Page 14 of Lawless Rivals

A jolt of awareness hits, quickly morphing into a flare of panic and surge of heat.

God no.

This man put a bag over my head and dragged me here, and yet my insides are remembering the warmth of his mouth and how my pulse went wild.

I stumble back, furious he caught me spying on him and mortified at how my body is tingling in places it shouldn’t.

I file the reaction under things Paris clearly failed to cure me of and continue to wrench the door inward, doing my best to waggle the rusty bolt home.

It doesn’t move all the way in, but it’s secured.

Taking a deep breath, I scrape my wind-blown hair away from my flushed face, even though I’m far from warm.

By the time I reach the makeshift bed, I’m questioning my sanity. No woman in her right mind would have a single flutter for a man like him.

It shouldn’t matter that his kiss sent my pulse rocketing or left my core aching. It was an act, nothing more. A dirty tactic of charm and seduction with a singular plan of dumping me here.

Another gust slams into the barn, harder this time.

I almost laugh at the rattling bolt and whining hinges. That’s the sound of ridicule. A sign for me to ignore the silly rush I get when Saint looks at me.

He’s a lowlife criminal and I’m his prisoner.

Even if the situation was different, I want more in this life than a man holding a grudge and a blinkered desire to stay in Black Heath forever.

While I’m lost in thought, the loading doors burst open. Cold air swoops inside. Hay scatters, lifting up in a wild spiral.

The lengths of my hair slap across my face, sticking to my lashes as rain blows in.

I scramble toward the doors. The rope tied to the left panel whips like a loose rein, flapping just beyond my reach.

Beneath my bare feet the planks are rain slick now and the strong wind is making it hard to catch a breath.

I teeter on the edge, fingers stretched, almost grabbing the rope when a gust hits, and the balls of my feet slip.

In a blur, I’ve lost my balance, and I’m falling forward.

My hand closes on the knot as the loft drops away beneath me. The rope snaps taut. Dangling over the yard, my legs thrash in the air, desperate for a foothold that isn’t there.

“Hold on!”

A rough, deep voice cuts through the blood pulsing in my skull.

Saint’s face breaks through the darkness from above, eyes narrowed against the lashing rain. I always thought the devil lived in the underworld, but tonight he’s cursed Black Heath.

The baseball cap catches in the wind, rips off his head and disappears.

On one knee, he reaches down and wraps a hand around my forearm at the very moment my grip slips.

Suspended in the air, Saint holds me.

With a grunt, he hauls me upward and drags me inside. Somehow, I end up sprawled over his chest as he lands backward on the floorboards.

His chest expands and contracts under me in uneven breaths. For a few stunned heartbeats we both stay tangled, staring at each other as the wind howls around us.

Then he exhales a heavy sigh and shoves me off him.

“You’re more damn trouble than you’re worth,” he says, voice flat, as if saving me was an inconvenience. “I don’t have time to babysit a brat.”