Page 11 of Lawless Rivals

“Stop ordering me to wear your ugly clothes,” she shoots back. “I want nothing from you, Saint.”

We struggle, her pushing against me, the jacket becoming a victim in our war. Every tug drags sherpa and body parts together until the fight isn’t about warmth anymore. It’s about who gives in first.

However, I win by forcing a sleeve up her arm, rotating her on the spot and shoving the other arm in next. While she wriggles like I’ve covered her in chains, I pop the collar to cover her neck.

The motion nudges her chest into mine, her breath coming fast against my throat.

When it’s done, my hands clamp on her shoulders while hers fist my wet shirt.

Her gaze clashes with mine, brave and a dazzling blue-gray. “Happy now?”

I should step back. Instead, I stare at her mouth, and my veins burn red-hot at the thought of sticking my tongue down her throat.

“Ecstatic,” I say finally, and step away before I do something reckless.

She tilts her head. “Run along and check the prison fences. I’m done being around you.”

I shake my head as she perches on the hay, hair a mess, face pale. Even swamped in Sherpa, every inch of her screams of poised wealth, but wearing my big jacket seems to bring out a wildness that suits her even more.

Fuck, she looks hot.

“You’ll have to get used to me,” I say. “You’re in my territory now. Which means you’ll see me again. I guarantee it.”

Her lips part for a quick inhale. “Do you seriously expect me to stay up here without a phone…with nothing to do but sit here and wait for you to bribe my father?”

“That’s exactly what I expect.”

“Does he know I’ve been taken?”

“Yeah,” I say. “He does.”

“So what now?”

I cross my arms, studying her. The answer’s simple.

“Now,” I say slowly, “you wait. You eat what you’re given. You do as you’re told. And if you’re lucky, your old man will sign on the dotted line before the deadline so ya can go home.”

Her eyes narrow. “When’s the deadline?”

“We want the land officially signed over to us in fourteen days.”

Her brow creases. “And what if he doesn’t sign? What will you do with me then?”

“That’s the wrong question.” I step closer. “Every day your da refuses, I tighten something else. A shipment stalled at the docks. A buyer warned off. A rumor dropped in the right ear. By day fourteen, he won’t just be choosing between you and the land. He’ll be choosing how much of his empire he wants left standing. I’ll only let ya leave when I’ve got what I want. You should hope he puts his blood before his pride.”

“And if he doesn’t?” she asks, voice a little less certain.

“Oh, he will.” I let a low chuckle break. “Why do you think we took ya from the gala, huh?”

Her confusion flickers.

“Means he can’t brush a Harrington scandal under the carpet,” I go on, every word a slow drip toward her realization. “At this point, no one knows we’ve got ya. So while he’s scrambling to keep his reputation clean, the story writes itself.”

I move to the hatch, ready to leave.

“Maybe I’ll keep it simple,” I say, watching the way her breath stills. “Maybe word gets out that ya came home from France in disgrace. The whole of Paris is whispering stories of the Irish Harrington girl who shacked up with a married man while her father plays respectable.”

She flinches, just a fraction, and I press harder.