Her life wasn’t one of idle days and lazy nights. She worked three jobs in any given week: Dawg’s lumber store, the marina, and the restaurant Natches and his sister ran in Somerset, simply named Mackay’s.

She worked wherever she was needed most at the time or wherever her interest drew her on any given day. She didn’t just sit around, unless it was in front of her laptop writing. And writing wasn’t a vocation for her. It was an outlet for the hopes, dreams, and pains that she often found herself too sensitive to.

Freshly showered, her long black hair blow-dried to ribbon straightness and falling to the middle of her shoulders, Lyrica hurriedly dressed.

A white lace bra and matching panties, a fluttery chiffon skirt in soft pastel waves of color, and a white cotton camisole tank that fit over her breasts with snug appreciation for her curves before skimming over her stomach and disappearing into the thin band of the skirt. Pushing her feet into a pair of tan brown leather sandals, she left Graham’s bedroom and headed to the kitchen.

They had twenty-four more hours, she decided, to at least come up with a reasonable lead. After that, they were going to have to revise their plans just a little bit, because living like this . . . there was no way she could continue to do it for long.

Her heart wouldn’t survive it.

Stepping into the kitchen, she was surprised to see Graham sitting at the small breakfast table with his laptop, a steaming coffee sitting at his elbow.

His head lifted as she stepped into the kitchen, his golden brown eyes narrowing on her, the flecks of gold firing instantly as she paused at the doorway.

“You’re not in the office,” she observed as she moved to the coffeepot.

“Don’t appear to be, do I?” His tone was carefully modulated. Not a hint of mockery or sarcasm was to be found in his voice or his expression.

But she still felt it.

Tensing, she poured the coffee before cradling the cup in her hands and turning back to him.

“Do you have a problem with me being here all of a sudden?” she asked curiously, hiding the flash of pain that struck her at the thought.

“Did I say I had a problem with you being here?” A dark blond brow arched questioningly, and still there was no sign of the dark anger she could feel just beneath the surface.

“You wouldn’t say, whether you had one or not,” she felt the need to point out. “Other than sleeping with me, you’d take care of me the same way you’d expect my family to take care of Kye. I know you that well at least.”

Something flickered in his gaze then. An acknowledgment of her point, perhaps?

Lifting the cup to her lips to ensure she gave away as little of the pain the thought caused her as possible, Lyrica sipped at the coffee slowly.

“If I had a problem with you being here, then trust me, you wouldn’t be here,” he promised, his expression tightening as he turned his attention back to the laptop.

“You have me for twenty-four more hours,” she stated, her resolve hardening. “Then I’m calling Dawg.”

With that, she set the coffee cup on the counter and turned and walked from the room.

“Like hell.” He caught up with her before she cleared the kitchen doorway. Catching her arm in a firm grip, he had her swung around before she realized he’d even moved from the table. “What the fuck do you mean by that?” The gleam of gold in his gaze seemed to intensify as he pulled her to him, his powerful body tense, tight, and hard against her.

“Stop with the he-man bullshit, Graham,” she snapped, pulling away from his touch as quickly as possible. Even angry and hurt, she felt nothing but pleasure when his skin touched hers. “I don’t have time for it, and I don’t want to deal with it. Dawg has twenty-four hours to figure out what the hell is going on and how to fix it, or I’m leaving.”

His expression became so tight, so fierce, it bordered on savage. Lips thinning, the muscles at his jaw clenched tight, he glowered down at her with such dominant force that she almost backed down. It was as though some preprogrammed female part of her DNA instinctively reacted to the demand for submission.

“The hell you are. Do you think I’m busting my ass to figure this out so you can give me a deadline before waltzing out of here and making yourself a target? I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

She smiled back at him, making damned certain her smirk was identical to the one Natches was known for.

His eyes narrowed.

“Twenty-four hours,” she said again, calmly. “Then I’m leaving.”

“I’ll lock you in the fucking basement.” It was a promise.

“You could have been a Mackay,” she stated, her voice heavy with derision. “How long do you think it will take before Dawg finds out?”

“As long as it takes me to call him and tell him you’re trying to leave. About five minutes after I lock the door.”

She had to laugh. “You have to come back in at some point, Graham. Do you think I’ll actually let you leave alive?”

A frown jerked between his brows, outrage glittered in his eyes, and he was so tense, so prepared to lock her in that damned basement, that the power pumping into his muscles actually seemed to make his biceps appear larger.

“I’ll send Elijah in first,” he said.

The back door opened at that moment and Elijah stepped in, a questioning grin tugging at his handsome lips as he arched a dark brow over humor-filled blue eyes. “Send me where?”

In the same instant, he seemed to sense the tension filling the room as it whipped from both of them.

The door closed slowly behind him. “Should I leave?” His throat cleared uncomfortably as he remained by the door.

“Of course not, Elijah.” Lyrica grinned, stepping away from Graham and moving to the coffeepot. “I was just getting ready to make some fresh coffee before going upstairs and working on a new sales program I promised Dawg. Would you like a cup?”

Elijah’s gaze moved to Graham as the other man stomped back to the table and the open laptop.

“Is it safe?” he asked, the barest hint of mockery tugging at his lips.

“Unless she throws it at you,” Graham stated, his voice low as he threw another glare her way.

“She wouldn’t throw it at me.” Elijah gave a confident laugh. “She likes me. Don’tcha, Lyrica?”

“All the girls like you, Elijah,” she laughed as she threw him a smile over her shoulder. “Some much better than others.”

He winked. The charmer. “Yeah, they like my redneck charm,” he drawled. “Works every time.”

Lyrica only snorted before starting on making fresh coffee. Rinsing out her cup, she set it beside the coffeepot before turning back to the two men. Both were watching her closely.

Propping her hands on the counter behind her, she tilted her head inquiringly. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Graham murmured. “Not for a good twenty-four hours at least.”

“Not on my end.” Elijah grinned. “I just stepped in to let the boss know about his cows since he couldn’t get out there today. He’s particular about bovines, ya know?” He turned to Graham then. “What happens in twenty-four hours?”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” Graham answered tightly. “Now, tell me about my damned bovines.”

Bovine his ass, Graham thought in irritation. The cows were fine; he’d checked on them himself no more than two hours before. Elijah’s only job was monitoring those cameras and tracking anyone who came too close to the lake house.

Graham owned over five hundred acres, with the western corner butting against the lake and no neighbors for several miles. If anyone was out there, then it was Elijah’s job to identify and track them.

“You had a few strays.” Turning to Graham, Elijah’s gaze hardened while his voice remained easy, almost teasing. “This one little shit slipped away from me on the upper end of the lake, though. I’ll go out later and see if I can’t pick its trail up again.”