Page 19 of Lawless Rivals

I let her struggle for another second because, let’s be honest, she deserves a dent in that Harrington pride. Plus, the sight of her writhing in my bathroom is a sight to be-fucking-hold.

“Go away!” she grits.

“Don’t order me around.” I join her side. “Be a good girl and stay still.”

She freezes. Her shoulders go rigid, her breath dragging in and catching. “Do not think for one second I’ll ever be your good girl.”

“Fine. Be a good little Harrington then.”

She glares at me through the mirror. “You’re enjoying this way too much. I get it… You’re a Tallon… I’m my father’s daughter. We’re at opposite sides of the battlefield. But this is a whole new level of torture. Even for you.”

“Is that so?” I cock my head. “Wanna trot back outside and find a warm shower out there?”

Her lashes flutter shut for a beat, and then she exhales a deep sigh.

“You can argue with me,” I tell her, “or you can stop dragging this out. I’ve got stuff to do and you’re eating into my time.”

She mutters a curse under her breath and blinks at me. “It would be helpful if you’d unstick my zipper.”

“Say please.”

“Are you for real?”

“Are you testing my generosity?”

Keira huffs a cute laugh and my pulse kicks. “Let’s strike a deal. You sort out my zipper, and I’ll refrain from choosing cutlery that’ll hurt you.”

When I chuckle, I can’t tell if she brings out the best or worst in me. This conversation shouldn’t be happening. In fact, this whole situation needs to be locked down.

“You can’t hurt me.” When my fingertips skim the bare skin on her shoulder, a soft sigh escapes her.

Goosebumps chase my touch across her shoulder blade. I follow them down the ridge of her spine to the top of the zip, and her breath stumbles on the way out.

The zipper is a disaster. Her hair is twisted into the teeth, strands knotted and soaked. It’s a miracle she didn’t rip half of it out already.

I reach down to my ankle, hitch up the leg of my jeans and take my knife from its holster.

Keira goes utterly still. “Is that really necessary? Don’t you have scissors?”

“This won’t take long.”

I fist the length of her hair in one hand and bend her forward over the counter. Her ass presses back into my cock with nothing between us but wet satin and denim. I’m rock hard against her, and she goes completely still, feeling every inch of it.

“Don’t move,” I tell her, and my voice comes out hoarse.

She doesn’t. But her hips move back a fraction. Half an inch, no more, and she’d swear on her mother’s life it was an accident. Doesn’t matter though because I feel it everywhere.

Inching back a step, I force the knife through the tangled mess. She doesn’t move, her breathing shallow, her eyes fixed forward.

When I find her reflection, her gaze snares mine, and in that second she bats her lashes and breaks eye contact.

When the last piece of hair comes free, I test the zipper, though it still won’t budge.

“This dress is done for,” I say. “Put your hands on the counter.”

Her forehead creases. “Why?”

“I’d rather not have your blood all over my bathroom.”