Saint
Being this close to her is setting my skin on fire. She’s gone absolutely rigid and offers me a look of pure repulsion.
“When you kissed me at the gala, you were nothing more than a decent looking stranger in a nice suit. I let you get away with it because it worked in my favor. But now—” She strains her neck to pull away, “—now you’re just a busted-up criminal pushing his weight around.”
A ghost of a smile dances on my lips. “Yeah, I’m a busted-up criminal who ya think you’re better than.”
I back up and return to my seat while she stays put, her gaze taking in the blood oozing down my flexed bicep, passing over the dark black tattoo band in a thin trickle.
“Funny thing about blood, Harrington. It loses the family name once it’s out.”
“Yet you’re the one who goes out looking to get cut.” She folds her arms over her chest and pushes off the counter. “You brought that on yourself. Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you after what you’ve done to me.”
“I don’t need ya to feel anything.” I put the liquor bottle to my lips. “You gonna help or watch me bleed?”
“What’s it worth?”
“This isn’t a negotiation.”
“Then what is it?”
“An order.” I take a long pull of whiskey, let it burn, then fix my eyes on her mouth. “Patch it up, Harrington.”
Keira moves closer, reaches for the first aid kit, and starts pulling stuff out. A plastic wrapped bandage lands on the table, followed by gauze and a box of wound closure strips.
“Helping is never beneath me,” she says before her light touch skims my skin and my heart rate thrums. “But helping someone who’s kidnapped me, that’s what I’m struggling with.”
“It’s not like I left ya outside with the animals for long.” I suck in a breath when she drags an antiseptic wipe over the slice.
The tips of her hair brush my chest when she steps closer, light as a whisper, and it sends a slow ripple of heat down my spine. I hold still, every nerve ending tuned to her whether I want her this close to me or not.
“Come on, Saint,” she half laughs. “We both know I’d still be in the loft if the storm hadn’t hit.”
Despite being right, it still doesn’t change a damn thing.
She’s standing in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, her freckled skin warm and flushed, and I know better than to stare for too long.
Nothing good comes from wanting her. I don’t need another complication. Especially not this one.
“True.” I shrug, keeping my eyes anywhere but the soft rise of her breasts under the shirt she’s wearing. “But you’re here now. Don’t be bratty about it.”
Keira huffs out a breath, the sound equal parts disbelief and irritation, then tears open the packet of strips with her fingers. “Bratty? Being trapped in this place…with you…should make me happy?”
Her bare feet step around my boots as she moves closer. My mind scrambles at the almost taunting touch, as she presses one strip to the edge of the cut, then pulls the skin tight and fixes it in place.
The sting is nothing. It’s the sensation of her hands on me that’s the problem.
“You’re lucky it wasn’t deeper,” she murmurs. “Otherwise, these strips wouldn’t do a thing. I think they’ll hold if you don’t stretch your arm too much. Maybe let the air at it instead of covering it up.”
A low laugh slips out before I can stop it. “You want me walking around shirtless, Harrington?”
Her eyes flick up and mine lock on hers.
“For my health,” I ask, “or yours?”
She makes a cute, flustered noise from the back of her throat and steps away. “I don’t care what you do. Shirt on or shirt off, it doesn’t affect me in the slightest.”
Her expression shutters tight, giving me nothing, and she wipes her fingers on the hem of the shirt as if she’s offended by the idea of having touched me at all.
I reach for the bottle and take a long pull straight from it, the liquor nursing the pain in my arm and the burning ache buried deeper.
“Since you’ve been a good girl,” I say, voice rough, “you can stay in the cabin while you’re here. I won’t send ya back to the yard.”
Her brows rise, not in gratitude, but in wary curiosity, as though she’s waiting for the trap hidden beneath my words.
“It’s warmer than the loft,” I continue, leaning back in my chair as the heat from the wound pulses.
She watches me with those cool, sea-gray eyes, searching for the angle, the threat, the part of this that doesn’t add up. And she’s right to be cautious. With me, there’s always more beneath the surface.
“Is that for my health,” she counters, “or yours?”
I push to my feet and stroll deeper into the kitchen, stepping over the cheese grater and fish slice.
“Truth is, I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with you dying on my land. That’d be another headache I don’t need. It’s that straightforward, Harrington. Now tidy up the mess you’ve made of my kitchen.” I nod at the cutlery on the floor. “And wash everything before ya put it away.”
I reach for a pack of smokes, tap one free, and light it. The first drag hits hard, pulling smoke into my lungs before I exhale the coiled hunger that’s been riding me since we first met.
It’s nothing an evening at the bar and a willing body wouldn’t cure.
Except I can’t be bothered with the hassle of bringing a woman back here while this one is under my roof.
Keira moves past me without a word, washing her hands at the sink before kneeling in the middle of the kitchen to collect the utensils.
She gathers her scattered vowels and consonants, dismantling her petty message as if I’m not standing a few feet away watching her every move.
I’d rather not admit how her little “fuck you” montage made something inside me twist in amusement. Or how the gutsiness behind it ignited a low, dangerous spark in my blood.
Who knew the Harrington princess had a backbone?
I lean a shoulder against the fridge door, smoke puffing past my lips as I take her in. Her hair hangs loose around her flushed cheeks, her lashes dark and fluttery as she focuses on her task.
She looks innocent like this, kneeling in my kitchen, framed in the soft glow of daylight streaming into the cabin.
And fuck, it takes every ounce of restraint I have left not to shove my fingers into her hair, pull her to her feet, press her ass against the wall, and cover those pretty pink lips with a hard kiss.
Instead, I draw another slow drag from the cigarette and keep myself in check as the desire claws at my ribs from the inside.
Wanting her is easy. Fucking her is the line I’d never cross.
As the fantasy rolls through my mind, the front door flings open and cold air knifes into the cabin.
“Yoh, Saint—” Rafe barges inside. “Dane said you’d been cut. Need a—”
He stops dead.
His gaze drops to Keira kneeling among the scattered utensils, her wrists free and my shirt on her back. She looks over at him, her expression composed in a way that only makes the situation more explosive.
Rafe’s eyes flick from her to me. Then back to her. Then to me again.
His brow furrows, either shock or disgust, or both.
There’s a shift happening inside myself as well. I don’t see this girl as the spoiled, rich bitch I thought she’d be. Which means I’ve let her charm me somehow, and that’s dangerous.
Rafe takes a step forward, voice rough and eyes holding mine. “Does Ma know the Harrington girl is sittin’ pretty in your place?”
I exhale a lungful of smoke. “I’m preventing things from escalating. The drop in temperature out there last night would’ve killed her. Then we’d all be doin’ time.”
Rafe doesn’t look convinced. In fact, my kid brother doesn’t look anything except furious.
His glare flicks to Keira, full of generational hate and the sort of disgust a Tallon reserves for blood enemies. And when Keira holds his stare without flinching, it seems to grate on his last nerve.
“She’s doing chores,” I tell Rafe. “No one gets a free ride. You know that. She’s cleaning the kitchen, and I’m having a drink.”
I nod toward the whiskey on the table. “Head to the back barn. Or do ya wanna help Shay feed the pigs?”
Rafe shakes his head and blows out a long sigh. “Ma’s gonna lose her shit over this, Saint.”
“Ma can deal with it,” I say, letting command slip into my tone. “I’m running the show and sortin’ out this particular situation my way. So how about ya get the fuck back to work instead of being a ball-ache.”
Rafe stuffs his hands into his jeans’ pockets. “Don’t forget whose blood runs in her veins.”
The bitterness he uses reminds me of our ma. The things she told us about Harringtons when we were young were told well.
The reminder digs under my skin. I grind my cigarette out in the sink, grab the bottle of whiskey off the table, and turn to face him fully.
“What is this, Rafe?” I take a slow drink before lowering the bottle. “You think I like the girl or something?”
He doesn’t answer straight away, rather his eyes flick to Keira on the floor, then back to me with a weight behind them I don’t appreciate. “It’s not like ya to bring her in. That’s all.”
A humorless laugh tears out of me. “Right. So I’m gonna let her suck me off, get blindsided by her mouth, and what—ruin the plan? Betray the family? Throw everything Ma’s built straight down the shitter for a Harrington?”
The way I grit out her surname earns a little grunt of dissatisfaction from behind me.
I ignore it and level Rafe with a stare that could snap a weaker man. “What exactly are you trying to say, Rafe? Spit it out.”
He rolls a shoulder, casual only on the surface. “Women are always into ya, Saint. She’ll be no different, and she’ll try to use it to her advantage. All I’m saying is don’t fall for her pretty face. That’s a mistake that would put us all behind bars, too. Don’t forget who she belongs to.”
Next thing I know, Keira gets to her feet and faces him, her chin high with that Harrington haughtiness that was bred into her. “I don’t belong to anyone. Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”
Rafe snorts. “You sure as fuck shouldn’t be in here.”
“Rafe.” I don’t raise my voice but his name snaps through the space like a trap springing shut.
He goes still, more from instinct than obedience.
“This isn’t the time,” I tell my brother, gaze locked on him, not her. “We’ve got actual problems to deal with, and this distraction isn’t one of them.”
Rafe bristles. “Distraction? She’s a half-dressed Harrington in your kitchen.”
“Stop overthinking it, for fucks sake. I had her cuffed, and they’re going back on once she’s earned a hot meal.
” I nod to the table where the cuffs are sitting.
“I don’t see you offering any solutions or helping Dane interrogate the buyer.
Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t deserve to eat tonight, Rafe. ”
“Ma’s still gonna kick off,” Rafe mutters. “You know she will.”
“Ma can scream into the heath for all I care.” I take another drink. “I said I’m handling it.”
“And if she asks why you’ve got a Harrington tucked away in your cabin?”
I hold his stare. “I’ll tell her the truth. It’s strategy. My mind’s on getting her da to sign over our land. Once that’s done, I won’t give a shit if she falls off her eventing horse and breaks her neck.”
Keira tenses, and Rafe nods.
He adjusts the collar on his jacket. “Fine. Just don’t let her sink her claws into anything that matters.”
I let out a short laugh. “Trust me, I don’t want her hands anywhere near me.”
Rafe turns to leave, glancing over his shoulder at Keira with pure, cold dislike.
Then he looks at me and says, “Don’t let this blow back on us.”
When he walks out, I take another long drink and push down the ache I have in my bones for the wrong woman. Swallowing, I thump the bottle on the table, grab the cuffs and snare her arm.
“I’m gonna be out all afternoon,” I say, not looking her in the eye as I snap the metal tight around her wrists. “No more bullshit messages on my floor or I’ll chain ya to the radiator. Stay indoors.”
At that moment, our gazes collide and something red-hot shots through me. She stares up at me with those wide, unblinking eyes and long lashes that shouldn’t belong to someone this infuriating.
She’s all sweetness and seductive without even trying.
When she doesn’t answer, I pinch her chin between my fingers and thumb. “Do you understand?”
She blinks a few times and then nods into my hand. I don’t push any further and release her instead.
I pivot away and head to the bedroom, pulling a clean shirt from the closet and gritting my teeth as the fabric settles on the wound. I reach for a jacket next, shrug it on, then snatch a baseball cap off the dresser.
Returning to the kitchen, she’s exactly where I left her, spine straight, chin hitched.
“Behave,” I mutter, correcting the angle of the cap as I pass her to grab my smokes.
When I pocket the pack and stalk to the door, her voice slips over my shoulder. “One of us is going to regret underestimating the other, Saint. And it won’t be me.”
My hand stills on the door.
She should sound ridiculous. Barefoot in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, threatening me like she has the upper hand.
But all I can think about is that mouth of hers and how fast the fight would turn if I crossed the room and kissed her.
My grip tightens around the handle until the metal bites into my palm.
Fuck that.
Her blood is Harrington blood. Rotten at the heart.
She’s leverage. A Harrington under my roof. That’s all.
I open the door and welcome the cold air, its bite sharp enough to keep me from taking what I shouldn’t want.