With that, she pushed herself from the car, closed the door all too gently behind her, then strode across the sidewalk to her patio door as though she were out for a midnight stroll. As though her body wasn’t burning for him. As though her need to return to him wasn’t just as high, just as imperative as his need to have her return.
In the end, it was far better she didn’t, because Graham knew he would destroy them both with his lust for her. And hurting her was something he didn’t want. He wanted that even less than he wanted to repeat the mistakes of the past.
THREE
June
As the elevator reached the fourth floor of the small hotel, Lyrica Mackay expelled a weary breath and wished she’d asked someone to make this trip with her.
Kye would have been the obvious choice, but Lyrica was trying desperately to stay away from the Brock house after her last confrontation with Graham. Her emotions were still too ragged, her body still too determined to remember every second of every touch he had whispered across her body.
Those memories tortured her, tormented her, and there was nothing she could do to hold them back.
The muted ping of the elevator reaching her floor sounded, forcing back her memories as the door slid open. What caused her to pause, she would never understand, couldn’t explain. Why she placed her hand on the elevator door to hold it open, she never questioned.
Her body tense, she stared up the long corridor to her room. Her gaze locked on her hotel room door, her senses heightening, certain her door was open.
It shouldn’t be open.
She remembered closing it securely when she left. She’d put out the Do Not Disturb sign, too. There was no reason for housekeeping to be there.
There was a strange sense of disbelief filling her. It sent adrenaline rushing through her system, a warning prickle of danger burning through her mind as she tried to tell herself to move. She should go directly to the lobby and complain.
No one had been at the registration desk when she’d arrived though. She’d considered stopping and requesting a cup of the coffee that smelled freshly made behind the receptionist’s counter. She’d even paused and looked around for the young man who had been there earlier, wondering where he had gone.
As she stood there, one hand still braced on the open elevator door out of instinct and the other tightening on her purse strap, a figure moved in the doorway.
Disbelief held her still and silent as their eyes met across the long distance. Dressed in black, masked, a handgun held firmly in his hand, the man’s gaze narrowed on her.
His black shirt fit snugly. He wasn’t in great shape, but overpowering her would be easy. He was taller, his legs longer. He could outrun her.
His arm came up slowly, a smile pulling at his lips as triumph gleamed in his eyes.
Instinct lent strength. Jumping back and hitting the door close button of the elevator, she was suddenly thankful for whatever urge had kept her hand on the elevator door. It closed quickly, moving swiftly back to the lobby as she began to pray.
Seconds later she pushed through the doors as they opened and raced into the lobby, searching desperately for the still-absent receptionist.
She didn’t dare wait. There wasn’t time.
Running through the doors, she considered the parking garage where her Jeep was parked, but knew that would be the first place her would-be assassin would look.
Assassin.
Who would want to kill her?
Running down the sidewalk, pushing herself to move faster than she ever had, Lyrica turned up the alley and began running through the dark shadows that lay over the backstreets. She didn’t know London, Kentucky, well enough. She only came there occasionally. She usually shopped in Louisville.
God, she had to find someplace to hide. She had to find a chance to call her cousin’s husband, the chief of police in Somerset. Alex would send someone after her. He would call someone he knew in London and make sure she was safe.
She couldn’t hear anyone behind her, but she knew how little that meant. She didn’t dare pause or slow down. She didn’t dare let herself believe she was safe. Turning at the next shadowed corner, she kept running, trying desperately to be quiet, grateful she’d worn sneakers rather than the low heels she’d considered.
Why was she being chased? Who would want to hurt her?
Unless . . .
Someone had targeted her older sister two years before. Eve had been placed in danger because of Dawg’s enemies. Had they returned?
They couldn’t have. Dawg was certain they were dead.