Page 20 of Lawless Rivals

“Cut me and I’ll cut you back,” she says, acting all brave when I’m the one holding the knife.

“Already going back on your word, just like your da,” I mutter.

She scowls. “No, the agreement mentioned cutlery. I never said I wouldn’t defend myself.”

I slip the jagged edged blade under the seam at her hip and with a firm, controlled pull, I draw the knife upward. The fabric parts in whispering tears.

The flat of the blade rides against her skin the whole way. Cold steel over a hot flank. She sucks a breath in through her teeth and holds it.

Keira grips the counter harder as a wave of goosebumps showers her skin all over. Cut after cut, the dress peels off her. The satin sags away from one breast, and I catch her nipple drawn up tight in the mirror before I make myself look back at the seam. My pulse is thrumming somewhere it shouldn’t be.

Despite drawing her teeth in between her lips, she still lets out a soft whimper that I’m guessing she didn’t want me to hear. And that right there, shoots adrenaline straight to my bloodstream.

So I lower the knife and drag my knuckle down the last inch of the seam instead. Skin, not fabric. She whimpers again, louder this time, and her thighs press together.

One final slice and the dress drops in ruined pieces at her toes.

Now she’s standing there in nothing but stockings and rain-damp skin, her back rising and falling, breath coming in short, quick bursts. The glass gives me all of her—bare tits, tight nipples, the flat of her stomach, the shadow between her thighs above the lace. My cock aches so hard it’s gone past pleasure, and my fist is still full of her hair.

Fuck.

One pull. That’s all it would take to have her bent over that counter with my mouth on her.

She’s a Harrington. She’s leverage. She’s a woman I want to ruin, and I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.

I let go of her hair and step back before my hands make the decision for me.

When I lower the knife, my gaze catches on a small mark near the top of her hip. A tattoo. Just a single inked L with a faint heart curving off it.

Lucien.

For some reason, his name pisses me off. I’ve had plenty of ink done over the years, but never once did it cross my mind to brand myself with a woman’s initials. That kind of permanence belongs to a different type of fool.

The fact she gave him skin puts a hard pressure behind my ribs that has no place to go, so I drag a hand through my hair and make myself look at her face instead.

I clear my throat because the room is too small for me and her to be standing in at the same time.

“When you’re done,” I say, “turn right in the corridor. I’ll leave something out for ya to wear in my room.”

“Okay.” She walks across the room and grabs a fluffy white towel, covering herself with it.

“Stay in my bed tonight,” I add, forcing the words out. “I’ll take the couch.”

I walk out, giving myself enough space and air to breathe that isn’t laced with the scent of her.

Christ she’s a nightmare.

I should be putting her on the couch. On the fucking floor, if I had any sense. Instead, I’ve given her my bed, and now I’ll spend the night knowing she’s wrapped in my sheets.

Chapter 6

Keira

The shower jets are like heaven. Hot water beats against my shoulders, soothing the cold in my bones, but it doesn’t knock a single sensible thought into my head.

Or stop the silly flutters that hit my stomach every time Saint’s eyes land on me.

Washed and warm again, I wrap a big towel around me and rough dry my hair with another. I leave the bathroom, turn left like he’d told me, and step into his bedroom at the end of the corridor.