Page 53 of Lawless Rivals

That acceptance unsettles me more than her brattiness ever did. Silence has weight to it, and this woman is handing it to me today.

“What about your fingers?” she asks, already stepping in, fingers twisting the bent wire.

“I’ll manage.”

I work with her, all too aware of her position, how her ass has rubbed my thigh four times now while she works, the way the silence fills with the frustrated sounds she makes when the wire resists.

“So, you like me wearing your girlfriend’s clothes,” she says, not looking at me. “Is that some sort of kink?”

I move before I think better of it—before I remember all the reasons I shouldn’t—catching her arm and pushing her against the nearest tree.

Her pupils blow wide, and she blinks wildly.

“If it was, Harrington,” I dip my face into hers, close enough to feel her breath hitch, “I wouldn’t involve ya.”

She shoves my chest. “Don’t worry. I know they’re your sister’s clothes. You wanted me to think she was your girlfriend, didn’t you?”

“You imagined that all by yourself,” I bite back.

“And you didn’t correct me.”

When she tries to push past me, I snatch her forearm and pin it above her head. “Why would I? It’s none of your business.”

Keira wrestles against my hold, her hips rutting and her chest bumping into me. It shouldn’t stir heat in my veins, but my body doesn’t care what I should stay away from or what wanting it would cost me.

And fuck, there’s an ache buried deep that’s trying to surface.

I won’t let it.

“Don’t worry.” She narrows her eyes. “You don’t need to hide behind a fake girlfriend. I have zero desire to be this close to you. Not every woman wants a piece of you.”

“Good,” I say, both of us taking deep, heavy breaths together. “Then we’re on the same page.”

“Then why am I still pinned to this tree?”

My nostrils flare as I stare down at her. Stepping away is taking more damn self-control than trapping her there, and I hate how I crave the spark.

I’m debating what happens next when an engine breaks the peace.

I let go and turn toward the roar, pinpointing a white van that’s pushing far too hard for a track that isn’t meant to carry speed.

And I sure as fuck didn’t give anyone permission to be out here.

The van tears into full view, thick tires chewing up stones, the front end bucking as it barrels straight toward us.

“Keira—”

The first shot rips bark from the tree trunk above her head. I’m on her in an instant, dragging her under me while Bran rears, the reins pulling free.

The horse bolts as I shove Keira sideways and draw my gun, pivoting to shoot.

“Keep low and run,” I order, already shoving her toward the tree line. “Take cover in the trees.”

She squeezes my arm, stares at me for a racing heartbeat, and then scrambles over the dirt behind me.

The van fishtails on the path as it skids, the driver more interested in speed than control. Probably because they know this is my land and I’ll fucking kill them.

I raise the gun as the window lowers and the muzzle flashes again, shots tearing into the pine tree.