And there just had to be video, didn’t there?
Pulling up the file texted to his smartphone, Graham tapped the icon and waited the second or so it took to download.
He should have let it be, he thought, swallowing tightly as it came up. Because Lyrica was definitely burning.
So damned hot she made his fingers burn to touch her.
The music was a hard country tune, fast and rhythmic, and it played perfectly to her ability to move like the erotic fantasy she was.
And she was moving.
Laughing, her gaze centered on the redneck bastard dancing with her, she held the longneck bottle of beer comfortably in one hand as the other curled over her head. She moved with gut-clenching, erotic grace, hips swaying, the tops of her pretty breasts sheened with perspiration, her long, straight black hair flowing to the middle of her shoulder blades.
Then the son of a bitch dancing with her reached out to clasp her hips—
And she let him pull her to him. Laughing, her emerald green eyes gleamed with latent fire before she moved back to tease further with the sensual gyrations of her seductive body.
“Fuck me!” The snarl tore from his lips before he could hold it back. “I’m going to paddle her ass!”
He tried to push back the thought of what he intended to do to it after he watched it blush a pretty pink, for branding his senses. But the fantasy was still there. Just as it was every day, every night, every time he breathed.
Exiting the vehicle, he slammed the door shut, listened for the automatic door lock, then strode quickly toward the house.
She was going to make him insane—that was all there was to it. After the night of the blizzard, after tasting her, there had been no peace for him. He had a taste for her now, one he couldn’t get out of his senses or make himself forget.
And that was pissing him off.
This wasn’t the time. The wrong time in his life, the wrong time for his heart, the wrong time for his soul. It was simply the wrong damned time for this. He’d always known Lyrica could get under his skin, get beneath his defenses, but he’d never imagined she’d get in this deep. That she would weaken him at a time when he had no choice but to be strong.
As he entered the house and made his way purposefully to the patio, his jaw clenched with the anger that thought brought.
A chorus of boos met his appearance and he knew his reason for being there was expected. Just as they weren’t for the Mackays, parties weren’t his style. If he was going to get crazy with a woman, then he was going to get crazy without witnesses.
The sound of disappointed calls had the tempting motions of Lyrica’s delicately rounded body stilling as she turned to him.
Immediately her eyes narrowed, and before he could reach her she lifted that damned beer to her lips and finished the drink in seconds, before he could take it from her. Not that he would have. That was her brother’s prerogative, not his.
“Ready to go?” he snapped, glancing at the bottle with an air of disgust.
“Not really.” Her brows arched as a mocking smile shaped her lips. “You ready to leave without me?”
He grunted at that. The question was so preposterous it didn’t deserve an answer.
“You walking out or do I have to drag you out?” He sighed.
Damn, he really hoped she was walking . . .
She laughed at the question. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Evidently, laughter was contagious. At least, hers was, because the curious crowd twittered with her.
Hell, he could read that look in her eyes—she was going to make damned certain this was as difficult as possible.
Breathing out in exasperation, he flicked a glance at her clothing and considered his options as everyone waited and watched.
She looked damned good, he had to say that for her.
Five feet, four inches tall, her three-inch heels pushed her to five-seven. She wore jeans that licked over every inch of skin from just below her hips until they disappeared beneath the dark brown leather boots that ended just above her knees.