Kye grimaced, her gray eyes darker than normal, her expression filled with mutiny. “Look, I knew when you first accepted my invitations to the afternoon pool parties and girls’ days out that you were hoping to see Graham.” She propped one hand on her denim-covered hip and brushed her long bangs back with the other. “But I thought we had things in common other than him. We’re good friends, aren’t we, Lyrica?”

There was a shadow of uncertainty in her gaze.

“We are good friends, Kye,” Lyrica agreed as she stepped to the other girl and gave her a quick, firm hug. “Despite the fact that you’re Graham’s sister. But Kye, if I have to hear about one more VS bra from those other dimwits you run around with, then I’m going to scream.”

“You and me both,” Kye agreed.

Well, at least she hadn’t lost her friend. And she hadn’t lost Graham, she reminded herself. He had never been hers to begin with.

For the next hour, the conversation centered on the investigation and resulting death of the other young woman. Lyrica was still torn, uncertain, and though she didn’t admit it to Kye, she was still scared.

When Kye rose to leave, Lyrica stepped outside to her patio, noticing her friend’s sudden nervousness as she glanced to the spare parking spot, where Graham’s tan pickup had just pulled in.

Nothing else existed as Lyrica’s eyes met his across the short distance.

Adrenaline.

There it was.

It was racing through her system, pounding through her heart and flushing her entire system with heated hunger. Her nipples hardened; her clitoris swelled and reminded her of the sweet release it now craved like a drug addict craved the next fix.

—

Graham felt trapped by the memories. The feel of her saturated intimate flesh parting at the touch of his tongue. The slick essence of her sweet juices spilling to his lips as he sat beneath her and feasted on her need for him.

It had been two lousy, miserable weeks since she’d been taken from him. Since he’d felt a sweet fire he’d never experienced with any other woman.

Why was that?

Why hadn’t he ever felt the hunger and need for another as he did for Lyrica? She wasn’t experienced. She was far too innocent, far too delicate. His women were usually more statuesque, better able to meet and participate in the sexual games he preferred.

Games that would no doubt shock the hell out of her. He’d already shocked her. He’d sent her running from him. She could use whatever excuse she needed to, but it was fear that had her pulling back from him.

It had to be.

Love couldn’t exist for him. Lyrica was letting herself be fooled by it. Sexual intensity, uncertainty, and fear combined, creating a response she was inventing excuses to avoid until she could handle it.

So what was his excuse?

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He couldn’t stop hungering for her. The hunger was like an addiction, one he couldn’t get a fix for without Lyrica.

The door opened and Kye climbed into the truck, closing the door behind her slowly.

Graham had to force himself to slide the truck into reverse. He didn’t tear his gaze from Lyrica until he had no other choice, until he couldn’t do anything but check to ensure he wasn’t hitting anything.

Or anyone.

Mistaken identity.

He couldn’t get the results of the investigation out of his mind. The details of the file were burned into his brain. He couldn’t forget it, not a detail of it.

That was not a case of mistaken identity. Professionals that well prepared with the advanced electronics they used did not make those kinds of mistakes. And no doubt the Mackays were well aware of it, because Lyrica had a shadow watching her.

The mistaken identity conclusion could be made plausible. If Graham had been any other man, he might have suspected it could be true. But he wasn’t any other man. He was damned suspicious. He didn’t believe in coincidences. And he sure as hell didn’t believe in fairy tales.

That fucking “mistaken identity” claptrap was a fairy tale and nothing more.

“She’s scared,” Kye said softly as he turned the corner and headed to the end of the street.

Of course she was scared. Lyrica wasn’t a moron, and neither was Dawg or his cousins. But in the absence of an answer, or even a solid shadow of a threat, after two weeks, they couldn’t keep her hidden any longer.

“I know she is,” he answered.

He’d seen it in her eyes, in her face. In the way she couldn’t break his gaze and held on to him until he’d forced himself to look away.

She hadn’t been that scared at the house while she had been in his care. Her expression hadn’t been drawn, her eyes hadn’t been shadowed with that same fear.

“Graham, what are you going to do?” Turning in her seat, Kye faced him demandingly now. “You can’t just leave her there.”

He shot her an amazed glance before focusing on the road once again.

“She has a brother, two cousins, a brother-in-law, a future brother-in-law, and myriad friends and other relatives, Kye. They showed me the fucking door and politely asked me to keep my nose the fuck out of it.”

“And you started listening to morons when?” she demanded loudly, her expression belligerent. “That’s my best friend, Graham. You have to do something.”

“Like what, Kye?” he demanded as the truck came to a hard stop at the light.

Turning his head he glared back at her, furious with her as well as himself, the Mackays, and Lyrica.

“What do you want me to do, Kyleene?” he asked her again, the hard rasp of his voice causing her shoulders to tighten in reaction as she stared away from him.

“I don’t have the answers either, dammit. So stop yelling at me.”

The light turned green. Graham accelerated through the intersection.

Kye remained quiet, her very silence a warning that she was thinking too damned hard. All he could do was wait. With Kye, there was no rushing her.

They were nearly at the edge of town before she shifted around once again to stare at him. And he didn’t like the look. His one brief glance at it assured him that his sister really was thinking too damned hard.

“I have an idea,” she stated serenely.

“Kye, look, let the Mackays handle this for now. If I think she needs my help then I’ll step in and take care of it. Agreed?”

“No, that isn’t agreed.”

Fuck.

He glanced at her again.

One knee was bent and resting on the seat as she turned toward him. She’d propped her elbow against the seat back while pushing her fingers through the side of her hair.

Classic devil child pose, he thought fondly even as he braced himself for what was coming.

“Hurry and get it the hell over with,” he growled. “I can see the wheels turning, Kye, but I don’t know how the hell you can come up with an answer that I haven’t.”

“But you have, Graham,” she said softly.

He frowned, not just at the tone of her voice but at the statement she’d made.

“Did I?” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “And when did I do that?”

“Last winter when bimbo number eight nearly caught you making out with Lyrica in the living room during the blizzard. Take Lyrica as a lover and she’ll be with you safe and sound until you and Elijah can figure out what’s going on.”

He blinked.

Damn, was that sweat he could feel popping out on his brow?

And why didn’t it completely offend him that his sister had suggested he do such a thing just to protect her best friend?

“Uh, Kye?” And how the hell had she known what had nearly happened on that couch?

“I actually made it into the room without either of you realizing I was there. Except I turned around and left as soon as I realized it was you and Lyrica.” Her expression was far too serious now, far too intent. “Don’t tell me you don’t want her. And I know she wants you. She always has.”