Christ, he wasn’t needy or clingy. He just wanted to be secure in his place in Dev’s and Geneva ’s hearts, but knew the couple needed their space. They didn’t do live-in, permanent lovers. Liam understood. He did.

Fuck that. He was miserable. Sometimes he got so goddamned lonely waiting for the phone to ring, or for the message to appear in his e-mail.

We miss you. Come tonight. Now.

Or how about this one? Don’t ever leave us again.

He’d long despaired of that ever becoming a reality.

But with Lily’s arrival, hope had blossomed that finally things might change. Like she was some sort of omen or something. Jude might have a reason to quell his wandering spirit. Lily would make him happy, and it would rub off like magic dust on Dev and Geneva. Make them realize what they had with Liam was more than just explosive sex.

That they loved him.

His biggest fear-that the two most important people in his world besides Jude would move on, without him. Wouldn’t need him anymore, wouldn’t want him in their lives. Like tonight.

Liam would rather die than see that day come.

The movie hit a quiet part and a noise caught Liam’s ear. A thump, a scrape. He bolted to his feet, bowl sliding off his lap, scattering popcorn everywhere. Whirling, he fixed his gaze on the door to the media room and the hallway beyond.

Another faint noise, coming from downstairs.

“Fuck me,” he whispered.

He couldn’t stay here. The media room was a trap, no other way out. Leaving the movie going, he crept to the door, gathered his courage, and peeked out. The hallway was clear, so he tiptoed to the top of the stairs, looked down. The foyer was empty, no shadows moving, but he wished he’d left on more lights.

Was his imagination running away with him? He’d stayed here alone many times over the years, for weeks on end. He wasn’t the nervous type, had never had a single problem with an intruder.

But he had one now. Another thump, toward the living room window, made his heart kick into overdrive. Hurrying downstairs as quietly as possible, he crossed to the phone in the alcove off the foyer, the one with the landline, picked it up, and punched 911, then laid down the receiver. He couldn’t hang around to talk to the dispatcher. He had to get out of the house.

Digging into his shorts, he palmed his cell phone, hands shaking. The noise was right in his path to the kitchen, where he’d laid the keys to his Porsche on the counter, and to the garage beyond. Which fucking way? If he ran out the front door, the closest escape, he’d be in the open without the relative safety and speed of his car.

Dammit, he’d have to try for the car. He inched through the foyer and peered into the living room. One lamp was on, providing a pool of soft light. He didn’t see anyone and decided to take the risk.

He hurried through the room and was halfway across when a man stepped casually from the dining room to block his path.

A goddamned big man, wearing a black ski mask and holding a billy club.

“Fuck!”

Liam spun and ran. Faster than he’d ever run, for the front door. The man huffed behind him, gaining. Just as his hand reached the knob, the club slammed into the back of his head with a sickening crack. Pain exploded in his brain and he fell, the man grabbing him. Throwing him to the tile, the cell phone skittering away.

Liam cried out and scrambled on his hands and knees, panic-stricken, trying to escape. But the brute was on him again, a knee in his back pinning him down. He grabbed Liam’s hair and smashed his head into the hard floor once. Twice.

Through a haze, Liam saw blood splattering on white marble. His blood. He fought, but the man had him down, delivering several blows to his back. Each one agony, radiating through his entire body.

“Please, stop! I have money! Please-”

“This isn’t about money,” the man growled. “It’s about teaching someone a lesson. Sorry, kid.”

“What? Why?”

The knee moved to his back, and a cord wrapped around his neck. Strong hands yanked backward, tightening the cord, digging into his throat. Cutting off his air.

Can’t breathe. Oh, God, no. Help me.

I don’t want to die.

Gazing across the tile, he saw the crimson pool widen around his head, spreading outward. Felt his body relax, weightless, the pain fading.

Then his vision faded, too. Soft blackness enveloped him, carried him away from the horror. Away from the murderer, the pounding, someone yelling the word police.

Too late.

Jude.

Dev… Geneva…

Don’t forget me.

I love you.

Eleven

Lily and Jude were ushered into the Sinclairs’ living room, which Lily was amazed to find even more elegant than Jude’s. Done in sleek contemporary with plump white sofas and chairs, tons of glass, and priceless art, it was somewhat aloof for Lily’s taste. But it was no less mind-boggling.

The best feature was the huge glass see- through fireplace separating the living room from another room, perhaps a den or study. Too bad the weather was too warm to enjoy the ambience.

Devon lit a few candles instead, bathing the room in a seductive glow, then walked to the wide wet bar. “Nightcap, anyone?”

“Chardonnay for me, darling.” Geneva kicked off her heels and lowered herself to one of the sofas. “Jude, come sit with me and get comfortable.”

Using his cane, Jude joined her, obviously familiar with their layout, yet moving carefully, as though he hadn’t visited in a while. “Bourbon and Coke for me.”

“I’ll have the same as Geneva.” Lily parked on the smaller sofa that was positioned to form an L shape with the other, a square glass coffee table in the center.

While Devon prepared the drinks, Lily watched, fascinated, as Geneva curled against Jude, already making her move. The other woman began to loosen his tie, kissing his jaw.

“You’re entirely too dressed, handsome.”

“Not for long if you have your way, I’ll bet.” One of his arms went around her, skimming her spine through the thin material of her dress.

“You know me well. We’ve missed you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

She slid the tie from around his neck and tossed it to the coffee table. His jacket went next, which she draped over the arm of the sofa. Then she started on the buttons of his shirt.

Devon placed the two glasses of wine on the table, his lips tilting up. “The poor man just arrived and you’re already devouring him?”

“I’m hungry for dessert,” she said, parting Jude’s shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. She rubbed his chest, plucked at his nipples. When she reached for the buckle on his pants, he made a sound of approval and relaxed, spreading for her.

Lily was mesmerized, hardly aware of Devon returning with the bourbon and colas and settling beside her. A muscular arm went around Lily’s shoulders, his breath hot on her neck.

“Have you seen Jude fuck another woman?” he asked softly, kissing the shell of her ear.

“Yes, one of his models in his suite.” She shivered, knowing she’d just admitted to spying on Jude. But from his groan of approval, he didn’t mind. Then again, Jude had practically invited her to watch.

“And how did that make you feel, pretty Lily?”

“I-I burned. It made me…” God, she couldn’t think.

“Wet?” Devon unbuttoned her blouse slowly. “Did it make your pussy ache, your body long to be with them?”

“Yes.” Her blouse parted, and he cupped one of her breasts, grazing the nipple with his thumb.

“Watch them, Lily,” he murmured. “See how explosive they are together. It’s liberating, isn’t it, being a part of Jude’s world? Your every wicked fantasy will be realized, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

While Devon played with her nipples, Geneva lifted Jude’s cock and balls from his pants. The redhead pulled the pants off his hips and down his legs as he sat exposed, acquiescent to her wishes. His heavy genitals plumped on the sofa, his erection stiff, the whole package making an exclamation point.