Page 4
His grip locks around me, his strength more than I’d anticipated. Locked in place before him, our gazes clash, and a hot thread of fury burns through me.
He angles me around, driving me back until my ass hits a thick post and his body crowds the space in front of mine.
Fionn lowers his face inches from mine. “Point made. Try that again, and I stop being generous.”
His gaze lingers at my mouth for a beat, then returns to my eyes as if he has dragged it back by force.
“Shall we make this interesting?”
“Like your teeth hitting the floor?”
His grip loosens, but he doesn’t let go. “I’ll give you the count of ten.”
My mouth dries. “To do what?”
“Try to escape,” he says. “I’m giving you a head start.”
“Why?”
I hate that my breath comes faster, that every bruised part of me wakes for the challenge, because I’ve never been good at letting snobby men get the better of me.
“Because you’re so certain you can handle me. And I’m going to prove you wrong.”
I twist my wrists, and he allows the first inch of freedom before trapping me again, making me fight for the rest.
“You won’t catch me,” I grit, hating the roughness in my voice.
“I will.” He takes off his watch and slips it into his pocket. “I guarantee it.”
I lean closer, tugging my wrists away from him.
“Even if you do, I’ll win the fight,” I say. “I guarantee that.”
His attention drops to my mouth, and for one reckless second he smiles as if he knows how fast I’m about to run, the arrogant bastard, and every stubborn part of me locks onto the need to prove him wrong before I’ve even reached the door.
Then I remember who he is and stomp my boot down on top of his shoe. I take a few steps back. Then another.
His eyes sharpen, and that’s when I smile, stick up my middle finger and bolt for the barn door.
Behind me, he laughs, and the rumble follows me outside.
Icy rain hits my face, and I dart into the yard with my wrists burning, my lungs dragging in wet air. Fionn Harrington’s voice carries in the wind behind me.
“Run faster, little wild thing.”
I make it past the barn, past a broken gate and a machinery graveyard choked with weeds.
The lane ahead is blocked by a moonlit black Range Rover with its lights off and two men standing on either side of it.
When I finally check over my shoulder, Fionn’s mask is on, and he’s closing in behind me through the shadows.
A breathless laugh catches in my burning throat, and I force more speed from my aching legs as he drives me deeper into unknown Harrington territory.
Chapter 2
Sera
The first rule of running is to never look back.
