Page 37 of Lawless Rivals

Footsteps dull when the two officers stroll along the line of stalls on their way out.

Saint listens for another few seconds, and only when the voices fade does he drag his hand away, a finger brushing my lips in a warning.

However, I’m not a wallflower, so I thump my fists into his chest with the intention of pushing him away. He absorbs the hit and stays rooted which infuriates me even more.

“Stay quiet,” he says on a low rasp. “Don’t make me cover your mouth permanently.”

I exhale a loud sigh when he finally inches back. Though not far, it’s enough to let me breathe without our chests colliding.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “How dare⁠—”

“Stop,” he whispers, not letting me finish. “Not until they’ve gone.”

A car door slams, and Rafe shouts over the engine purr, “Come back any time, Aisleen. Let’s have a drink together.”

Saint flips off his cap and drags a hand through his hair.

“You sure as hell don’t make this easy,” he says, eyes cutting back to mine. “Every damn thing ya do is a problem I have to fix.”

“Why should I make anything easy? You made me your problem,” I snap. “And now you’re angry because I tried to go home.”

“No.” He puts the cap on his head and sighs. “I’m pissed because ya almost got me arrested. I’ve worked too damn hard to let another Harrington screw me over.”

“So what?” I bite back. “I deserve to let a Tallon screw me over instead? Your perception of reality is warped, Saint. I’m not the person you have issues with, so how about you show some respect.”

His jaw clenches, and a flicker of irritation cuts through his expression before he reins it in and clears his throat.

“You want respect?” He moves in, shadow swallowing light as my back hits the stall wall. “Earn it.”

“Choking you with a lead rope would give me respect for myself,” I say, even though the nearest rope isn’t within reach.

“If you actually succeeded, Harrington,” he says quietly, “who’d keep my family from tearing you apart? And they will, if ya give them half a chance.”

I force a breath past the tightness in my chest and meet his stare head-on.

“Oh my God.” I half laugh. “Don’t pretend you’re suddenly the nice guy who’s looking out for me. We both know that’s bullshit. I’m not here by choice.”

Saint’s gaze catches on the woolly hat sitting crooked on my head after the struggle. Before I can decide whether to brace or duck, he reaches up and pulls it off in one swipe.

A few loose strands have moved across my lashes. He clears them back with his fingers. The contact is fleeting, but my skin reacts anyway, a shiver chasing down my spine before I can stop it.

“That line might impress your girlfriend,” I say, doing my best to keep my breath even, “but it sure as hell doesn’t impress me.”

His eyes follow the movement of his hand as it drops, his focus narrowing like he’s registered something he didn’t intend to.

When his gaze lifts to mine, it sends my pulse skidding.

I should be terrified by this situation. Devastated that my only means of escape has just driven away. Instead, my heartbeat is loud and reckless, and I hate myself for it.

“I don’t need to impress anyone, Keira,” he says.

When my name rolls off his tongue in that gravel-deep tone of his, it sparks a weird sense of excitement inside me.

“And now,” he says, voice low and almost reflective, “you’re gonna fix the strips ya ripped off my arm.”

I force a small laugh, aiming for effortless, unfazed, trying for a coolness I absolutely do not feel with him this close.

“Fine. Now back up, Saint. You’re too damn close. I can practically taste your shower gel.”