“I probably haven’t mentioned it to him,” he murmured, wondering how fast he could get his tongue down her throat and his fingers buried in her pussy if he pulled the car over to the side of the road somewhere.

She’d protest at first. He knew her. Contrary little minx that she was, she wouldn’t give in easily after the way they’d been interrupted during that snowstorm.

Chloe had been stuck at the house after he’d told her their affair was over. He hadn’t noticed the snow piling up until she’d mentioned it, after he’d informed her he was taking her home.

“Perhaps you should mention it to him,” Lyrica suggested. “Then he might take me seriously.”

“Hmm, I’d be opposed to warning him first if that’s what you intended to do,” he pointed out. The thought of tasting her again, feeling the tight warmth, and tasting the flow of sweet heat as his tongue rimmed the snug entrance had him a little distracted.

“You’d be opposed to warning him first?” The low, furious tone of her voice nearly had him grinning.

“Yeah, I would be,” he admitted. “He or Natches would feel the need to hit me. They still pack a mean punch, sweetheart. I’d at least like to experience what I’m getting my ass kicked for first.”

Like hell. There were nights—hell, every night after he lay down in bed—that he would gladly take an ass whipping for one more taste of her. Thankfully, he was stronger before and after those moments.

“I’m going to kick your ass for being a moron,” she stated, eyes narrowed, the emerald green almost neon as she glowered at him.

“Hmm, think that’s how it’ll go, do you?”

He didn’t agree.

Graham flicked another glance at her. That blouse she wore dipped low over the soft rise of her breasts before meeting to buttons between them. He could have it unbuttoned in a second or two, he guessed.

He could have one of those sweet nipples in his mouth again, his tongue licking over the hard little tip, each stroke, each tug of his mouth making her burn hotter . . .

“Where are we going, Graham? Because if you’re actually taking me to your house, I really will slip those dogs in on you.”

She would be too damned busy lying beneath him as he slipped into her, he thought.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, ignoring the threat.

“My apartment, Graham. Are you having trouble hearing tonight?”

He was having trouble keeping his mind out of her pants, and that was damned dangerous territory.

He didn’t answer the question, but increased the pressure on the accelerator of the Viper instead. He had to get her to that damned apartment. He could remember, think, and fantasize all he wanted, but he knew the hazards of actually taking what he wanted.

“Address,” he growled.

Since when did Dawg Mackay allow his sisters to move out on their own? That was damned dangerous. They were, after all, Mackays.

Lyrica gave him her address, watching him closely as she named the apartment complex the Mackay cousins had bought six months before. That explained it. She may have felt like she was on her own, but she was still beneath their eagle eye. At least, Graham was certain that was what Dawg told himself.

After giving him the address, she sat back in her seat, silent then. Graham kept waiting for another smart-ass comment or question, feeling like the anticipation of it would likely have him breaking a sweat soon.

“Why did you do that during the snowstorm?” Her voice was soft, the hint of vulnerability in it digging sharp claws into both his conscience as well as his temper.

He should have been prepared for the question.

Telling her he’d been helpless against the hunger that rose inside him wasn’t the wisest course of action, and he damned sure wasn’t going to take it.

“Is that why you’ve stopped coming to the house?” he asked rather than answering her. “Because of what happened?”

He glanced at her, aware of the steady look she had leveled on him, that quick little mind of hers working, gauging his response, his honesty.

Damn her. Damn her. She reminded him far too much of what he wanted only to forget.

“Answer me first.” There was a note of hurt in her tone, one that suggested she knew he was trying to avoid the question and was coming up with her own reasons for that.

Rubbing at the back of his neck for a second, Graham kept his expression clear, with no hint of a reaction. What the hell was he supposed to say anyway?

“What does it matter?” he finally asked her. “It was regrettable. I never should have touched you.”

He should have stayed in his room, because he had known she was there. He had known she would be there watching the snow. He’d sensed her in the house that evening, just as he always did.

He should have just spent the night fucking Chloe, despite the fact that their relationship, as well as his desire for her, was over. He could have done as he had been doing for months and let thoughts of touching Lyrica have their way while he fucked his “flavor of the month,” as she and Kye called his lovers.

Lyrica didn’t say anything more. Linking her fingers in her lap, she stared out the windshield, lips pursed, jaw tight, as the air around her seemed to hum with her anger.

Hell, he’d never seen her so pissed she was speechless.

That was almost scary.

As he drove past the city limits, Graham told himself that if he’d hurt her, he was sorry, and it was the last thing he’d wanted to do. But he was damned if he knew how to handle what she made him feel. And now was not the time to figure it out.

Pulling into the parking lot of the apartment complex, he parked the Viper in the slot marked with the apartment number she’d given him.

It was a ground-floor patio apartment. A privacy fence separated each side of her small yard from her neighbors’, while leaving the front onto the parking lot clear. Which made little sense to him, he admitted.

“Call Dawg,” he suggested as he put the vehicle in park and turned to look at her. “One of these days someone’s going to get hurt when they have to drag you or Zoey from a party. He’s been lucky so far.”

She rolled her eyes. “Every house owner on the lake knows if we show up to a party to let him know. As long as the parties aren’t getting wild then he lets it go.”

“This one was getting wild?” The thought of Lyrica being amid some of the depraved things that went on at the lake parties had conflicting emotions tearing through him. Fury and lust, just to start with.

“It would have.” She shrugged, unclipping her seat belt. “In another couple of hours the patio would have been empty and couples would have been doing the happy-happy in the shadows.” She waggled her brows suggestively.

“The happy-happy?” he muttered, wondering at the phrasing.

“The happy-happy,” she said, voice lowering, a sensual, hungry rasp to her voice. His entire body tensed in reaction.

His cock, already hard and throbbing in interest, gave a hard jerk, his balls tightening as she turned and gripped the dash and the back of his seat before lifting slowly toward him.

“You know, Graham,” she whispered, green eyes gleaming in need, in helpless hunger, “that feeling you get when you’re burning inside with the pleasure, certain the flames are going to consume you, drag you to a place where ecstasy fills every particle of your mind?” Her lips were a breath from his as he held her gaze, and he let himself sink inside the melting pleasure she described. “Tell me, did you find that place the night of the snowstorm after you left me? Did you use your bimbo to relieve the lust you teased me with?”

He was going to fuck her.

His jaw tensed, lust sweeping over him, consuming him as she knelt in the seat beside him, her upper body braced in front of him.

“Don’t make this mistake, Lyrica,” he warned her, one hand clenching the steering wheel, the other gripping her hip warningly. “Don’t think in your anger that you can make me pay for whatever slight you perceive.”