Page 31 of Lawless Rivals
“Is that for my health,” she counters, “or yours?”
I push to my feet and stroll deeper into the kitchen, stepping over the cheese grater and fish slice.
“Truth is, I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with you dying on my land. That’d be another headache I don’t need. It’s that straightforward, Harrington. Now tidy up the mess you’ve made of my kitchen.” I nod at the cutlery on the floor. “And wash everything before ya put it away.”
I reach for a pack of smokes, tap one free, and light it. The first drag hits hard, pulling smoke into my lungs before I exhale the coiled hunger that’s been riding me since we first met.
It’s nothing an evening at the bar and a willing body wouldn’t cure.
Except I can’t be bothered with the hassle of bringing a woman back here while this one is under my roof.
Keira moves past me without a word, washing her hands at the sink before kneeling in the middle of the kitchen to collect the utensils.
She gathers her scattered vowels and consonants, dismantling her petty message as if I’m not standing a few feet away watching her every move.
I’d rather not admit how her little “fuck you” montage made something inside me twist in amusement. Or how the gutsiness behind it ignited a low, dangerous spark in my blood.
Who knew the Harrington princess had a backbone?
I lean a shoulder against the fridge door, smoke puffing past my lips as I take her in. Her hair hangs loose around her flushed cheeks, her lashes dark and fluttery as she focuses on her task.
She looks innocent like this, kneeling in my kitchen, framed in the soft glow of daylight streaming into the cabin.
And fuck, it takes every ounce of restraint I have left not to shove my fingers into her hair, pull her to her feet, press her ass against the wall, and cover those pretty pink lips with a hard kiss.
Instead, I draw another slow drag from the cigarette and keep myself in check as the desire claws at my ribs from the inside.
Wanting her is easy. Fucking her is the line I’d never cross.
As the fantasy rolls through my mind, the front door flings open and cold air knifes into the cabin.
“Yoh, Saint—” Rafe barges inside. “Dane said you’d been cut. Need a—”
He stops dead.
His gaze drops to Keira kneeling among the scattered utensils, her wrists free and my shirt on her back. She looks over at him, her expression composed in a way that only makes the situation more explosive.
Rafe’s eyes flick from her to me. Then back to her. Then to me again.
His brow furrows, either shock or disgust, or both.
There’s a shift happening inside myself as well. I don’t see this girl as the spoiled, rich bitch I thought she’d be. Which means I’ve let her charm me somehow, and that’s dangerous.
Rafe takes a step forward, voice rough and eyes holding mine. “Does Ma know the Harrington girl is sittin’ pretty in your place?”
I exhale a lungful of smoke. “I’m preventing things from escalating. The drop in temperature out there last night would’ve killed her. Then we’d all be doin’ time.”
Rafe doesn’t look convinced. In fact, my kid brother doesn’t look anything except furious.
His glare flicks to Keira, full of generational hate and the sort of disgust a Tallon reserves for blood enemies. And when Keira holds his stare without flinching, it seems to grate on his last nerve.
“She’s doing chores,” I tell Rafe. “No one gets a free ride. You know that. She’s cleaning the kitchen, and I’m having a drink.”
I nod toward the whiskey on the table. “Head to the back barn. Or do ya wanna help Shay feed the pigs?”
Rafe shakes his head and blows out a long sigh. “Ma’s gonna lose her shit over this, Saint.”
“Ma can deal with it,” I say, letting command slip into my tone. “I’m running the show and sortin’ out this particular situation my way. So how about ya get the fuck back to work instead of being a ball-ache.”
