she would have had a chance at. And despite the fact that she knew it, still he held her spellbound. No matter how hard she looked, no other man measured up to him, and no other man—or woman—could steal her attention from him.

She missed him.

He seemed to be absent from home more often than not in the past months. His current little love bunny, damned if she could even remember this one’s name, lived just outside Louisville. Graham drove out to see her often enough that Kye had begun worrying if Graham was more serious about her than he let on.

Lyrica did more than worry.

She often tormented herself with the fear that he was falling in love with the cool, sophisticated blonde.

She hated him for the very fact that this woman had lasted longer than the others.

She often hated him for the fascination she didn’t want to have for him.

A man hadn’t played into her plans for the future until she’d met Graham Brock. Until she’d stared into his golden brown eyes, like dark amber, and become trapped within a world of fantasy, hunger, and need that she had yet to escape from.

What would she do if he married the other woman?

Could she bear to see him marry?

It would break her heart.

The sound of the living room doors opening once again pulled her from her thoughts as a drowsy smile curved her lips.

“You know, Kye,” she commented as she heard the doors close again before several steps were taken into the room, “maybe we should have just called the guys and told them we were scared here alone after all. I bet they would have been right here on those snowmobiles and then we could have just gone to the apartment.”

Her brother and cousins had made the offer to come out for her hours before, and she knew they would have enjoyed the chance to use the snowmobiles they rarely got to ride anymore.

“That really wouldn’t have worked for me.”

Eyes wide, her heart suddenly racing in her chest, Lyrica found herself staring into Graham Brock’s dark amber gaze as he stood behind the couch.

He had savage features with a thin, deadly looking scar bisecting his cheek and running into the closely cropped beard he wore. His brows were lowered, a scowl pulling at his expression as he glared at her.

She should have been embarrassed. She was lying there with her gown nearly showing the fact that she wore no panties beneath it; her robe gaped open; and instead of hurrying to cover herself, she just grinned up at him.

“Still the overprotective big brother with Kye?” she asked, her heart suddenly racing in excitement as she felt her thighs tighten at the ache centered between them. Sometimes she just hated her body’s response to him.

“Something like that,” the answer came as his gaze drifted down her body before jerking back to her eyes. Have mercy. He was staring at her the way Dawg stared at his wife, Christa.

“Little sister can’t stay a virgin forever.” She winked up at him. “At least, that’s what I keep telling my big brother.”

The look in his eyes and the expression on his face had heat suddenly flooding her body. Graham rarely looked at her with the full strength of that dark hunger that lurked in his gaze. Sometimes she caught a glimmer of it, but never had she felt the full force of all that sensual, erotic hunger.

She was feeling the full force of it now.

She licked her lips nervously, stilling as his jaw tightened and his fingers gripped the back of the couch as though to keep himself from reaching out for her.

Did she really want to be his flavor of the month?

Was there a chance she could be something more?

“What the hell are you doing here?” Moving around the couch, he strode to the fire to grab the poker and prod the burning wood viciously before grabbing more logs and tossing them to the flames.

Freed from the sensual spell that his look had wrapped around her, Lyrica moved slowly into a sitting position that ensured her gown fell down her thighs a bit and pulled the robe tighter around her.

Propping her elbow on her knee, she rested her chin on her palm and watched him.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt, leaving his upper body bare. The firelight reflected off the bronzed flesh and rippling muscles beneath. He looked like a warrior, a noble savage just in from the battlefield.

The light dusting of chest hair hid the fine, spiderwebbed scarring she knew his chest held from the wounds that had sent him home the year before on a medical discharge. Though, Kye seemed to think there was more involved than just those wounds.

Snug jeans cupped a manly, sexy-as-hell ass and emphasized the hard, flat planes of his abdomen while . . . Oh, sweet mercy—

He turned to face her fully.

Those jeans did nothing to hide the heavy erection beneath as the broad shaft pressed demandingly against the denim. It rose high enough beneath the material that she wondered if she could catch a glimpse of it if he moved just right, beneath the low rise of his jeans.

Her mouth dried out, then watered quickly at the thought. Flicking her tongue over her lips to moisten them as she swallowed tightly, her gaze was suddenly caught by his again. And what she saw there had her heart threatening to strangle her it was beating so hard.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he growled.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” she retorted breathlessly as he stood by the fire, watching her with narrowed, hungry eyes. “I didn’t hear you drive in.”

And she would have heard him. As heavy and deep as the snow was outside, there was no way he could have slipped in.

“I never left,” he informed her, scowling. “Only a moron would have ventured out today knowing this was coming.”

“Well now, doesn’t that put me in my place?” she murmured, amused at the veiled insult, though she held back the fact that Kye had sworn he was gone.

His lips thinned at the comment, the dark amber of his eyes gleaming harshly between narrowed lashes.

“I’ll get the snowmobile out and take you to Dawg’s.” He all but demanded she leave with that offer. “His place isn’t far from here.”

She wasn’t about to go anywhere unless he physically dragged her out of the house. Not now. Not with this tension whipping through the air and the sudden, heated certainty that she had no intention of ignoring whatever it was that flared between them so often.

Lyrica Mackay as Graham Brock’s new flavor of the month? Her brother, Dawg, would have a stroke when he heard that one.

“If I wanted to get out in the snow, Graham, I would have let Dawg do just that earlier. It’s beautiful to watch, but I’m really not into being out in it,” she informed him archly. Her gaze drifted to his bare chest again, loving the way the firelight played against the mat of hair at his chest. It looked like burnished gold, warm and inviting.

She was pathetic.

She was hopeless.

No doubt he and his latest little love bunny laughed often over the silly little Mackay and her crush on him. It was nauseating. No matter the insults she flung at herself, she couldn’t keep her gaze from him, couldn’t stop wanting him.

He was her fascination. Her weakness. She couldn’t help it, no matter how hard she tried.

“I can’t believe Dawg didn’t head out here anyway,” he growled, muscular arms crossing over his broad chest as he continued to glare at her.

“He might have, if he had known you were home,” Lyrica pointed out with a grin. “I believe he may be under the impression that you’re not exactly in residence.”

His eyes widened briefly before his scowl turned to a glare so fast that she almost missed the transformation. “You’re trying to get me killed,” he muttered.

She would have laughed, but she couldn’t get the sound past the racing beat of her heart or the breathless need tearing through her.

She hated what he did to her. Hated how he made her realize things about herself that she hated realizing. Things such as the fact that she was ready to beg him to touch her.

“Well, if Dawg killed you, Graham, then Kye wouldn’t have to worry about any more of your little snuggle bunnies running around the house at all hours,” she pointed out innocently, though the thought of it had the power to make her burn with jealous anger. “I think she lives in fear of seeing any more of your naked lovers traipsing down the hallway. She’s convinced she’s been traumatized, you know.”

Several months before, she and Kye both had watched in amazement as his lover had stepped into the kitchen completely naked, then opened the fridge and gathered a variety of fruits and cheeses, along with a bottle of wine, before moving upstairs once again.

For the briefest second, amazement transformed his features.

“Kye lives in fear of it, or you do?” he growled, his voice deepening, turning darker.

A flush raced over her face. She could feel the heat of it, the anger spurring it, and narrowed her eyes back at him in response.

“I just hope you use protection. It would be a shame if that fine body of yours started wasting away from some bug you’d picked up and couldn’t get rid of.” She mocked his response lightly. “There’s little enough eye candy in this county as it is. Losing some of it would be a crime.”

“Viper,” he muttered.

“Prick,” she countered, a brow arching with a satirical grin. “Really, Graham. You’re pretty to look at and all, but I’m sure your attitude would spoil the view eventually.”

His arms dropped from his chest and he prowled closer to where she sat on the couch.

Oh, boy.

She had no idea what she’d set loose inside him, but there was no doubt something was free. His eyes glittered with it, his expression hardening as he moved closer.

“That tongue of yours is going to get you in trouble,” he warned her.

Suddenly, the daring and curiosity that had filled her moments before deserted her. He wasn’t hiding that hunger now. In that moment, he didn’t give a damn if she saw the lust raging in his eyes and on his face.

“So Dawg tells me often,” she informed him as she moved quickly to her feet. “You should discuss it with him,” she suggested. “Tomorrow. Good night, Graham.”

Turning, she moved to leave the living room and the hunger that flared so bright, so hot in his eyes . . .

“Like hell.”

A hard band wrapped around her waist, pulling her to a hard stop as she was brought against the powerful body behind her in one smoothly executed move.

Oh god.

She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t even fantasized about this. Not like this. So dark and dominant that it awoke a knee-weakening submission inside her she had never imagined she possessed.

“Graham.” The soft exclamation escaped her lips as he pulled her around and brought her body against his once again, holding her to him as he stared down at her silently.

His gaze burned with lust. Narrowed and intense, it went over her face as she watched him, breathless. Her breasts rose and fell swiftly against his hard chest, her nipples pressing imperatively into the thin silk as though to reach heated flesh.

“You always have that look in your eyes,” he muttered, one hand moving to cup her neck as it pushed beneath her hair. “Hungry but innocent.”

She fought to breathe as she watched his lips move, not really caring what he was saying. She wanted him to kiss her. Wanted him to give her whatever it took to ease the hunger that clawed at her each time she saw him.

How unfair was it, the way she craved just the sight of him, when it was more than obvious he had no problem staying away from her?

His thumb brushed over her jaw, sending a rush of sensation racing across her flesh.

“Are you going to kiss me, Graham, or just keep spoiling the view with your attitude?” she finally whispered, desperate for that touch, that taste of him.

“Kissing you would be the biggest mistake of my life.” He sighed, but he wasn’t letting her go.

“Yeah, mine, too.” She breathed out, curling one arm up around his neck. “So why not just make it together?”

She lifted to him.

His head lowered.

The second their lips met it was as though the hunger, carefully contained, escaped with a rush, determined to be imprisoned no longer.

His hunger was voracious. Her need was unquenchable.

Graham’s lips slanted over hers as he lifted her closer, his tongue pressing between her lips, feeding on her need as he tasted every lush, sensual promise she made in return.

The lash of heat and overwhelming pleasure wasn’t expected. In all her fantasies, all her heated explorations of her own body, she had never imagined pleasure like this. Hadn’t guessed it could be so hot, so filled with such exquisite pleasure.

Spearing her hands into the overlong hair at the back of his head, Lyrica curled her fingers into the rough silk feel of it to hold him to her. She couldn’t bear the thought of stopping. Couldn’t imagine ever living without his touch, his kiss, now that she’d had it.

Heat rushed through her system as he nipped at her lower lip, licked it as he lifted her into his arms, a low, muttered groan vibrating in his chest as he lowered her back to the couch. A hard, muscled thigh pushed between hers, spreading her legs as he came over her. At the same time he loosened the knot of her robe, pushing it to the sides of her breasts as he broke the fiery kiss.

Lyrica stared up at him, dazed, drunk on the pleasure racing through her as Graham gripped her hands and lifted them to the armrest above her head, holding them securely with one hand.

“So damned pretty,” he muttered, his lips moving to the line of her neck as she tilted her head back to accommodate the caress.

Every muscle in her body tightened at the sensations tearing through her as he licked, kissed, and rasped the slender column of her neck. His teeth raked over it, the sound of his harsh breathing meeting her panting breaths as he released her lips and helped her from the robe. At the same time, the slender straps of her gown were pushed down, her arms sliding from them as the material was removed and tossed aside.

A broken moan of need escaped her lips, though she fought to still it to ensure Kye didn’t hear if she came to check on her. It was impossible to hold back as Graham’s lips moved to the swollen curves of her breasts.

Pushing the sensitive curves together, he licked, nibbled, his lips kissing as they moved from one tight nipple to the other.

Lyrica fought just to remember how to breathe past the pleasure. She’d never known such heated, electric sensations. Had never known hunger could rise so hot, so fast through her body.

Then his lips covered one tight, beaded nipple, suckling it hungrily into his mouth as his hips moved between her thighs. The hard denim-covered wedge of his erection pressed against bare, slick flesh, ground against it, sending pleasure to mix with diabolical greed at the distended bud of her clit.

Mewls of need fell from her lips as she bit at them to hold back her cries. She couldn’t let them escape. She had to hold back. If Kye heard them, she’d never forgive Lyrica. She hated it when her friends became fixated on her brother.

A low, desperate whimper escaped as Graham’s hand moved from the curve of her breast to her thigh. His fingers moved up to grip the curve of her hip.

“Oh god, Lyrica,” he groaned, the dark rasp of his voice sensual and filled with lust. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Lyrica trembled, and her eyes opened to watch as he levered his body back to stare down at the bare, glistening flesh of her sex.

Slowly, he spread her thighs farther apart and pushed the knee resting against the back cushions into the upholstery as he lifted her other leg until her calf rested over his shoulder.

“Graham.” Her voice shook, hunger and the fear of the unknown, need and uncertainty, rushing through her as he drew his hand along her inner thigh.

“Shh, just for a moment,” he crooned, his voice like dark velvet gliding across her senses. “I’ve dreamed of this, Lyrica. Let me have it, just for a moment.”

His head lowered.

Lyrica’s eyes widened at the first lick of his tongue across her sensitive flesh. Her hips arched, a moan slipping past her lips, her fingers sliding into his hair to grip the heavy strands.

Fiery, intense pleasure rushed through her system with furious intent, tearing through her, drowning any fear that might have been growing inside her.

There was no fear now. There was pleasure. Exquisite, heated, drugging pleasure she couldn’t have resisted even if she wanted to.

He pursed his lips as he kissed the hard bud of her clit, drawing a rapturous flare of sensation from the tender flesh as her hips jerked against his lips.

“Graham. Oh god, Graham.”

His tongue licked over, around the swollen bundle of nerves. Pleasure whipped and built through Lyrica as he tasted her, kissed the saturated flesh, then with a greedy tongue delved into the swollen folds to find the aching center of her body.

His tongue flicked over the narrow entrance, spreading heated, electric ecstasy with the quick, hungry licks and shallow penetrations that never seemed enough. With each touch, each taste he took, she needed more. Ached and begged for more.

“Damn you,” he groaned, spreading the folds apart with the fingers of one hand to deliver another hungry kiss to her clit.

But this one lingered.

His tongue flicked over her and sensation slashed through her as she drew her hips up to meet his kiss once again.

Each touch, each lick pushed steadily increasing waves of pleasure through her system. She was lost in a blinding sea of sensation and desperate to sink deeper. Desperate for more as she felt the pad of his thumb slide against her entrance, pressing into it, spreading her flesh open as the waves began to tighten, to build.

She was so close.

Clenched, aching, her hips lifted to him, trembling, shuddering with each driving surge of sensation as she gave herself to the storm pounding at her senses.

“Graham, where the hell are you!” Strident and filled with ire, the feminine voice of Graham’s current conquest filtered through the living room doors as Lyrica froze, her eyes flashing open to stare at Graham as betrayal tore through her.

Graham’s head jerked up, shock and guilt reflecting in his eyes as Lyrica began struggling beneath him, desperate now to be free of him.

“Stay!” he hissed, pushing her back to the couch, leaning over her, one hand over her lips as the door opened.

The couch hid them. The fire had burned down, the weakened flames and glowing embers casting an intimate glow over the room.

“Graham, are you in here?” the irate woman called out again.

Lyrica was dying inside. She could feel the pain tearing through her, the knowledge that he had just left his lover’s bed and had dared to touch her. Dared to show her everything she couldn’t have—

Her heart was ripping in two. The pain was blinding, agonizing as her eyes remained locked with his.

Let him see. Let him see how it hurt, let him see that he had just destroyed something she now knew that he ached for just as much as she did. Because she would make damned sure he never had a chance to touch her again.

Because another chance would end the same way. With the knowledge that she was no more than a stolen, forbidden moment. Something he could throw away whenever his latest lover came calling his name again.

“Dammit, I’m getting tired of this,” the other woman muttered angrily, fury vibrating in each word.

A second later, the door snapped shut again.

Lyrica didn’t take her eyes off his. Pain washed through her in waves, making her breathing choppy, the fight to hold back her tears iffy.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his thumb lifting to brush back an escaping tear. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

His hand lifted from her lips.

“Get off me!” She kept her voice low, quiet, despite the need to scream, to rage.

She struggled against him again, pushing at his shoulders, ragged gasps tearing from her throat as she fought to be free of him.

“Lyrica, wait,” he growled.

“Get off me before I start screaming,” she demanded, her voice rough, low.

She didn’t want his skanky little bunny to know about what he’d just done any more than he did.

“We need to talk—”

“Fuck you!” she cried out furiously. Her voice was still low, still quiet, but the rage tearing through her was only rising. “Get off me, Graham, or I swear to god, you’ll regret it. I promise you . . .” Kicking, pushing, she fought to be free of him.

She had to be free of him.

Oh god, she hated him. She hated what he was doing to her, hated what he was making her feel. She hated this pain. Hated the need still tearing through her body, the inner anger and hunger to stay right where she was.

Suddenly, she was free.

Graham jumped from her, pushing his fingers through his hair as a brutal curse hissed from his lips.

“Stay here, dammit,” he snarled, catching her before she could leave the room.

“Why? So she won’t see me and fuck your little party up?” she demanded harshly.

“No,” he whispered, holding her in front of him, staring down at her. The regret she saw in his face made her hate him, hate herself. “So you won’t be hurt any more than I’ve already hurt you. Just stay here, Lyrica. Give me three minutes. Just three minutes . . .”

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.