Risky and Wild(62)

I swing my boots onto the floor and lean forward to take the coffee mug in my hands. There are so many things I want to say right now. I want to tell her that I know she's different, that she'll never be a club wife like Janae. Lyric isn't like Janae at all. She's not background music; she's a symphony.

Instead, I stare into the darkness of the coffee and tap the toe of my boot against the wood floor.

Shit.

I have absolutely zero experience with this kind of thing. I let my gaze flick up to Lyric's and find her staring at me. I can hear her words from yesterday ringing in my head. “You want me to drop everything, my whole life … just to be your girlfriend?”

Phrased like that … fuck. That was essentially what I was saying, wasn't it?

“We're having the shoot just outside the office. Come pay me a visit?”

She doesn't answer me as I reach inside my cut and draw out my Ruger, laying it on the coffee table next to my mug.

“I can't take that—” Lyric starts, but I cut her off.

“S'okay. There're more where that came from,” I say with a wink, standing up in a rustle of leather and denim. I start to walk past her, catching the subtle scent of shampoo and wildflowers. The smell stops me in my tracks as I look down at Lyric, catching the glimmering emerald perfection of those eyes. When I turn to her, she mimics the motion, dropping her coffee cup to the floor. It shatters into a hundred little white pieces, splashing the toes of my boots in warm liquid.

Neither of us notices because we're too busy touching each other, my hands taking a firm hold of Lyric's hips while hers find my chest and curl in the fabric of my shirt. When our lips meet, I taste coffee and lipstick and a bright pop of mint. Heat sears straight through me, breaking over my body like an explosion. I yank her into me, my hands running up and over the smooth expanse of her bare back.

“What's all this now?” I ask against her mouth. “This outfit? It's bloody brilliant.”

“It's called a jumpsuit,” Lyric whispers as I grin and run my fingers along the side of her jaw, lifting her chin up as I bend low to kiss it. I trail my lips down her throat, tracing my way along the deep V neckline. The soft smooth roundness of Lyric's breasts are just barely visible peeking from beneath the fabric. I'm about half ready to tear the damn thing off.

“Royal,” Lyric says, pulling my face back up and whimpering a little as I catch her lower lip between my teeth. “I need some time to think, okay?” I raise my eyebrows at her and she frowns at me, glancing away quickly. “You make it ridiculously difficult to do that when you're around, you know that?”

“Consider it a speciality of mine,” I growl, pulling her up towards me, sealing our lips together in a long hot kiss, and diving into her warm mouth with my tongue. Lyric flicks her own tongue against mine, fighting for control of this encounter with the firm grip of her hands in my shirt. When she puts pressure on me to step back, I comply, letting my body rest against the front door. I'm hard and thick and ready for her, my eyes tracking her movements as Lyric slides her palm over the bulge of denim and licks her lower lip.

We make eye contact, still standing in the puddle of cooling coffee, when she decides to go for it. Thank fucking God. Sex always solves arguments, doesn't it? At least if she's shagging me, she can't be considering walking away from this, right?

Lyric's got her hand on the button of my jeans when the doorbell rings and she pulls back from me with a curse, burgundy lipstick smeared across the bottom of her face.

“Just a moment!” she calls out, her face flushed and her lips swollen from kissing. I grin at her, and she tosses me a venomous look, heading into the bathroom to fix her makeup as I check surreptitiously through the peephole. I'm expecting Sketch or that dodgy old neighbor of hers, but I'm not that lucky, am I?

Standing outside on Lyric's front porch are two FBI agents.



“Fuck.”

I recognize the woman and the man standing behind her from Lyric's description. I check my mobile real quick for the time. Not quite eight in the morning. What the hell is it with these government types and the butt crack of dawn? I scowl as I tap my fingers against the doorjamb, trying to decide the best course of action here. Clearly, my damn bike's in the driveway, so what's the point of trying to hide? They already seem to know all about Lyric and me anyway.

I make a snap decision and swing the door open, leaning my forearm against the jamb as I peer down at the two agents with my brows raised.

“Something I can help you lot with?” I ask as the woman smiles at me and the man stays stubbornly stoic.

“Royal McBride, I'm Special Agent Shelley and this is Special Agent Garza. As I'm sure you already know, we're part of an FBI task force sent in to investigate the death of Brent Gilman.”