Page 91 of Lawless Rivals

The persistent lit fuse inside me that I’ve cursed since the second he showed up in the yard.

“Ever heard of personal space?” I force my shoulders back and lift my chin higher. “Back up, Saint.”

He lowers the bottle, his gaze never leaving mine, and turns just enough that his hip comes to rest against the narrow counter behind him.

Not exactly backing off.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I add, “so you don’t need to hover.”

The wind rattles against the aerial outside while he wipes his thumb across his bottom lip, blotting excess Scotch, before he lifts the bottle to his lips again.

“You’re not boxed in because I’m standing here.” His throat works as he drinks and swallows. “You’re boxed in because there’s nowhere else to go.”

He holds my gaze for a second, as if he’s waiting for an argument. There’s no point. I’m tired, cold, and I don’t trust what’ll come out of my mouth if I speak.

The bottle hits the counter with a dull clank, and he turns his back. It doesn’t matter how far he moves, he’s still close enough that my attention clings to every move he makes.

My shoulders pull tighter as he drags open a stiff drawer that sticks before it gives.

He lowers to his haunches, and his hand disappears beneath the counter where the heating unit is tucked away.

There’s a scrape of metal. A stiff turn followed by a click, then another.

Eventually, a whoosh of fire comes out as the gas catches, flames blooming behind thin metal bars.

Heat seeps into the room, killing the chilly air that’s settled deep into my bones.

It blazes against my legs when he stands and moves aside. If he weren’t such an asshole, I’d thank him for the warmth and tell him it’s cozy in here now.

But I hate the man right now, and I’ll never thank him for a single thing.

He reaches for the bottle again and takes another drink.

I shrug out of the wet jacket I’m wearing, stand and hang it on a hook over the small window in the door.

“If you’re staying the night, you’ll sleep on the floor.”

A slow smile creeps across his face. My pulse goes wild.

“Next you’ll expect me to kneel for ya, Keira,” he says. “And that sure as fuck isn’t happening either.”

“You don’t seriously think I’ll share a bed with you?”

His gaze drags over me, slow enough to burn. “You weren’t saying that when I was coming inside ya.”

My body remembers before my brain can stop it. Heat spreads under my skin, and I do my best not to let it affect me.

“Just because it happened a few times doesn’t mean I want it to happen again,” I say, stepping into his space instead of keeping a safe distance. “You think I’ll just…fall into line for you.”

He takes a drink of Scotch and keeps eye contact with me.

After he swallows, he hands me the bottle. “I expect ya to behave. That’s all.”

I snatch the bottle and take a long drink, trying hard to drown the fire in my veins.

“Well, I expect you to behave, too.” I shove the liquor into his chest. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

Our gazes clash.