Keira
I let a Tallon kiss me because I was a fool not to see the predator circling.
Paris made me believe in romance.
Whereas Black Heath has always taught me the harsh truth.
Despite being so naive, the warmth of Saint’s mouth lingers on my lips like smoke after a blaze.
I curse myself for having enjoyed the heat.
The worst part isn’t that he kissed me. It’s what my body did about it.
My hands went to his lapels and my mouth opened for him. When he pulled back, I followed, mindlessly leaning in after him. I felt it burn low in my belly, that hot ache between my thighs, the want of a stranger’s hands shoved up under my dress.
Three seconds. That’s all it took to have me wet for a man whose name I didn’t know.
I grit my teeth and bury that thought somewhere it can’t embarrass me.
Beneath the rough bag covering my head, I can’t see a damn thing, and all I smell is dirt and oil. Thankfully it’s killed that musky cologne of his that made my veins sing.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I scream, squirming in the seat. “My father will kill you for this.”
“Nah.” Saint’s husky voice sends a ripple through me. “He’ll pay one of his hounds. Harringtons don’t do their own dirty work. Everyone knows that.”
“Screw you—”
“Besides,” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone, “they won’t know it was us. Not yet. Don’t want the Garda on my land before the handover finally happens.”
“You’re disgusting.” I spit the words.
A deep rumble of laughter follows. “That’s not what you were thinking when ya kissed me.”
“You kissed me,” I grit. “With your stale-ash breath and nasty aftershave.”
“What the fuck, Saint?” the other Tallon chirps in. “Why would ya kiss a Harrington?”
There’s a beat of silence before Saint’s voice comes thick and hoarse. “I did what I had to do. Sometimes we make sacrifices, Rafe.”
“Sacrifices?” I hiss, the sting of his insult burning when it shouldn’t. “Put your crusty lips near me again, Tallon, and I’ll bite off your damn tongue.”
“She’s got fire,” Rafe chuckles.
The stereo explodes—Little Lion Man with banjos accompanied by one of the Tallons drumming on the dash just to twist the knife.
They turn it up when I shout so the music drowns me out. My voice doesn’t matter here.
I close my eyes and breathe, tasting the dust and bitterness of anger. The car speeds over uneven ground and takes bends too fast. Inwardly, I count heartbeats instead of miles, forcing my fear down where they can’t see it.
The Tallons have taken a huge risk. Scrappy, uncouth bastards. Rivals to my family long before I was born, they’ve dragged me into their bullshit now.
Eventually, the car jerks to a stop, throwing me against the seatbelt. Then someone kills Mumford and Sons, and all I hear now are barking dogs.
After a beat, doors slam, gravel crunches, and cold air hits.
“Out,” Rafe commands.
When I don’t move fast enough, a hand grips my arm. Before I can twist away, I’m hauled outside and thrown over a shoulder like a sack of spuds. My stomach lurches.
The atmosphere changes as we enter somewhere enclosed. I’m dumped onto my feet, and the bag is pulled off my head, messing up my hair in the process.
A bulb hung overhead slashes light into my eyes as my vision adjusts.
Fresh hay, damp wood, and the faint musk of animals shoot up my nostrils. Blinking, my gaze darts left and right, seeing only Rafe, rows of horse stalls and two Rottweilers sniffing around my ankles.
“Where are we?” My voice cracks, but I force it louder. “Is this Black Heath Stud?”
Rafe grins. There’s nothing kind in it, though. “You talk too much for a girl in your position.”
“How about you explain my position to me,” I bite back. “Because from where I’m standing you’ve made a big mistake.”
He steps forward fast, fingers closing on my jaw. “Stop talking, little miss prim and proper.”
His fingertips dig into my cheeks, hollowing them so my lips pucker. I’d punch him if my wrists weren’t tied.
“Leave it, Rafe.” Saint appears, calm and stoic in his presence.
He stops a few paces away, half in shadow, his gaze locked on my face. The bow tie’s gone, his collar is open, and the jacket I’d worn earlier hangs from his fist.
“Fine.” Rafe unhands me, steps back, and nods to the doorway at the far end of the barn. “She can stay in the feed room. There’s a bolt and plenty of rope to hogtie her.”
My skin prickles.
Saint’s eyes flick back to me, unreadable.
“Nah. That’s too close,” he says. “She stays in the hayloft out of sight.”
Rafe grunts, grabs me under the arms, and lifts. He doesn’t bother with gentleness, hoisting me over his shoulder again. The barn tilts with every upward rung of the ladder, the wood creaking under us.
When we reach the loft, the air is musty. Warmer, alive with the sweet smell of hay and dry dust. Oddly, it’s a comfort I’ve known my whole life.
Rafe drops me on the worn planks and lingers for a moment, staring down at me with that smug half-grin of his.
His choppy dark brown hair’s long to his nape, shoved back with his fingers, but it still falls into wild green eyes. Stubble shadows his jaw, making him look older than he probably is.
I only know these men by reputation. Growing up, I never socialized with the Tallon brothers. While I learned manners and etiquette at St. Killian’s private academy, these guys were likely raised by thieves.
“You’ve got the best room in the barn, Harrington,” he drawls, the lazy Irish lilt wrapping around the insult. “Watch out for the rats, though. Those big fuckers love this place.”
I shift my weight, the strappy sandals I’m wearing too high for this situation. Despite that, if the cocky prick steps an inch closer, I’ll drive a pencil heel into his thigh and smile when he bleeds.
I might be a lady, but I’m not afraid of drawing Tallon blood.
Rafe flashes me the gun holstered under his suit jacket. “Behave yourself. Up here you’re safe. Even if you’re a Harrington. But down there, I’ll put a bullet in your skull if you’re found snoopin’. You won’t make it off our land alive if ya try to run.”
The sound of him climbing down the ladder fades into the horse barn below. I exhale a loud sigh and take in my surroundings.
Hay bales, twin loading doors that likely lead to a death drop and a small, grimy diamond-shaped window that lets in muted moonlight.
My scalp prickles when the ladder rungs creak and Saint appears, looking all casual and handsome like some dark knight in a twisted fantasy I don’t want to be part of.
When he tosses his suit jacket, it lands at my feet in a crumpled heap. Without a word, he turns to the bales, drags a few off the stack, and creates a level surface.
Agitated dust mites twirl around him, catching the silvery haze.
I wrangle with the restraints securing my wrists, gaze darting from his tight shirt to the carved beams above him.
The rafters are intricate in their design for a barn. Not the typical workmanship I’d expect to see.
Finished doing whatever, he turns back to me, clamps a hand around my forearm and pulls me toward the bales until my knees hit spiky hay.
“Sit.”
I do, mostly to keep from falling.
“You’ll sleep on this.” He scoops the jacket and tosses it onto the makeshift bed. “It’s dry up here. Sun breaks over the top beam every morning.”
I raise my bound hands to scrape hair from my lashes and sigh. “What do you think this stunt will achieve?”
His forehead furrows as his brows pull together. “It’ll even the score once and for all. That land your da thinks is his—the same stretch he claimed as his—that’s Tallon land. Always has been. He’ll get his precious little princess back once he returns it.”
I shake my head and shoot air down my nose. “You think I won’t go to the Garda and tell them you kidnapped me?”
His mouth curves, and for a heartbeat, he just stares right at me. My pulse flutters and the vein in my neck thrums.
“You wouldn’t want to make a personal enemy of me, Harrington.”
I let out a grunt of indignation. “I think it’s a bit late to pretend we’re not enemies, Saint Tallon.”
The whites of his eyes gleam as a flicker of unspoken words pass behind his eyes. He straightens, unhurried, and reaches into his trouser pocket. A lighter flame sparks between us, catching in the blackness of his pupils.
He lights a cigarette, draws smoke into his lungs, and exhales like he has all the time in the world.
Then he sits beside me, so close the hay crushes beneath his weight, and dry stalks scrape against my thigh.
Without asking, he puts the cigarette between my lips.
I should jerk back. Instead, I let his thumb drag across my bottom lip only to let it spring back into place, and the pull of it lands somewhere it has no business landing.
Then his touch is gone, his hand resting on his knee as if he hadn’t done a thing.
“You never did get that smoke, princess.”
I keep the cigarette between my lips without drawing on it. The paper dampens where it rests. Smoke coils up past my cheek, and his gaze follows it for a beat before dropping to my mouth, and lower to the thin strap sliding down my shoulder.
He doesn’t touch the strap. He just looks at it, jaw working, then drags his eyes back up.
My wrists strain against the rope before I lift both hands and pinch the cigarette between two fingers.
His eyes flick to the rope, then back to my mouth. A faint smirk ghosts across his face as I trap the cigarette between my fingers and exhale through my nose.
“Wow,” I say, voice rough. “You’re really pulling out all the stops, Saint. Penthouse accommodation, luxury bedding, and the finest tobacco.”
I take another drag, letting the ember flare between us. “Shame about the lack of consent and roped wrists, though.”
He tilts his head a fraction, studying me. “Shit happens. I just need ya here long enough to be useful.”
I meet his gaze over the glow of the cigarette. “You need me? Wow, that’s a big admission. Next thing you’ll pretend you have a heart, too.”
Saint rises to his feet, towering above me, the floorboards groaning under his polished dress shoes.
“My heart beats for my father’s legacy,” he says. “They’ll have to put a bullet in it to stop me from protecting what’s ours.”
“If you weren’t such an asshole, I’d call that admirable,” I shoot back. “If not a little sad.”
“Sad?” His brow lifts.
“You’re just like my father,” I say. “He obsesses over business, land, reputation—everything that gives him status. We love him out of loyalty because he’s our father, but the man’s never once asked my mother if she’s truly happy.
I guess all you Black Heath men are the same.
Small-minded. There’s a big world out there that doesn’t involve age-old grudges. ”
Saint’s jaw tightens, but his voice stays calm. “And I’m guessing you’d rather live in Paris with a stellar guy like Lucien. All suave sophistication and no loyalty?”
“He was good to me,” I snap, a little too fast. “We had interests in common. Spent lazy days in bed together, and he even took me to see all the incredible French architecture.”
Saint lets out a gruff laugh. “Yeah, and in between those field trips, he was screwing half of Paris. You’re deluded.”
I glare at him, smoke curling past my face. “Says the man who kidnapped a woman because that’s all he knows. Violence and criminal activity.”
When he leans over me, his face dropping before mine, the loft seems to shrink with his presence.
“You really don’t get it, do ya?” His voice comes rougher, quieter. “You think I care about your daddy issues, or Paris, or that French bastard who couldn’t keep his dick in his trousers?”
I open my mouth, but he keeps talking like a man explaining something to a child.
“I don’t give a fuck who made you cry, Harrington. I’m not the guy to fix ya. You’re here because your name happens to buy me leverage.” He leans in until the tip of his nose brushes mine. “And because sometimes, hurting a Harrington is the only way to get justice.”
My stomach sinks. “You’re insane.”
“No.” His hand catches my chin, forcing my eyes to his. “I’m patient. That’s dedication to the cause.”
His thumb sits at the corner of my mouth while he says it. It shouldn’t do anything to me. My pulse is beating so hard in my throat that he has to feel it under his fingers, and the traitorous part of me wants him to slide his hand lower and check.
He holds my gaze for a heartbeat, plucks the cigarette from my fingers, takes a drag, and then pushes it back between my lips.
The filter is warm from his mouth. I close my lips around it anyway.
“One spark in a dry hay loft and there’s no way out.” His tone dips. “You’d go up before ya even screamed.”
My throat tightens around the smoke. The image of flames crawling up the walls, air turning to heat hits me.
He smirks, satisfied he’s made a point, and takes the cigarette back.
“Sleep,” he says over his shoulder, walking away. “You’re gonna be in my territory for a while.”
I force my gaze away from his back, praying my father will learn the truth soon.