EIGHTEEN

“Hit me again, Natches, and I promise, I’ll hit back,” Graham informed the other man mildly as he watched Natches’s fist clench atop the table. “And I’m twenty years younger than you are. I promise, I do hit harder.”

Natches’s hand jerked, one hard finger pointing back at Graham as he snarled. “You are becoming a pain in the fucking ass!”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to drop the F-bomb.” Graham arched his brow in query at the memory of Chaya’s disapproval whenever Natches used the word. “And that pain you’re feeling is probably hemorrhoids. I hear stress from screwing with everyone’s lives can actually cause those.”

Natches turned to Dawg with a fierce glare. “I don’t like him anymore. Get Lyrica. We’re leaving.”

Dawg breathed out as though tired and shook his head, exasperation marking his expression and filling the pale green of his eyes.

“Lyrica’s not leaving.” Rising from the table and carrying his cup to the sink, Graham felt certain that the danger revolving around Lyrica had begun in Afghanistan.

“Graham.” Dawg sighed heavily again, and Graham could hear the objection rising from him.

“Removing her from sight isn’t going to help,” Elijah said, choosing that moment to weigh in. “Just as Lyrica said, the focus is on her. Besides, trust me, once Doogan learns the specifics of this, he won’t allow it.”

“Chatham Doogan can kiss my ass!” Natches enunciated savagely, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a primal snarl. “That fucker gives me acid reflux for real.”

“And I may agree with that wholeheartedly”—Elijah’s tone turned to ice, a rare occurrence for the laid-back former Texan—“but be that as it may, I’m still a duly sworn agent and I will be reporting this. Lyrica’s a friend, Natches, and this group has killed highly trained, skilled soldiers. She doesn’t have a hope of surviving if we don’t end this here.”

Natches moved suddenly from his chair, throwing it back with savage disregard for the wood as he stalked across the room, his expression enraged. When he swung around on Elijah, Graham’s brows lifted in surprise.

“That loyal to the agency, are you? Well, you can just pack the fuck up and get the hell out of town, boy,” Natches ordered the younger man. “Your services sure as hell won’t be needed once this is finished.”

Sharp and mocking, Elijah’s grunt of amusement had Graham watching the scene in interest rather than putting a stop to it.

“That’s it, Mackay,” Elijah stated silkily. “Throw your weight around and see where it gets you with me. Or with Doogan. He’s not Cranston, and I’m not Harley—remember that.”

The air seemed to grow thick with nearing violence now. Coming to his feet, Elijah sauntered to the back door, his expression harder, colder than Graham remembered ever seeing it.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Natches growled, the sound dangerous, a warning that had Graham and Dawg both tensing now at the impending Mackay eruption.

“Don’t I?” Elijah asked softly, opening the door as he stared back at the older man, his gaze filled with a flinty lack of mercy as it flicked over the youngest Mackay cousin. “Did you even wonder where he went when he disappeared after that beating you arranged for him?” He laughed, the sound sending a chill racing down Graham’s back. “Tell me, has Zoey forgiven you for it?”

The door closed sharply behind Elijah, the silence he left behind him thick and heavy.

The second the other man left the room, Natches turned to Dawg slowly, watching as his cousin came out of his chair, the older man’s expression heavy.

“Let’s find Rowdy,” Dawg announced then. “We’ll take care of this little problem Graham brought home with him, make sure Lyrica’s safe, then we’re going to have a little talk, cuz.”

It was evident Dawg was unaware of Harley or the beating Natches had evidently arranged.

Without waiting for an answer, Dawg moved from the kitchen and headed for the front door. Moments later, the sound of the door closing with deliberate patience sent a small flinch through the muscles at Natches’s jaw.

“You don’t seem the type to arrange a beating, Natches,” Graham remarked, actually feeling an ounce or two of compassion at the heavy look on Natches’s face.

“Well,” Natches murmured as he propped his hands on his hips, hung his head, and shook it slowly, “I’ll be damned. That’s what I thought, too. That would have been a waste of my time, don’t you think?”

Leaning back against the counter, arms folded over his chest as he crossed his ankles, Graham contemplated the other man’s expression thoughtfully.

“Don’t remember it, huh?” he asked.

It really wasn’t Natches’s style. He liked exercising his own fists whenever the opportunity arose.

“I don’t,” Natches murmured, frowning. “But you know what?”

“Hmm?” Graham watched him closely.

“Whatever the hell he’s talking about, he’s right about one thing. Zoey hasn’t forgiven any of us.”

A hard shake of his head and Natches straightened, his arms dropping as he headed for the kitchen door, following Dawg’s departure. “Keep her safe.” Deadly menace filled the Mackay’s tone. “I’m sure we’ll be back.”

Graham remained silent as the other man stalked from the house, the door closing a bit louder that time. Natches wasn’t known for his temperance. His temper, yes.

With their departure the heaviness in the atmosphere of the house dissipated, and Graham found himself finally able to draw a deep breath.

No one said dealing with Mackays was easy. Doogan had once sworn that working with them was like facing demented zombies whose main aim was the destruction of a person’s sanity rather than his life.

“Dawg was spinning his tires as he pulled out, which usually means he’s pissed off with Natches,” Lyrica said as she reentered the kitchen, that flirty little skirt caressing the flesh of her silky thighs.

The little white cotton tank was tucked into the low waistband, the strappy sandals making her feet look more delicate than normal.

Restraining a sigh, Graham felt his cock swelling behind the zipper of his jeans and the arousal beginning to tighten his body again.

“Who’s Harley?” he asked.

She knew who he was talking about, at least. For a second, Lyrica’s eyes flickered with sadness as her expression became more somber, with a hint of pain.

“Someone Zoey cared very much about.” A bittersweet smile tipped her lips. “Someone who left before she ever knew what she felt for him. Why?”

He shook his head. Zoey’s life and issues with her brother and cousins would have to wait until later. “The name just came up.” Pushing away from the counter, he motioned for her to follow him. “Come to the office with me. I want to show you some pictures, see if you’ve seen any of these men.”

“The men you suspect were involved in the theft?” She moved beside him, the somber look on her face as she glanced up at him clenching at his chest.

“If one of them has made contact with you, it will narrow the field down to figuring out who, if anyone, was working with Betts. The faster we capture them, the faster you’ll be safe.”

—

The faster she would be out of his life, Lyrica thought painfully as she moved into the office across the foyer, the door closing behind them.

Leading the way to the wide desk on the other side of the room, Graham seemed more distant, harder than normal, as though he were deliberately drawing away from her. And he was, she thought. Flavors weren’t lifetime commitments, she reminded herself. They were a moment out of his time—intense, a relief from whatever hunger plagued him.

She could live with that for now.

For now.

“Here.” Sitting down at the desk, he pulled a thick folder from the file drawer at the side and slapped it to the top of the table before sitting back in his chair and patting his lap with a rakish grin that erased that distance with a suddenness she found completely shocking. “You can sit here.”

On his lap?

They would not be looking at that file long, but the experience promised to be more than the frightening venture she’d imagined.

“Think that’s safe, do you?”

“I didn’t say it was safe,” he assured her with another of those crooked, far too sexy grins he used against her at the oddest times. “I said you could sit.”

“What if I can’t concentrate while I’m sitting there?” she asked then, her voice lowering. “It looks far too . . . pleasurable a seat.”

He was hard. The outline of his erection beneath his jeans had her heart pounding, need heating her thighs and the sensitive flesh between.

“Just turn around there, sweetheart, and sit,” he invited. “Let’s see if I can’t make it even more pleasurable than you imagined.”

Turning her back to him slowly, a knowing grin tugged at her lips and she sat slowly, her legs resting outside his as he pulled her back against him and arranged her position to suit him.

“Comfortable?” he asked, her back snug against his chest, the hard wedge of his shaft pressing between the cheeks of her rear and rising along her lower back.

“Or something,” she murmured.

Trying to control her breathing was all but impossible, and there was no lowering the rate of her heartbeat. It was thumping like a drum being used with a heavy hand.

“You feel good against me, Lyrica.” Lifting her hands, he placed them on the arms of the leather chair as his legs spread, parting hers farther as he leaned forward. “Now, let’s see if you know anyone here.”

As he flipped the file open, the first picture stared out at her.

Commander Jimmy Dorne. A ruffian, she thought.

A bully.

“I’m pretty certain Dorne was her lover,” Graham revealed. “He was enraged when she died.”

Barrel-chested, his blond hair thinning, the man wore an expression that was faintly cruel. And the woman who had betrayed Graham preferred that over the man currently running his fingertips along the edge of the skirt Lyrica wore?

That was not a mistake she would have made.

There were several more pictures of him, in combat gear as well as in street clothes. In each one, the cruelty she could see in his hard eyes and unsmiling expression was apparent.

“I’ve not seen him.” She shook her head. “And if I had, I would have remembered him simply to ensure I avoided him.”

His fingers paused in their caresses before slipping beneath the edge of her skirt and to the inside of her thigh. Evidently he liked the answer, she thought as her heart rate began to pick up quickly.

Several dozen pictures of other men, all soldiers, eyes hard, a few bitter, followed. Staring at each closely, Lyrica made certain they weren’t men she had come in contact with at any time.

Not that they were men she would have been attracted to at any rate. They weren’t Graham.

The next pictures were not of soldiers. Soft green eyes stared out from the photos, framed by heavy, thick black hair cut short to frame the delicate features of the woman whose pouty lips and sensual expression seemed to shout “experience.”

She didn’t look cruel, petty, or mean. She looked a little lost amid the sensual knowledge in her eyes, though, as if happiness wasn’t something she had ever attained.

This was Betts Laren.

She stared into the camera as though to seduce the photographer in each photo, always aware, Lyrica thought. This was a woman who always seemed to be aware that she was never alone.

Lyrica’s resemblance to her was unmistakable. She could have been a distant Mackay relative, it was so close.

“I do look like her.” Lyrica breathed in slowly, deeply, to hold back the flash of pain that he could have loved this woman, even unknowingly.

“No.” He sighed. “She looked like you, Lyrica. I took one look at her and all I saw was her resemblance to you.” Graham brushed her hair from her shoulder, his lips moving over the bared flesh there with a light, destructive caress. “I left here that summer with the scent of you in my head, the hunger for you eating me alive, and a month later she walked into my tent with that same secretive little smile you have, without the innocence I was so damned afraid of breaking in you. I wanted you so damned bad it was eating me away from the inside out.”

“I wasn’t running from you,” she reminded him, her head lowering, eyes closing as his lips moved to the back of her neck.

“Maybe I was the one running, Lyrica,” he stated softly. “I never even thought to question the dozen similarities she displayed to your expressions, your mannerisms. I should have.”

“I sent the letter the week you left for Afghanistan.” Her lashes fluttered as his fingertips trailed up the insides of both thighs, his short nails rasping the sensitive flesh. “I wanted you to know . . . I missed you.”

That wasn’t exactly what the letter had said.

“A real letter?” The scrape of his beard against her shoulder sent a shiver racing up her spine.

“Written in real ink with my real hand,” she drawled a second before her breath caught at the little nip he delivered to the shoulder he’d been caressing.

“I wish I could have read the letter,” he whispered as the hands caressing her thighs moved higher, to the edge of her panties.

His fingers were a whisper stroke of pleasure against the damp material of her panties. Her inner muscles clenched at the sweeping sensation of static heat and aching want. Even her nerve endings felt restless and far too close to the surface of her flesh.

Gripping the arms of the chair, Lyrica surrendered to him, to whatever he wanted, to one more memory to hold for the day when he no longer wanted her.

While his fingertips played above the silk of her panties, tormenting the flesh beneath and drawing more of the slick, wet heat from her body, his other hand moved to her side, tugging at the material of the shirt and pulling it over her breasts.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered at her ear. “Just lie back and enjoy it. Do you know how many nights I’ve jacked off imagining you just lying back, taking the pleasure I have to give you?”

“You didn’t have to imagine,” she whispered. “I was here.”

“And so sweet, so innocent.” He breathed against her ear a second before nipping it erotically, then placing a gentle kiss to the heated flesh. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to lose you in my life, Lyrica. I couldn’t imagine that.”

Lyrica closed her eyes, fighting back hope, pain, everything but the pleasure.

“Sweet Lyrica.” His lips trailed down her neck, his hand cupping the sensitive weight of her breast.

The feel of his finger and thumb gripping the nipple through the thin material of her bra with a firm, erotic pressure brought a cry from her lips. Arching into him, her hands clenched on the arms of the chair as pleasure suffused her. Her body tightened further when the hand caressing her thigh tugged at her panties until she helped him rid her of the material.

Dropping it to the floor, his fingers returned, parting the folds, stroking them before gently rimming the clenched entrance.

“Please . . .” she whispered, moving against the probing caressing. “Oh god, Graham. It feels so good.”

More of her heated dampness spilled to the fingers stroking the sensitive entrance to her inner depths.

“That’s my baby,” he groaned, two fingers spearing immediately inside the wet depths of her vagina as she arched back, crying hoarsely at the pleasure suddenly tearing through her. “Show me how wet and hot that pretty pussy gets for me.”

Scandalizing, wicked, the words sent a pulse of pleasure to clench at the inner muscles and the swollen bud of her clit. Her juices spilled from her, rushing over his fingers to saturate them with slick heat.

Each stroke worked inside her, used the natural lubrication to press deeper, to stretch her with his caresses. The pleasure-pain of each impalement had her body stretching, tightening around his incredibly satisfying stroking fingers.

His fingers pulled back, nearly releasing from her intimate depths and pulling a mewling cry of protest from her. He couldn’t stop yet. Waves of a nearing climax were building in her, pounding at her clit, making her crazy for the addictive pleasure of the release he could give her.

His lips settled at the bend of her neck and shoulder, the rasp of his short beard pulling a moan from her lips. His lips kissed the flesh there gently, taking a lazy, sensual taste of her as her breath caught in her chest.

Then a harsh, desperate cry tore from her lips.

His fingers thrust inside her, stretching her with wicked pleasure as his teeth gripped the surprisingly sensitive tendon beneath his lips and bit her with hungry demand.

She came.

That fast, wailing with the pleasure as her body tightened, jerked, then dissolved around his fingers in a rush of fiery heat.

Prolonging the excruciating pleasure with each fierce thrust inside the gripping tissue, he gave little mercy, holding her on the peak of release until she was shuddering with it. Ecstasy pummeled her in remorseless waves as sensual shudders clenched her muscles, locking her in place against him until he allowed the tremors to ease, allowed her to find her breath.

She was only barely aware of his movements. The release of his jeans, her awareness that he was quickly rolling a condom over the length of his cock.

Oh god, she couldn’t come again. She was wasted, her pussy weak from the spasms still echoing through it.

But as soon as the clenching, ecstatic pulses of release eased moments later, she was suddenly thrown into a catastrophic race back into the flames.

Lifting her, Graham impaled her on the iron-hard length of the erection he’d released from his jeans. The heavy, fiery penetration was a shock to the senses, a pleasure bordering on agony as the chaotic, sensual storm began swirling through her again.

“Oh god, Graham.” The inner flesh shuddered around the girth impaling her.

Her heated, slick response spilled around his flesh, easing his way as he pushed inside her in that one hard, fierce thrust.

Resting her head back on his shoulders, she dug the tips of her feet into the carpet beneath them and moved against him. Shifting, lifting, falling, following the hard grip of his hands, she rode him with sensual demand. With the feel of each throbbing inch burying itself inside her, stroking sensitive, greedy flesh, stretching her with a blaze of heat as she met each inward stroke, Lyrica knew this erotic dance would be one she would never forget.

“Open your eyes, baby,” he whispered as she felt the chair moving, turning to the side. “Look at me.”

Drowsy, heavy with pleasure, her lashes lifted, her gaze focusing on the mirror she hadn’t realized hung on the wall across from them.

A whimper escaped her parted lips as she watched.

The sight of herself sprawled back against him, her thighs parted over his, her body all but bare, was shocking. Her expression was unfamiliar. Flushed, drowsy, and sensual. She looked like a sacrifice to his hunger, lost in it, overwhelmed by the pleasure.

Graham lifted the edge of the skirt that had fallen over her thighs, pulling it to her hips with one hand as the other tugged one leg farther out, revealing more to the reflection across from them.

“Graham.” She didn’t know if she was turned on or too shocked to know what to feel.

With her skirt out of the way, he lowered both hands to her thighs and tugged, pulling her legs farther apart to reveal the sight of her impalement.

Stretched, the folds of her intimate lips parted, his dark flesh penetrated her as her juices clung to the base with a loving caress.

“Watch, baby,” he whispered at her ear again as his hands moved to her hips once again.

He lifted her slowly, so slowly. Lyrica’s eyes widened as he began pulling free of her, watching as slick moisture coated his cock, watching as it pulled from her body even as her pussy clenched, tightening around the departure.

Graham pulled back until only the very tip of his cock lingered at her entrance and she could see the dark crest throbbing, the heavy veins pounding with the fierce beat of his heart. He looked too large, the bulging crest throbbing and dark, almost angry-looking as it remained tucked against her entrance.

Then he was lowering her and Lyrica couldn’t help but watch the intimate invasion. Watch as her flesh flowed around him, stretching for him, taking him as a whimpering cry fell from her lips and she felt herself spilling around him again. Exploding around his cock, the pleasure pulsing through her with such force that her body jerked with every internal explosion. Moisture eased from her as he thrust in and out of her, the hard flesh gleaming thicker, richer until she was forced to close her eyes against the rocking pleasure.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “That’s it, baby. Suck my dick with that pretty little pussy. Fuck. Yes. Ah hell, Lyrica . . .”

His hips were moving beneath her, thrusting hard, spearing inside her with desperate lunges as his fingers found her clit and sent her rolling into another explosive orgasm.

She felt him coming as her clit exploded beneath his fingers. He erupted with a hard flex of the shaft buried inside her, heat suddenly jetting against the too sensitive tissue, moist and so sensual, so erotic, that her womb clenched and spasmed again, throwing her relentlessly into another explosion that tightened her vagina around the already pulsing length of his cock.

She shouldn’t feel it like that, she thought distantly. Not with the condom she’d glimpsed between his flesh and hers. She shouldn’t feel his release like fiery caresses filling her.

She shouldn’t . . . but it was so good. The pleasure was so exacting, so deep that the fluttering response of her vagina clenched at his flesh again, holding him and rippling around him until the fiercely engorged flesh finally stilled.

Exhausted, completely unraveled and boneless, she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Nothing else mattered, to the point that she closed her eyes. Just for a minute, she promised herself. Just a little nap until she caught her breath. Darkness whispered over her and stole her into a warm, sheltering place of utter peace and dreamless rest.

Lifting her, Graham turned her in his arms, sheltering her against his chest as he managed to restore his clothes enough to get her to the bedroom. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her upstairs, wondering if his knees had the strength to make it to the bedroom.

He laid her on the bed, pulled the remnants of the pretty skirt from her hips, and for the second time that day collected a damp cloth to dry the perspiration from her body. Between her thighs he cleaned the mix of her silky response and his semen from her, feeling none of the overwhelming panic he would have felt with any other woman.

He knew the moment the condom burst. Hell, he’d felt the release boiling in his balls, had known despite the release he’d had that morning, he was going to explode inside her so damned hard it would steal his mind.

And he’d been right.

His senses had completely overloaded as he watched himself fuck her, watched his cock stretch her until he was certain he had to be hurting her. Instead she’d cried out for more, coming around him with such snug inner spasms it had stolen his control completely.

Finishing cleaning her off, he shed his clothes and removed the ruined condom before pulling a pair of cotton pants on and returning to the office.

He’d left the file on the desk and the office open. Instead of storing it in the drawer now, though, he gathered it together and left the office with it. Locking the door behind him, Graham pulled the phone from the pocket of his pants at the vibration of a call coming through.

Checking the caller ID, he answered it quickly.

“Everything okay?” he asked Elijah as he moved up the stairs.

“Everything’s clear.” There was still a thread of anger in the other man’s voice. “I wanted to check before returning Doogan’s call, though. He’s demanding a report.”

Of course he was, Graham thought with a heavy sigh. “This isn’t something I want to hide from him, Elijah,” he answered. “She’s too important to risk simply because her family and Doogan clash.”

“Natches has his moments. They’re either dumb ones or smart ones, no in between, and the dumb ones seem more prevalent,” the other man stated harshly. “He hasn’t changed much over the years, from what I understand.”

“Not a whole lot,” Graham admitted. “The dumb moments aren’t nearly as numerous as they were before Rowdy and Kelly married, though, from what Dad said before he died. Rowdy and his cousins used to be some hell-raisers.”

“Yeah, now they’re just hell to be around,” the agent grunted.

“There is that.” Graham almost chuckled at the thought. “By the way, when reporting to Doogan, don’t give him the name of the contact that brought the information in.” He refrained from mentioning Tracker’s name. “Doogan doesn’t need to worry himself over some things. That contact is one of those things.”

“No kidding.” Graham could almost see Elijah pushing his fingers through his hair and rubbing at his neck. “Okay, I’ll call the bastard back. I put a few more cameras up while I was out and tied the entire program into this number. If you hear it ping, check it. Your number’s secondary and it might mean I’ve somehow been compromised and you’re in deep shit.”

Reentering his bedroom, Graham moved into the huge walk-in closet just inside the doorway, where he’d installed the monitors and controls to his own hidden camera system.

“Got it,” he murmured. “Check in on schedule and keep your eyes open.”

“Always,” Elijah promised.

Disconnecting the call, Graham closed the closet door, moved to the wall behind it, and depressed the hidden release there. The wall slid down soundlessly, revealing a large security monitor and a dozen different views of the property surrounding the house.

Elijah was stationed on the hill across from the house, looking down on an angle that afforded him a view of the back gardens and pool area as well as the side of the house and front drive. The other views were clear of human intrusion, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

He depressed the control once again and the wall slid back into place but the restless feeling inside him still plagued him.

Something wasn’t right. It was nagging at him, refusing to come together. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Something he had a feeling could very well end up tipping the scales out of his favor and into his enemy’s if he didn’t figure it out quickly. If he didn’t figure it out before he lost Lyrica forever.