They were always damned good, too.

Not too big, no condiments or additions. Just thick hoagie rolls and a variety of thinly sliced meats. Who needed tomato and lettuce, she thought as she bit into one of the meaty selections.

Finishing the sandwich and her coffee, she wandered into the sunroom, the memory of lying on that nearest chaise lounge with Graham between her thighs sending a flush racing over her body.

Damn him. Threaten to lock her in the basement, would he? Oh, just let him try. She’d make damned sure he regretted it.

And of course, threatening to lock her away was far better than touching her, wasn’t it?

God, had she really wasted the past six years of her life? Because if he thought for one damned minute that he’d made up for six years of tortured arousal, then he’d best think again.

Yeah, she had wasted those years.

She was wasting her time now, she thought as she heard the back door open. She would have let him know she was there if she’d had a chance—she was turning to head back into the kitchen when Elijah’s comment stopped her in her tracks.

“She’s not Betts, Graham.” Elijah’s voice was heavy, filled with regret.

“I didn’t say she was,” Graham answered and Lyrica heard the sound of the fridge opening and closing.

“You should have stayed the hell away from her,” Elijah growled then, his voice harder, colder than she could have imagined possible. “Let her love—”

“An accountant, manager, or landscaper?” Graham gave a short, mocking bark of laughter. “Fuck you, Elijah. I told you this subject was finished. Now let it go.”

“Let Lyrica go, then,” the other man snapped back at him. “Stop hanging around her like some dark, tortured warrior. You’ve done just enough to keep that girl hanging on without giving her any part of yourself. Where’s the fairness in that?”

“Drop it, Elijah.” Graham’s voice was dangerously soft now.

“She’s . . . no more than a stand-in for her . . .” Elijah’s accusation sent a wave of agony ripping through Lyrica’s heart as she heard something heavy thump into the wall.

Probably Elijah.

Stepping to the doorway silently, she saw Elijah shoved into the wall, Graham’s forearm braced against his throat, his back tense, every muscle defined as he held the younger man firmly in place.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Grating, rasping with fury, Graham’s voice carried clearly to her.

“Don’t I?” Elijah bit out fiercely, doing nothing to fight back. “I might not know what happened or how it happened, but what I do know is that she and Lyrica resemble each other enough that it’d be damned easy for you to pretend—”

“Don’t make me kill you, Elijah. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about and repeating that crap will only hurt Lyrica.”

“Why do you care?” Elijah’s lips drew back furiously, though still he did nothing to fight back. “You don’t intend to keep her. You just intend to fuck a little pain out of your system before you send her back home to her brother. Tell me, Graham, did you call her name when you were—”

“No!” Lyrica jumped forward as Graham’s fist drew back, the power bunching in his shoulder and arm a clear indication that Elijah was about to be on the receiving end of something Graham would never be able to take back.

“Let him go,” she whispered as the two men froze.

Elijah’s gaze was filled with regret, but purpose. Jerking his head around, Graham’s gaze was so razor sharp it sliced into her soul as it locked onto hers.

Endless, bitter fury seemed to reflect in his eyes now. For the first time she was seeing the soul of the man, and the bleak misery there had her flinching at the pain of it.

His pain.

And now hers. Because now she knew she truly was no more than his latest “flavor,” and she couldn’t even hate him for it, because she’d known. She’d known all along that she would never be more than that.

Slowly, Graham moved back, his fingers flexing as the muscles at his jaw clenched violently.

“Get out!” He snarled, turning on Elijah with the promise of certain violence. “Now!”

Elijah gave a hard, disgusted twist of his lips before turning, gripping the door, and slamming out of the kitchen and onto the back porch.

Graham swung back around, the gold in his eyes brilliant now as he watched her for several long, tense moments.

“Eavesdropping doesn’t become you, Lyrica,” he stated furiously.

“Yeah, and it’s true what they say, eavesdroppers hear nothing good of themselves, right?”

“Fuck!” A hard grimace tightened his face as he raked his fingers furiously through his hair. “I would have never let you hear that bullshit.” He glared back at her as his arms dropped to his sides once again. “And that’s what it was, fucking bullshit.”

It was more. She could see it in his eyes, in the furious pain burning in the golden depths.

“I didn’t mean to overhear.” She swallowed tightly. “It all happened so fast.”

Lifting her hand, she dropped it to her side again helplessly.

If it was bullshit, he would explain, right?

She waited, watching him, knowing with every shuddering beat of her heart that he wasn’t going to explain a damned thing. Because to explain it would mean admitting it wasn’t bullshit, she thought painfully. Admitting that she was no more than a stand-in for another woman.

What was she supposed to do now? What was she supposed to say?

She looked away for a long moment, the shadows that filled the room from the tightly closed windows and the curtains pulled over them sinking into her heart.

When she turned back to him, she couldn’t help the trembling of her lips or the pain that lashed at her heart.

“Did you think of her when you were with me?” she whispered, unable to stop the words before they escaped. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I asked that.” She tried to laugh, but the sound was bitter and filled with self-disgust as she held up a hand in a staying motion as he started to speak. “I don’t even want to know. I don’t even think I can bear to know either fucking way.”

He shook his head, breathing out roughly, but he refused to say anything, refused to explain a damned thing.

“Does Kye know?” she asked painfully, her heart racing so hard, pounding in agony at her chest.

“There’s nothing to fucking know, Lyrica,” he bit out, his voice rough. “For god’s sake, what you heard was Elijah’s perception of one fucking comment made long before this summer. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about and he has no idea how close he is to getting his fucking ass kicked for hurting you like this.”

Hurt? This wasn’t hurt. It was agony. Because what he was saying felt true, but she could also feel the lie.

“Who is Betts?”

He flinched as though she’d struck him.

That was all the truth she needed to see.

She rushed past him, unable to stand there any longer, unable to face him or the tears she could feel burning in her chest.

Even as she ran, she expected him to stop her. She expected to feel his arms coming around her and pulling her back into the heat of his hard body. She didn’t. As she rushed out the door, she paused long enough to glance back at him. He stood where he had been before she moved, appearing to stare at the spot where she’d stood. Still, silent, and just as alone as he wanted to be.

SIXTEEN

“This is Natches. Leave me a message if you have to.”

Natches’s voice message usually managed to make her smile, but this time, she couldn’t seem to make the effort.