Page 2 of Lawless Rivals

From the top, the people below blur into a mass of glitter and obnoxious noise.

Movement catches my eye. My head snaps up, focus narrowing on the mezzanine opposite me. A flash of silk, the curve of a feminine shoulder, and heels tapping.

Keira Harrington.

Christ.

She’s not the bland brat I barely remember from years ago. Tonight she’s all curves and elegance. Paris has molded her into a fine woman. Completely untouchable for any man beneath her social status.

Chestnut hair hangs loose around milky white shoulders, and that slinky dress of hers clings to curves like it’s liquid gold.

She slips into a side room off the mezzanine, the door not quite closing behind her.

Seizing the opportunity, I follow, keeping my steps light so she doesn’t hear my approach. I give her a minute and then step inside the room, meeting warm air scented with lilies and furniture polish.

Keira stands by the window, half-lit by the moon, her silhouette perfect in its proportions. The phone glows in her hand while she stares at the face of some French guy.

“Keira, mon amour… I made a mistake. You know I love you, always.”

His syrupy-sweet words pour through the speaker, and I shake my head. What a fucking loser.

As she listens to his bullshit, there’s no way to read her posture. She stands with the seasoned grace of a true Harrington. A woman trained to hide her emotions and never trade composure for fools.

“I’m not going back to Paris for you, Lucien,” she says at last. “You cheated. That was your choice.”

“Ah, bébé,” the man on the phone purrs. “We had good sex, didn’t we? You’re all I think about.”

The arrogance in his voice hits my gut. I prowl closer, a shadow on the hunt. This is my opening.

Keira startles when I reach her side, but she doesn’t say a word. Just nips her bottom lip when I slide an arm around her waist and jerk her into me, close enough for the camera to frame us both.

“She’s moved on,” I say, voice steady, eyes locked on the screen. “Find someone else to beg for sex.”

Lucien’s cocky smile falters. When he opens his mouth to argue, I catch her chin and press my mouth to hers, slow and teasing.

She goes rigid for half a second. Then her lips give, and everything shrinks to the sweet taste of her. To the warmth of her mouth opening under mine, the slick press of her tongue.

When I tighten my hand at her jaw and take it deeper, she lets me. Her fingers close on my lapel and pull.

The room fades. The job slips away. For a heartbeat the slippery kiss stops being a trick and turns into temptation itself.

She’s warm through the dress, and when I flatten my palm at the small of her back and drag her flush, her body answers before her head does. Her nipples draw up hard against my chest through that thin fabric, and my cock stirs behind my zip like I’m fifteen years old.

Her dirty little whimper slips free the same instant Lucien mutters something under his breath. Keira Harrington kisses me back with either hunger or sheer rebellion. I can’t tell which. And I don’t plan to read into it.

I catch her bottom lip between my teeth on the way out of the kiss and tug so her breath breaks. She chases my mouth. Actually fucking chases it. A Harrington, at her da’s own event, with the French prick still on the line.

All I know is she tastes of spearmint and sin, and my pulse has kicked up.

And I’m hard for the daughter of the man I’d fucking gut given half the chance.

When the call disconnects, her phone slips from her hand, landing without a sound at our feet.

I pull back just enough to see her ocean-gray eyes with inky pupils blown wide. Her mouth is wet and swollen, her lips parted while she catches her breath, and her chest rises fast enough to strain that slinky gold neckline.

“Do I know you?” she asks, tugging her brows tight. “You look…familiar.”

“Ciarán.” My real name comes out strange given I rarely use it.