Page 17 of Lawless Rivals

Keira wanders deeper inside, dripping on the lounge rug, looking around her like she’s not sure whether to be impressed or suspicious.

Her arms stay folded over her middle, chin held high, and that same irritating fire burns low in my veins.

I shrug out of my coat, hang it by the door and stroll past her. When I turn back, she’s staring right at me with that calculating Harrington look they all have.

“So,” I say, “what exactly was your plan with the fork?”

Her shoulders bounce a little. “I didn’t really have a plan. I saw an opportunity.”

“An opportunity,” I repeat. “To stab me?”

“To ruin your good looks,” she clarifies, tilting her head. “A few well-aimed prongs could’ve done the job.”

The corner of my mouth threatens to move. I shut that down. Fast.

“You were dangling over the yard, Harrington. I pulled ya in, and your first thought was to go for my face?”

“The fork was right there…in my pocket,” she says, all sweet and fake innocence. “And what sort of woman would I be if I let you put your hands on me again. You’re the one holding me hostage, aren’t you?”

The word lands with intent. She’s pushing for a reaction. I take a slow breath, watching the rainwater slide down her cheek.

“I didn’t put my hands on you,” I say. “I stopped ya from falling. There’s a difference.”

Her brows drift to the ceiling. “Felt the same from where I was hanging.”

I huff out a breath that isn’t quite a laugh. “Then you’re not paying attention.”

That shuts her up for a beat, and there’s a flicker in her eyes, part of her that hates to admit when she’s misread a moment.

“But since you weaponized a fork,” I continue, “from now on, you’ll eat with a spoon.”

She rolls her eyes, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “A spoon can still do damage.”

I shake my head and sigh. “What is it with you and cutlery?”

That earns me the smallest smile that she quickly kills. To stop myself from smiling, too, I turn away and drag a hand down my face.

“Come on,” I say, heading toward the bathroom. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

When I don’t hear movement, I glance over my shoulder at the very second she dents her bottom lip under her front teeth.

“This isn’t a trap,” I say. “I’m just not nursing you back to health if ya catch pneumonia. The shower is this way."

Inside the bathroom, the air holds traces of cedar and soap all thanks to my cleaner. With a flick of the light switch, gentle light spills across the tiled floor.

“It’s yours,” I tell her. “Towels are on the rack.”

She moves past me and steps inside. “And you’re leaving me alone, right?”

“I ain’t showering with you if that’s what ya mean. I’ll be right out there, though.” I nod my head to the lounge we came from.

“Okay.” She peels off the jacket and drops it on the floor at her feet.

I tap the doorframe with the side of my knuckles, doing my best not to notice the way her breasts move beneath the soaked satin of her dress.

“I’ll get ya some dry clothes.” I drag my gaze away before she gets used to having my attention.

Her head turns toward the small window beside the shower. The only obvious exit which isn’t big enough for a full-grown adult to climb through.