Page 59 of Lawless Rivals

“Are you trying to push me?” he asks, his voice rougher.

His thumb skates, grazing the underside of my jaw. The gentle touch sends a shiver through me that has his inky pupils flaring.

I shake my head, though it brings my lips dangerously close to his. “I’ve told you from the beginning that your feud is with my father. Not me…”

His fingers tighten, enough to make the air in my lungs thinner.

“Perhaps it is,” he murmurs, eyes dropping again to my mouth before snapping back to mine. “But trying to manipulate me with your sexy tits and pretty eyes won’t work on me.”

I can sense the tension coiled in his muscles, the restraint humming just beneath the surface, the way his chest rises and falls a fraction deeper than before.

“So, turn back around,” he adds, quieter now, mouth brushing the edge of my cheek without quite meaning to. “And sit still.”

He doesn’t release me straight away though. His palm stays at my throat, feeling the frantic beat of my pulse, fingers tightening just enough to hold it beneath his hand.

His thumb grazes, pressing once into the hollow under my jaw before going still.

He inhales through his nose, chest expanding, nearly touching my nipples, his breath growing stronger.

Then he lets go.

“Don’t play games with me, Harrington,” he says, guiding me around to face the fire. “You won’t win.”

He settles in behind me again, thighs bracketing mine, our skin pressed together.

Once I’m positioned between his legs, I inch backward, seeking warmth and bump into the unmistakable, solid length of his dick behind his damp boxers.

The awareness steals the air from my lungs.

He’s thick and hot even through the wet cotton, and every shift I make drags me over the ridge of him. Between my legs I’m swollen and slick because of it, and there isn’t a wind cold enough out here to fix that.

He exhales in a raspy, restrained sigh, his breath stirring the damp strands of hair at my cheek.

I could tell him I’d be fine if he removed the uncomfortable wet fabric to give them time to dry. However, that would be a lie. And for some reason, the thought alone has my blood running red-hot.

The blazing fire snaps before us, but it’s nothing compared to the ache I have for a man I shouldn’t want.

His hands settle on my knees, probably thinking they’re the safest place to touch me. However, the weight of them combined with the roughness of his callused skin causes a flurry of goosebumps to rise all over me.

For a while, neither of us speaks; the crackle of burning wood and the steady rhythm of his breathing are strangely comforting.

“You fight pretty hard for this land,” I say. “Why?”

His fingers tense a little, the smallest adjustment, but I feel it everywhere.

“You already have more than most people ever will,” I go on when he doesn’t answer. “Why does that patch of earth matter so much?”

His breath caresses the top of my head.

“Because it’s Tallon land,” he says. “Back when my granda first established the stud. Before fences, and before the Harringtons thought they could redraw lines to suit themselves.”

The fire flares hotter now while beyond the trees, the wind continues to catch the rough grass, so it dances for us.

“Out there… That’s where my da died,” he adds, his fingers skimming my thighs before stopping abruptly, as if he’d caught himself. “That stretch of our land is the last place he was alive. Nobody ever told me what brought him out there in the dark.”

Something in his voice changes on that last line. I turn my head a fraction, enough to see his furrowed brow in the firelight.

“Your father died on the heath?” I ask.