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He had savage features with a thin, deadly looking scar bisecting his cheek and running into the closely cropped beard he wore. His brows were lowered, a scowl pulling at his expression as he glared at her.
She should have been embarrassed. She was lying there with her gown nearly showing the fact that she wore no panties beneath it; her robe gaped open; and instead of hurrying to cover herself, she just grinned up at him.
“Still the overprotective big brother with Kye?” she asked, her heart suddenly racing in excitement as she felt her thighs tighten at the ache centered between them. Sometimes she just hated her body’s response to him.
“Something like that,” the answer came as his gaze drifted down her body before jerking back to her eyes. Have mercy. He was staring at her the way Dawg stared at his wife, Christa.
“Little sister can’t stay a virgin forever.” She winked up at him. “At least, that’s what I keep telling my big brother.”
The look in his eyes and the expression on his face had heat suddenly flooding her body. Graham rarely looked at her with the full strength of that dark hunger that lurked in his gaze. Sometimes she caught a glimmer of it, but never had she felt the full force of all that sensual, erotic hunger.
She was feeling the full force of it now.
She licked her lips nervously, stilling as his jaw tightened and his fingers gripped the back of the couch as though to keep himself from reaching out for her.
Did she really want to be his flavor of the month?
Was there a chance she could be something more?
“What the hell are you doing here?” Moving around the couch, he strode to the fire to grab the poker and prod the burning wood viciously before grabbing more logs and tossing them to the flames.
Freed from the sensual spell that his look had wrapped around her, Lyrica moved slowly into a sitting position that ensured her gown fell down her thighs a bit and pulled the robe tighter around her.
Propping her elbow on her knee, she rested her chin on her palm and watched him.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, leaving his upper body bare. The firelight reflected off the bronzed flesh and rippling muscles beneath. He looked like a warrior, a noble savage just in from the battlefield.
The light dusting of chest hair hid the fine, spiderwebbed scarring she knew his chest held from the wounds that had sent him home the year before on a medical discharge. Though, Kye seemed to think there was more involved than just those wounds.
Snug jeans cupped a manly, sexy-as-hell ass and emphasized the hard, flat planes of his abdomen while . . . Oh, sweet mercy—
He turned to face her fully.
Those jeans did nothing to hide the heavy erection beneath as the broad shaft pressed demandingly against the denim. It rose high enough beneath the material that she wondered if she could catch a glimpse of it if he moved just right, beneath the low rise of his jeans.
Her mouth dried out, then watered quickly at the thought. Flicking her tongue over her lips to moisten them as she swallowed tightly, her gaze was suddenly caught by his again. And what she saw there had her heart threatening to strangle her it was beating so hard.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he growled.
“You weren’t supposed to be here,” she retorted breathlessly as he stood by the fire, watching her with narrowed, hungry eyes. “I didn’t hear you drive in.”
And she would have heard him. As heavy and deep as the snow was outside, there was no way he could have slipped in.
“I never left,” he informed her, scowling. “Only a moron would have ventured out today knowing this was coming.”
“Well now, doesn’t that put me in my place?” she murmured, amused at the veiled insult, though she held back the fact that Kye had sworn he was gone.
His lips thinned at the comment, the dark amber of his eyes gleaming harshly between narrowed lashes.
“I’ll get the snowmobile out and take you to Dawg’s.” He all but demanded she leave with that offer. “His place isn’t far from here.”
She wasn’t about to go anywhere unless he physically dragged her out of the house. Not now. Not with this tension whipping through the air and the sudden, heated certainty that she had no intention of ignoring whatever it was that flared between them so often.
Lyrica Mackay as Graham Brock’s new flavor of the month? Her brother, Dawg, would have a stroke when he heard that one.
“If I wanted to get out in the snow, Graham, I would have let Dawg do just that earlier. It’s beautiful to watch, but I’m really not into being out in it,” she informed him archly. Her gaze drifted to his bare chest again, loving the way the firelight played against the mat of hair at his chest. It looked like burnished gold, warm and inviting.
She was pathetic.
