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.