Page 10 of Lawless Rivals

She doesn’t move. Just keeps glaring at me like she’s waiting for me to cross the line again.

“Keep your hands and your eyes off my family, Harrington. Do you understand me?”

Her brows pop high. “Oh, really? So you can put your lips on me, but your brothers can’t?”

The way she says it is so mocking and proud, practically daring me to make good on every dark, dirty thought I’ve had since I kissed her.

For a second, my muscles go rigid and my body locks. The worn boards groan under my work boots and the horses shuffle below.

I glance at her lips. Bad idea. Then take in the bare skin on her shoulder. Even worse idea. The memory of how good she‘d tasted flashes up uninvited, and I have to crush it down hard.

“None of us want ya,” I say, stepping back. “I only crossed that line for the good of the cause. Tallons and Harringtons will never see eye to eye, especially after this.”

Her smile falters, just a little, and she shivers. Instinct moves faster than sense. I shrug off my jacket and drop it onto the bales beside her.

“Put it on,” I command. “You freezing to death would complicate things.”

She doesn’t thank me. Of course she doesn’t. Just glares at the jacket like it’s beneath her.

“I’d rather freeze than wear that,” she says, voice all clipped vowels and inherited arrogance.

Pure Harrington brattiness.

I huff out a low rumble that almost passes for a laugh, though I’m far from joyful. That attitude of hers will get her in big trouble.

“What? Not good enough for ya? Not bought from a French boutique or made from the fur of a thousand fucking innocent bunnies?”

Her eyes narrow. “Really? You stick up for rabbits, but you’ll trap a human in your loft?”

I shrug. “Pretty much. They aren’t lyin’, stealin’ Harringtons.”

“That’s rich coming from the man who stole me.”

The truth is, I like the spark that flares when she bites back. It’s controlled fury. Tamed fire. And fuck, I wanna push her till she explodes.

“Anyway, I’d never wear real fur,” she fires back. “I just don’t want future trauma triggers of your horrible scent all over me.”

For a heartbeat I see myself through her eyes with a coffee-stained shirt, workman’s hands, the guy her family considers a threat. A man she’d never accept in her respected, refined world.

“Trust me, Harrington, my scent’s not the thing that’ll haunt ya.”

“Just leave me alone,” she snaps. “If I have to stay here, I’d prefer to not endure you, too.”

I turn away, staring out through the slits in the loft doors. Pale morning light slices across the loose hay scattered across the flooring.

The smell of her floral perfume has almost died, however the faint trace of it still clings to the air. That sweet fragrance doesn’t belong here. But fuck, it’s got my senses fired up.

“Put the jacket on, or I’ll dress ya in it myself,” I tell her. “I’ve got work to do and when I get back, you’d better be making peace with your trauma triggers and have that jacket on your back.”

“I’m not wearing it,” she snaps. “I’d rather freeze.”

“Put the damn jacket on, Harrington,” I warn, voice low. “I don’t have time for games.”

She folds her arms. “Then stop making me part of them.”

Something in me snaps. I cross the space in a few strides, grab the jacket off the hay, and shove it at her. She twists away, still huffing, so my hand closes around her arm, and I yank her closer.

“Stop fighting me,” I grit.