Page 22 of Lawless Rivals
He huffs a short breath and glances over his shoulder. “You’re already trouble sober. Fuck knows what off-the-wall shit you’d come up with after a few.”
“Is that your way of asking me to join you?” I move toward the armchair nearest the hearth. “Your bedroom is cold.”
He shrugs. “Be my guest.”
I lower myself into it and draw my knees up, tucking them close to my chest while I take another sip. “So I’m your guest now, huh?”
His gaze slides to mine.
“There’s no blurred lines here,” he says. “Tomorrow, I’ll find somewhere more suitable for ya to stay. This is temporary.”
I take another sip of whiskey to steady myself. Glorious heat loosens the tightness in my shoulders, and for the first time since he’d hauled me back into the loft, the storm outside feels far away.
He looks almost…friendly like this. Legs stretched out, attention fixed on the flames instead of me.
“So,” I say, resting the glass against my knee, “are you dating someone?”
His head tilts just enough for him to glance at me. The beginning of a smirk touches his mouth.
“Surely you’re not fishing to find out if there’s an opening?”
I laugh, because the arrogance is ridiculous. “That’s hilarious, Saint. Truly. I’d need a therapist to consider that. I was asking because I figured your girlfriend might freak out when she hears you kidnapped a woman.”
He chuckles and the deep rumble runs through me like a current.
“You think I’d be with a woman who doesn’t know what I’m capable of?”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
He shifts on the sofa. “Let’s just say I don’t have a woman’s initials tattooed on me.”
When his gaze lifts again, there’s something smug behind it.
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His brows lift a fraction. “The little L on your hip.”
I lift my glass, swirling the whiskey like I’m bored. “Right. And you think that’s for Lucien?”
He shrugs, the movement dismissive, but his jaw ticks once. “Seems plausible. Rumors placed ya in Paris for over a year.”
“Can’t a girl enjoy sex with a hot guy without the whole world assuming she’s in love with him?”
Saint’s eyebrows shoot up. The reaction is instant, unguarded, and absolutely splendid.
“You think women fall in love with every asshole they shag?” I tease. “Seriously, you’re showing your age. What are you, fifty?”
His mouth parts like I’ve managed to catch him off guard.
Only for a breath.
I’m pressing my thighs together in his armchair, and I shouldn’t enjoy taunting him this much. But he’s watching my mouth over the neck of that bottle, and every word I say makes his jaw tighten, and now I want to push him.
Then he sits forward, elbows resting on his knees, the firelight throwing his face into shadow. When he stares at me, there’s a glint in his stormy eyes.
“You just gonna fuck your way around the globe, Harrington?” he asks.
“So what if that’s my plan?” I add, lifting my chin.
