Page 73 of Lawless Rivals

As if this mistake will correct itself.

I push up onto my elbows and stare at the whites of his eyes glowing in the darkness of his room, at the restraint tightening his features, at the way his hands curl by his thighs.

“Yeah… I get it,” I say it like I’m agreeing.

Like I’m a reasonable woman. But there’s an ugly twist happening in my chest at the thought of pretending we didn’t get close.

He forces a step back, throat working, muscles tense like distance is something he has to wrestle into place. “I won’t hand ya over to my brothers just because I lost control.”

I nod, understanding that he’s protecting me from his family, and maybe from himself.

He turns and walks out, shutting the door behind him.

I sit and stare at the door, then let myself fall back into the duvet. My heart pumps louder in my chest as I lie in the bed he sleeps in, breathing in the faint scent of fire smoke and clean laundry and him. And that only makes it worse.

My skin still burns where his hands had been, like the imprint of his touch is something my body refuses to forget.

“How did this happen?” I whisper to myself.

Rather than get under the duvet, I grab a pillow and hug it close to my chest, burying my face.

There’s so much to process, so many emotions running riot inside of me. They crash and recoil and collide, leaving me breathless in the aftermath.

Saint was wrong to kidnap me and make up lies about where I’d gone. He used me to get my father’s attention. Men like him don’t change or become the good guy overnight. He’s focused on his family’s legacy.

He was raised in it. Shaped by it. The Tallon family carved loyalty into his bones long before I was born.

Despite all that, my father knows where I am…

And I’m still into Saint. More than any man I’ve ever met.

The truth of it tightens in my throat.

I know exactly what he is.

And somehow, that only makes it harder to stop wanting him.

After a minute that feels like ten, I sit upright. The pillow falls off the mattress when my bare feet hit the floorboards.

I open the bedroom door and walk toward the orange glow.

Saint lies stretched along the couch in nothing but his boxers, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting loose at his side. The blazing fire paints his body, inked muscles carved across his chest and stomach.

His thighs are thick, powerful. Even asleep, he looks like a weapon at rest.

I stand there for a beat, heart racing, pulse thudding in my throat until his eyes open.

“I can feel ya watching me.” His voice is rough with sleep. “You got a fork in your hand, princess?”

The corners of my mouth hitch to a small smile. “I had a nightmare.”

He stretches himself and scratches the rough edge of his jawline. “Oh yeah? What happened?”

“I fell into a river.” I fold my arms across my chest. “And Saint Tallon saved me.”

A flicker of remembrance moves over his expression, and he offers me a crooked half smile.

“A Harrington princess saved by a Tallon. Now that is a nightmare,” he says in a low rumble.