Page 9 of Lawless Rivals

Something ugly twists inside me. People do as I say, when I demand it. This childish behavior doesn’t sit well with me. Ungrateful Harrington brat.

I reach for her arm and yank her upright, so the tux jacket slides off her shoulders. She’s lighter than she looks.

The contact burns through the calm I’ve been clinging to. But I also notice how her skin is cold to the touch and how her hard nipples poke at the silk.

I pick up the mug and offer it to her again. “Here.”

Her hands shoot up fast, snatching the mug, and the next second lukewarm coffee is flying. It hits my throat, messes up my jacket, and somehow reaches my clean shirt.

For a heartbeat I just stare at her.

She’s still in that sexy party dress, shiny hair all tangled, expression set to a scowl. Her chin is high, sparkling eyes locked on me, foolishly taunting a reaction.

My jaw works once before a humorless laugh slips out. “Guess the princess doesn’t care for coffee.”

“Coffee, I like,” she says. “Tallons, I hate.”

“You haven’t quite understood the dynamics yet, have ya?”

“Enlighten me, Saint.” Her glare deepens. “You hide me away up here, leave my wrists tied, bring me the dregs of your morning coffee, and I’m supposed to thank you for it?”

“Yeah,” I say, voice flat. “You should. People who challenge me regret it.”

She doesn’t flinch. “So what you’re really saying is that you throw tantrums when someone disagrees with you?”

The corner of my mouth twitches. She’s pushing every button I’ve got, and for the first time in a long time, my steadfast control is tested.

I should walk away and get on with my day. However, I’m still humoring her outburst, coffee soaking through my shirt, pulse ticking.

The dress straps have slipped down her shoulders, her arms are covered in goosebumps and her lips are pale.

I tell myself it’s just an observation or instinct, nothing else. A guy can notice when a prisoner is freezing in his loft. Doesn’t mean I gotta care.

Her wrists are still bound, the rope digging faint grooves into her skin. I could’ve untied her last night, but it was easier than chasing her across the heath in the dark.

I dig out the small knife in my pocket and flip it open. The sound of the blade sliding free has her flinching before she pretends she’s brave.

“Relax,” I mutter. “You might be annoying, but I’m not gonna cut ya up. Unless you give me a reason to.”

Her eyes narrow on me. “You don’t need to threaten me. I know what your family’s capable of. Everyone in Black Heath knows it.”

I crouch in front of her and hook a finger under the rope. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. We’re good people who run legitimate businesses.”

Her pulse jumps beneath my touch, a small, frantic rhythm against my hand.

One clean snick and the fibers part with a soft snap. The knife gleams once in the light and then it’s gone, folded back into my pocket.

She rubs her wrists, red marks visible on her pale skin.

“I’ll bring food and water later,” I say, standing to my full height. “Make yourself comfortable while you’re here.”

She laughs, but it’s far from natural. “I’ll never be comfortable here. And I wouldn’t care if I never saw you again.”

Her lashes flick up, gaze snaring mine. “Send Dane with the food instead. He’s the better-looking pig in the sty.”

That stings more than it should. I couldn’t give a damn what she thinks. But the thought of her fancying my kid brother, that sparks my temper.

I inch closer. “You sure about that?”