Nauti Enchantress by Lora Leigh
Lyrica shook her head. Natches had never done things the easy way, she knew.
“Anyway.” Rising, he sat beside her, and Lyrica didn’t even question why she was turning to him, letting him draw her into his arms and against his chest.
He kissed the top of her head gently.
“So, here I am, about three days drunk, reeking of booze and probably my own b.o. My motorcycle was totaled, handlebars bent to hell and back, and this four-wheeler comes bouncing down that dirt track I was on. Seemed I’d done strayed onto Brock property, and Garrett Brock was real particular about having a Mackay around. He stared at me like I was scum, all distasteful and disgusted. And well, let’s just say I was spewing more F-bombs than social niceties that night.”
Someone gave a brief snort of laughter.
“So Garrett drags me to this pond, throws me in a time or two, laughing at all my Mackay rage, then drags me back out and pulls me back to his four-wheeler, where he starts pouring hot coffee down my throat. Seems he knew I was there before he started out from the house. Brought coffee, lots of it, a few sandwiches, and sat there with me till dawn while I poured out my itty-bitty heart.” He rubbed at her shoulder. Her back. “Then he proceeds to tell me how butt stupid I was for letting my woman out of my life. And how he hoped his son wasn’t too damned dumb to claim what was his when he finally met her. Then . . .” He paused, drew a deep breath, and lowered his voice. “Then, he made me swear on my honor, my life, my firstborn, and whatever else he could come up with that I might actually care anything about, that if his son did turn out that damned dumb, then I’d do what he was going to do. Put all my Mackay calculation and love of games into making sure his son smartened up and realized what he was losing. A week later, Chaya was back. He’d pulled a few strings, called some friends, and made sure I had another chance to make sure she never got away from me again.”
“I knew what you were doing,” she whispered when he paused. “I figured it out.”
He grunted, then whispered low enough that no one else could hear. “Don’t tell Zoey, ’kay? She’s still a work in progress.”
“He doesn’t love me, Natches,” she told him then.
This time, pure amused devilment filled the chuckle that sounded from him.
“Oh, Lyrica, sweetheart, that dumb-ass is so in love he doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground and doesn’t want to know the difference if it means losing you.”
Lifting her head, Lyrica pulled back, staring back at him, knowing not to hope. Knowing she didn’t dare hope.
“Now, whether or not he’s smart enough to realize it, we’ll see.” He sighed. “But I’m going to tell you what his father told me to tell the woman he loved if he acted that stupid. A message he wanted me to give her.”
“For me?” she whispered.
He nodded at that. “For you, sweetheart. Don’t give up on him, he said. Graham will always be strong, always be stubborn, and letting go of himself enough to take what he needs above all things won’t be easy. But if you have to, he said, tell him to remember what his mother told him before he left for the Marines.”
“What did she tell him?” She frowned back at him.
“Hell if I know,” he admitted with a grin. “But now, Mary was a smart one, don’t think she wasn’t. Knew what she wanted the first time she saw Garrett Brock, and even Mackay charm couldn’t sway her. So whatever it was, remind him of it.”
“If he wakes up,” she whispered.
“He’ll wake up,” he promised her. “If he’s Garrett Brock’s son, and trust me, he is, then he’ll wake up.”
The operating room doors swung open and the surgeon, accompanied by Graham’s doctor, stepped into the waiting room.
Lyrica came quickly to her feet, too afraid even to breathe as she felt Natches put his arm around her shoulder and her mother move beside her.
“Kyleene.” The surgeon nodded to Kye as she came to her feet as well, Sam Bryce standing beside her as Graham’s sister fought to stem her tears.
“He’s out of surgery and everything looks promising,” he announced. “It was touch-and-go a time or two, but he’s strong, and he wants to live . . .”
Kye turned to Lyrica, her smile brimming with hope as her tear-drenched eyes overflowed once again.
“I told you,” Kye whispered as she covered the short distance to give Lyrica a quick, hard hug. “I told you. He won’t leave us. He’ll not leave us.”
He was alive, that was all that mattered, Lyrica promised herself as she returned Kye’s hug and they stood together, listening to the surgeon as he described the injuries and Graham’s recovery.
He was alive. She could live with it if he wasn’t smart enough to love her. She could live with it if he loved another.
All that mattered was that he was alive.
TWENTY-FOUR
Four weeks later
The hard knock at the door of the inn’s suite Lyrica had moved into surprised her.
It was close to midnight, and the rain-drenched Kentucky night was filled with steamy heat and a loneliness unlike anything Lyrica had ever known.
She’d gotten used to sleeping with Graham. She missed him, even now, a month later. She would awaken in the deepest part of the night reaching for him, realize he wasn’t there, and lie until dawn, staring into the darkness.
Rising from the bed, she padded to the patio doors, pulled the curtain aside, and froze.
It couldn’t be.
Fumbling, her fingers suddenly refusing to cooperate properly, she fought to unlock the door and pull it open.
“I’m going to spank your pretty little ass,” Graham growled as he stalked into the bedroom, glaring at her, his expression filled with male irritation as he moved to the bed and sat down.
“What did I do this time?” Her hands went to her hips as she stared back at him, her gaze raking over him closely to make certain he was okay. “Aren’t you supposed to be home resting? Kye said the doctor ordered no exertion. You’re to stay in bed and rest until you’re healed.”
“Dammit, it’s been a month. How much fucking healing do you think I need?” Irritation flashed in his eyes.
“However much the doctor prescribed,” she snapped back, but once again, there was no heat.
“Undress.”
The order had her blinking back at him in amazement.
“What did you say?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly. Could she have?
He was unbuttoning his shirt, watching her broodingly until he shrugged it from his still-powerful shoulders while toeing off the leather sneakers he wore.
“I said, undress,” he growled.
“And I should do that, why?” Joy erupted inside her like a sun exploding from the fiery heat it contained.
Oh god, she’d missed him so desperately.
“So I can fuck you until you’re too damned exhausted to ever run from me again,” he snarled, hunger, need, and so many other emotions she’d prayed to see in his eyes during the weeks she’d been confined at his home filling his eyes. “Until some of that damned Mackay stubbornness you obviously possess is tamed just a fraction.”
“Won’t happen.” She was unbelting her robe, though, letting it slip from her shoulders before moving slowly to him.
Rising from the bed, he tore at the clasp of the khakis he wore, shedding them before she could reach him, his fingers curling around the stiff length of his cock.
“Probably not,” he agreed. “But let’s say I keep trying anyway.”
“Let’s say you do.”
He reached out, pulled her to him, his lips covering hers as a needy, hungry moan left her lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips parting beneath his, taking his kiss and the power of his need and returning it. His hands moved over her back, her sides. Gripping the material of her gown, he released her lips only long enough to relieve her of it, then he was sipping from them again, hunger and heat building with rapacious intensity between them once again.
Nudging at the entrance of her vagina, her slick heat flowing, coating the mushroomed head, he glared down at her.
“Run from me again and I’ll paddle your ass.”
She grinned back at him. “Are you trying to deter or convince me?”
His hips shifted. His cock impaled her until the heated width of the crest was lodged inside the snug, rippling tissue, causing devastating pleasure.
Lyrica cried out, pleasure so sharp it was almost pain tearing through her senses as she lifted to him.
“More,” she cried out, her fingers fisting in the blankets beneath her. “Oh god, Graham, please.”
He waited. He didn’t move, the heavy throb of his cock head tormenting her as she ached, whimpered for a deeper thrust.
Staring up at him, she watched as he leaned back, his eyes locked with hers, his expression gentling.
“I love you, Lyrica,” he whispered.
Her lips parted, shock, disbelief, pure happiness filling her where before only aching emptiness had existed.
“You love me?” she whispered.
Rocking against her, he tore another gasp from her lips as he pressed deeper, taking her slowly, raking across tender nerve endings and sending her senses flying.
“I love you, Lyrica,” he groaned. “God help me. I love you.”
There was no stopping either of them then. Pushing into her to the hilt, penetrating the slick, desperate depths of her pussy, Graham groaned in rising hunger, in a need that echoed clear to her soul.
Perspiration coated their skin and pleasure whipped around them, between them, tearing at the solitary moorings that once held them grounded and binding them together, mooring them to each other.
Deep, hungry kisses, whispered promises, pledges. He took her to the edge of rapture, pulled her back, and pushed her up once again.
His lips roamed to her breasts, suckling at sensitive nipples, sending slashing waves of heat and pleasure to race from the tender buds to the clenched depths of her vagina. His hands stroked, caressed. His body moved over her, inside her, until he tucked his head at the bend of her neck and began moving with hard, desperate thrusts, each thrust pushing her closer to a brink she raced for eagerly.
“Love me, Lyrica,” he groaned, his voice hoarse, filled with all the desperate, hungry emotion that had ached inside her for so long. “Just love me.”
Ecstasy ruptured inside her, blazing in such fiery eruptions of pleasure, joy, and melting bliss that she knew she would never, could never, be the same.
“I love you,” she gasped, writhing with the extremity of the explosions racing through her, the pleasure and emotion surging free of the depths of her soul. “Oh god, Graham. I love you.”
He stilled above her, groaning her name as she felt the heat and force of his release jetting hard and deep inside her, each pulse of semen another caress, another stroke of rapture racing across her nerve endings.
Until they were left, limp, ragged, exhausted. Weeks of lack of sleep, of searching separate beds for that single heartbeat, took their toll.
Rolling from her, Graham groaned at the weariness that poured through his body. He pulled her against his chest, tucked her close to him, then his hand moved to stroke and caress her still-slender belly.
“When were you going to tell me?” he asked then, his voice soft, curious.
She froze against him, almost holding her breath as he flattened his palm over their future children.
“What do you mean?”
He had to grin. He couldn’t be angry. He’d be damned if he could blame her.
“When, my love, were you going to tell me you were pregnant?”
He let her go as she pulled from him and sat up, turning to stare down at him as he watched her with such a surfeit of emotion that she felt humbled by it.
“How did you know?” she whispered, those emerald green eyes wide, surprised. “I just found out myself. I haven’t even told anyone.”
“I’ve known for a while,” he revealed, watching her face, seeing the fear that shadowed her eyes now. “Do you think I’m here because of it?” he growled. “Come on, Lyrica . . .”
“I just want to know how you knew.” She slapped back the hand that would have stroked over her thigh.
Graham grinned at the move, staring up at her, god, loving her.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” he suggested.
Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of deal?”
“Marry me, and I’ll tell you how I know we’re going to have twins. A little boy with a blend of Brock and Mackay looks, and a little girl who’s going to be the very image of her mother. If I have to listen to Natches crow over how much she looks like him, then I’m at least going to have a ring on your finger so he can’t influence them too much.”
She blinked.
Her lips parted, then closed.
“Twins?” She sounded as though she couldn’t breathe.
“Twins,” he promised. “Marry me, Lyrica. Don’t make me sleep alone, without you, again. Don’t let me go another day without you in my life.”
Tears filled her eyes then. A smile filled her face.
“Tell me how you know it’s twins.”
He chuckled wickedly. “Not until you say ‘I do’ . . .”
To which she smiled back at him knowingly. “I’ll say ‘I do,’ but only if you tell me what your mother told you before you left for the Marines.”
For a second, surprise glittered in his gaze before it softened. He reached out to brush back the strands of hair that lay at the side of her face.
“How bad do you want to know?” he chuckled then.
“Just tell me,” she groaned. “It’s been driving me crazy.”
His expression gentled then, fond memories reflecting in his eyes as he thought of his mother.
“She told me to make sure I came home safe, with my soul intact,” he said softly. “Because without the soul, the heart can’t survive. And if I didn’t understand what that meant, then I would understand the first time I stared into the eyes of the woman who would hold my heart. And she was right. That first summer I met you, Lyrica. Standing on that dock at the marina, staring at me with equal parts innocence and a woman’s knowledge, I felt you sink inside me like sunlight. But I knew even then, sweetheart, it wasn’t time. Not for me. Not for you. When the time came, I was just too stubborn, and too damned terrified of how much you meant to me, to realize it.”
“I always loved you, Graham,” she whispered. “I always will.”
“You’re my life.” And she saw it in his eyes, in his expression. “Without you, I’d never be complete.”
He would be in a world without color, alone, staring into a void.
With her, he was all he was meant to be.
He was meant to be hers.
EPILOGUE
August – One month later
Zoey Mackay sat at the edge of the water as the small waves lapped at the bank, mere inches from her bare feet. With her legs bent, her arms wrapped around them, her chin resting atop her knees, she watched as the sun began to descend along the top of the mountains surrounding her brother Dawg’s home.
She could hear the voices behind her, many raised in laughter as the Mackay family, relations, and friends came together. The family reunion grew every year. And it seemed to last longer every year as well.
Dawg’s sprawling backyard was filled. Tables laid out with every food imaginable, the smell of hot dogs grilling, the sound of children playing in the pool rather than romping in the shallow water close to the bank, echoed around her.
The pool was safer for the kids, Dawg had remarked.
Not to mention a hell of a lot cleaner.
It was the usual sounds of the Mackay yearly get-together, and once again, Zoey found herself on the outside lookin
She’d been on the outside looking in since they’d arrived in Somerset. Never quite comfortable. Never quite certain when her past would catch up with her, when it would destroy her life and hurt everyone she loved.
She’d tried, she thought. She’d tried to fix it, but the price had been far too high. She couldn’t fix one betrayal by creating another, could she? She couldn’t betray her brother, her cousins. Her sisters. That was the price of freedom, and realizing that she couldn’t pay that price was destroying her.
“Hey, munchkin. What are you doing out here by yourself?” The question came as bare feet stepped up beside her, the ragged edge of a pair of men’s jeans brushing against the sand.
“Nothing. Just watching the sun set.” She moved to get up.
“Please don’t, Zoey.” Dawg touched her shoulder as he moved to sit next to her, his larger body dwarfing hers. “Here, have a beer.”
He extended the chilled bottle as Zoey turned to him warily.
“Thank you.” Accepting the bottle, she turned back to the lake and took a sip before sitting it on the sand next to the nearly full beer her cousin Natches had given her earlier. That bottle was sitting next to the soft drink Rowdy had brought her.
What was up with all the drinks anyway?
“You know,” he sighed, long minutes later, “when you and your sisters first arrived at the marina, I had a second I wished Chandler was still breathing so I could kill him myself. Especially when I saw you. All that wariness and fear in your eyes . . .”
“Do we really need to go over this, Dawg?” She sighed. “We’re here, we’re safe. It’s over.”
That usually managed to get him to back off. At least for a few months.
“Yes we do, little girl, and by god, this time you can give me the courtesy of looking at me while I’m talking to you,” he ordered, his tone lowering, darkening, causing her to jerk around and stare at him in surprise.
This was not the gentle giant she was used to. Dawg never spoke sharply to his sisters. Ever.