He knew himself too well. Knew too well the fantasies that he jacked off to where this woman was concerned.

She shivered in his grip, a little moan leaving her lips as they pressed to the hard flesh between the opened edges of his shirt.

The little straps of her dress gave way to his lips as they moved along her shoulder. They slid aside, fell down the rounded slope of her upper arm, and left all that lush flesh completely free of obstacles.

“What you want isn’t what scares me. I’m not a child.” It was the fact that it was all he wanted from her that broke her heart.

Her fingers were pulling at the shirt, dragging it from where he’d tucked it beneath the band of his jeans, anyway. The need to touch him, to feel the heat of his body, an impulse she couldn’t deny herself.

“You’re a baby,” he groaned. “I should be shot.”

But that didn’t keep him from caressing the smooth, exposed flesh of her upper back with one hand or from gripping the curve of her ass as he moved her against his thigh.

“Oh god, Graham, please,” she whispered as she breathed out, the plea that filled the sound nearly breaking the chains holding his determination not to take her in this damned place.

He knew what she ached for.

He knew what she hungered for.

What he was dying for.

First.

The kiss their lips ached for.

Those pretty lips beneath his parted, surprise tightening her against him, perhaps a hint of shock . . .

Because he wouldn’t be able to take her kiss any more easily than he’d be able to take her innocence.

“Get away from me, Lyrica,” he groaned even as he lifted her, parted her thighs, and drove the hard wedge of his cock into the vee. “God, get away from me before I destroy us both.”

Guiding her knees up to grip his hips, he slid his palms up her thighs to cup each curve of her rounded ass and hold her in place as he thrust against her.

“Get away from you?” she gasped as his lips moved along her neck to the rise of her breasts as they lifted above the rounded cups of her dress. “I’ve tried. I swear, I tried so hard . . . And all I’ve wanted is to be right here again.”

Every muscle in his body tightened at the admission. His hips jerked, grinding against the intimate flesh between her thighs. He was so desperate for her now that he couldn’t imagine not having her, not taking her.

Now.

Dawg would kill him. He’d already sent Graham the message that fooling with his little sister was a dangerous endeavor when he’d learned Graham was still looking into the attack on her.

And Graham tried, not because of the threat, but because of Lyrica. Because she was too sweet, too innocent for him.

But he’d already tasted her, more than once. He had the hunger for more buried so deep in his senses that he couldn’t rid himself of it.

He had to taste her again.

Tangling the fingers of one hand in the back of her long black hair, he dragged her head back again as her fingers gripped his biceps. Nails dug into his flesh as her lips parted, the emerald fire of her gaze gleaming back at him.

His favorite color.

Lyrica emeralds. Staring into her eyes, he swore he could feel something in his chest tightening, burning as though trying to dig its way out. Some feeling, some emotion tied so closely to the hunger he felt for her that he knew he should be pushing it back . . . Then the door to the living area opened slowly.

Graham froze.

The silhouette standing in the entrance, the broad, tense power and aura of determined male protectiveness, was all too familiar.

“Graham.” His voice low, harsh with disapproval, Natches remained at the doorway. For the moment. “Let her go.”

“Natches, don’t . . .” The desperation, the pain in Lyrica’s voice tore at Graham’s heart.

“Shush, Lyrica,” Graham commanded her, his voice firm. “I knew better. We both know I did. This should have never happened.”

Her gaze swung back to him, anger filling her eyes as outrage flashed across her face.

“Damn you, Graham,” she spat out furiously. “Damn all of you.”

Before he could guess her intent, her fingers were clenched in his hair, her lips on his, the heat, hunger, and fury in the press of her lips doing nothing to hide her innocence, or her pain.

It did nothing to aid his self-control.

The taste of cherry heat . . .

A hint of beer . . .

A fiery arousal burning out of control, desperate, filled with fantasies, with uncontrolled need and a woman’s fury.

And he wanted more.

He wanted all of her.

His tongue parted his lips as he tasted her, felt hers meeting it, dueling with it as he wrapped both arms around her, no longer caring who the hell watched.

“Lyrica, Dawg will be here in about two minutes flat,” Natches snapped. “Do you really want him to have to see this?”

The cry that tore from her lips shattered Graham.

“When Dawg shows up, I won’t let her run, Graham. She can watch the two of you argue over her presence at a fucking orgy with a man he calls a friend.”

Graham jerked his head back, broke the possession of her lips, and quickly released her as he forced himself to step back.

He almost reached for her again as she swayed before him, her gaze filled with betrayal gleaming in those emerald eyes.

The first tear fell as she stiffened, pushed past him, and all but ran from the room. Moving past her cousin, she disappeared from sight, her fury the last sight he had of her.

Natches stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Rowdy’s waiting in the hall for her,” he told Graham, amusement edging his voice.

Graham watched as Natches advanced into the shadows of the room until he was standing no more than five feet from him. Tense, prepared for a possible fight ahead, Graham watched the other man carefully.

“I don’t want the warning or the fight,” Graham growled. “But I won’t back down from it, either.”

Natches grinned as his deep green eyes, so like Lyrica’s, gleamed with mockery.

“There are easier ways to die, Graham,” Natches informed him. “You’re too hard for her. Too damaged. She deserves a man without the baggage you carry.”

But what if Lyrica eased that hardness? What if she stilled the nightmares when nothing or no one had been able to?

That thought had disgust filling him. Easing the horror of his life, of his past, wasn’t her responsibility. It was his nightmare to carry, not hers to ease.

Natches pushed his fingers wearily through his hair as Graham continued to glare back at him.

“What if that were your sister, Graham, with me?”

“I’d kill you,” Graham assured him. “You’re married and old enough to be her father.”

“Graham . . .” The mocking chastisement was obvious as Natches crossed his arms over his chest in an obvious effort to contain his fists.

“Do you think I haven’t already considered all this?” Graham snapped out, running his fingers through his hair and turning away to pace to the wide bank of windows along the wall.

Looking down, he stared out at the darkened lake, his mind in turmoil as he fought against the need to follow after Lyrica rather than remain there with her asshole cousin.

“You’ll break her, Graham,” Natches stated then. “She doesn’t deserve it and it will only add to your nightmares.”

He knew that, too.

“I have no desire to hurt her.” He turned slowly to face one of the most dangerous men he knew. “But I won’t see her hurt, either. We both know that report is bullshit. By god, I was there for her when no one else was. I saved her ass, and I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by while some son of a bitch finishes the job.”

Before he could anticipate the move, Natches’s fist flew out with what felt like a cement two-by-four plowing into the side of his face. Graham stumbled back, only barely managing to keep from landing flat on his ass.