Page 16 of Lawless Rivals

Chapter 5

Saint

Leaving the barn, the wind hits hard enough to send her sideways.

Barefoot and drenched, she’s in no state to fight the weather. However, I’m still pissed she attempted to stab me.

I tell myself to let her walk through the puddles and grit. Let her struggle as punishment for the choices she made.

Despite all that, when a blinding blast of rain lashes her, something weird trickles through my veins. Christ, there’s no way I’m feeling protective over Alasdair Harrington’s daughter. That would be fucking absurd.

My temper simmers. I never wanted her in my yard. The woman can’t be trusted, not for a second, and showing that family clemency goes against every rule I live by.

But leaving Keira outdoors on an evening like this isn’t an option, no matter how much I hate her old man.

I turn back just in time to see her blown sideways, hair mapped over her face like a net and her jaw juddering from the cold. She squeals when the wind tries to drag her away. That’s all it takes.

I charge at her, slip an arm around her waist, and sweep her off her dainty feet. She stiffens, her voice lost to the wind as the protest forms.

Backing down, she tucks her head into the crook of my neck for shelter, and just like that, a troubling sensation curls around my ribs and my pulse reacts.

I don’t bother picking it apart. I just push forward with her body tight to mine.

Buckets tumble. A stall door rattles under the force of a spooked horse. Water slashes sideways, visible in the floodlight’s beam.

She’s shaking in my arms, her breath warm against the base of my throat, her fingers clutching my waterproof coat.

It doesn’t take long to reach my cabin at the edge of the yard. The self-built construction rises out of the shadows, the wide deck protected from the rain when I bound up the steps.

The moment we reach the cover of the overhang, I lower her to the wooden boards and back away, swiping a hand down my face.

I kick off my boots and shoulder the front door open. The porch light spills across her as she stands there, drenched to the bone and ruined.

Her hair has gone almost black from the rain, clumped strands clinging to her cheeks and throat.

The faint dusting of freckles across her nose stands out stark against her pale skin, while black mascara runs down her face, leaving her wild and impossibly beautiful in a way that makes my pulse lose rhythm.

“After you, Harrington,” I order, guiding her inside so the wind doesn’t snatch the door out of my hand.

She steps past me, dripping rainwater onto my floorboards, her bare feet silent, her shoulders rigid with pride.

I shut the door against the storm and let the silence settle for a beat.

“And don’t get any ideas,” I add, my voice low. “Come at me again, and you’ll have a bigger problem than surviving a storm.”

She slides her arms around her midriff, nods, walks further inside on the balls of her feet and just gawks at the timber beam ceiling. I run a hand through my wet hair and let out a long, slow exhale.

Fuck this night.

Blue-gray eyes sweep the interior of the cabin I’d built with my brothers. Those enchanting eyes of hers are the exact color of the Irish Sea when the sun rises and the tide laps on the shore.

Her curious gaze takes in the tan leather sofa and armchair by the open fire, the throws I’d use when I’m either too drunk to carry myself to bed or too exhausted to bother moving.

I walk ahead of her and start switching on lamps, ignoring the pull of her presence burning up inside of me. Beats me why I didn’t rope her up in the tack room and leave her with a horse blanket for heat.

Ma will be pissed when she hears I’ve brought her into my personal space. But leaving her out there would’ve been its own kind of stupidity. And if there’s one thing I refuse to be, it’s stupid.

I’ll deal with my family tomorrow.