Keira
“You sure you’re feeling alright, Harrington?” He narrows his eyes. “You must’ve hit your head on a rock. Turn around.”
I keep eye contact, understanding this isn’t a man who’d do something he didn’t want to, and so far, since the night we met, Saint’s been like a pair of golden handcuffs.
“Maybe that cold water shocked some sense into you.” I cock my head. “And maybe you’re starting to look at me as a woman instead of my father’s daughter.”
He swallows, the color of his gray-green eyes darkening as his jaw tightens like he’s bitten down on something he doesn’t want to taste. His gaze drags over my face before dropping, just for a second, to my mouth.
In a heartbeat, his hand wraps around my throat.
My breath stutters, pulse fluttering wildly beneath his fingers as his mouth hovers so close I can feel the warmth of it, the faint hitch in his breathing as it mingles with mine.
The space between us shrinks to nothing but chills and heat.
“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.
When he hums out his answer, the rumble vibrates against my spine and tingles through me.
“My aunt died somewhere out there too,” I say, somewhat breathless because being this close to him is testing me in ways I’ve never known. “She died a long time ago. I never really knew the woman, and no one talks about what happened to her.”
When I draw my knees in tighter, his legs clamp around mine, trapping me between his thighs.
We sit there huddled together in the middle of nowhere, his bare chest flush to my spine, his heat sinking into me in slow, steady waves. And I’m not exactly hating my alone time with Saint.
“At least we’re keeping each other alive out here,” I murmur. “Funny how the war quiets down when it’s just the two of us.”
A low breath leaves him, warm against the back of my neck.
“I think you’ll discover I’m the one keeping you alive,” he corrects.
I wiggle into him more and feel his hard, full dick behind his boxers. His breath leaves him slower this time and heavier.
So I do it again. Slower. He makes a low grunt into my hair, and his fingers dig into my waist.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself anyway,” I glance over my shoulder. “And for the record, you’re only warm because I let you plaster yourself against me.”
He clears his throat, but it isn’t subtle, and he dips his mouth to my ear. His breath skims the sensitive skin there.
“You’re playing with fire, Harrington.”
“I’m just pointing out facts.”
“You’re warmer now, too,” he says, his mouth close enough that the words brush the shell of my ear. “And that’s not just the fire.”
My breath catches before I can stop it. His hands move beneath the jacket and settle at my waist. Heat pools low and slow, my pulse jumping hard enough that I’m sure he feels it.
For a moment we just sit there, heat blooming beneath the coat, his fingers flexing where they rest, pressing into the curve before easing off again
“You enjoy testing me,” he murmurs. “Don’t ya?”
“Stripping was your idea, Saint… I just followed the order.”
A low laugh vibrates through his chest and into my back.
“Telling you to strip for me never got your obedience before?”
His hand leaves my waist and skates upward. His fingers slide over my ribs with steady pressure until they reach my throat, where they close and angle my face toward his.
I twist within the cage of his thighs, my knees still trapped between them, his legs tightening to keep me where he wants me.
His other hand comes up behind my neck, fingers spreading at my nape, anchoring me there while his gaze drops to my mouth and lingers so my breath changes.
“Have I got your obedience, Keira?” His lips hover a breath from mine. “Because I’m ordering you to kiss me.”
My belly flips, and a wicked shiver runs the length of my spine.
“Or what?” I whisper.
His fingers tighten at my nape, and he dips into the last inch, his mouth brushing mine without quite taking it.
“Or I’ll kiss you.”
For a breath, neither of us moves.
His thumb presses once at the base of my throat, right where my pulse beats hardest. His gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts again as if he’s waiting to see if I’ll flinch.
I don’t. Rather, my lips part on instinct instead.
That’s all the invitation he needs.
His hand tightens at the back of my neck, and he pulls me into him. His mouth comes down on mine, the impact enough to steal the air from my lungs.
There’s nothing gentle about it.
His lips move over mine with heat and mind-melting pressure. He angles my head, deepening the kiss as his other hand skates down my side and spans my waist, holding me against him.
I sense the shift in him when I melt into him.
When I let go.
His fingers curl tighter in my hair, and he kisses me harder, slower, dragging the sensation out until my hands find his shoulders and grip.
“I shouldn’t do this,” he murmurs against my mouth, not pulling away.
“No,” I breathe, my lips brushing his when I speak. “You shouldn’t.”
He exhales down his nose, and instead of stopping, his hand glides over my bare breast and cups it with possession rather than haste, his thumb dragging over my nipple until it’s a hard point, then rolling it between his fingers and pinching.
The sting shoots straight between my thighs and I moan into his mouth.
The kiss changes, becoming less of a challenge and more hunger.
My hands slide up his shoulders, into his hair, pulling him closer, pressing myself into him.
A low rumble leaves his throat when my other hand reaches between us, shoves under the waistband of his boxers and closes around his cock.
He’s full and hard in my palm, so hard the skin is drawn tight, already slick at the tip.
When I drag my thumb over it and use it to slide my fist down his length, his hips jerk up off the ground.
“Fuck… You’re a naughty girl, Harrington.”
I pause for a beat, making him wait for the next pump of my fist. “Call me by my name, Saint.”
He smiles against my lips, the short stubble on his jaw rough against my chin. “You’re a naughty fucking girl, Keira.”
His hand leaves my breast and shoves down between my thighs, two fingers dragging through how wet I am.
“Christ,” he breathes against my mouth. “All that fight, and look at ya.”
He works the flat of his fingers over my clit, matching the pace I’m setting on him. My hips buck into his hand. His cock jerks in my fist.
For a breathless stretch of time the world narrows to this—his fingers buried between my legs, my fist pumping him faster, both of us panting into each other’s mouths. I’m right at the edge. His thighs lock around mine, his cock swells thicker in my hand, and I know he’s seconds behind me.
“Saint!” A shout echoes through the trees. “You out here?”
He rips his hand out from between my thighs and wipes it down his own leg, and the sudden absence of him is so cruel I nearly say something I’d never take back.
“Fuck,” he mutters, already listening. “That’s Rafe.”
We’re on our feet in seconds.
The change in him is immediate. The heat we shared is ice-cold. He squares his shoulders and runs a hand through his hair, not looking back at me. The man who kissed me is gone, replaced by the Tallon who doesn’t lose control.
“Get dressed,” he orders, already reaching for his jeans.
He steps into them fast, dragging the denim up his legs and buckling his belt. There’s no lingering, no glances, even though his breathing hasn’t quite steadied.
He strides to the branch, grabs my clothes and throws them at me.
“Hurry up.”
The fabric hits my chest and falls into my hands. My skin still burns where he’d touched me only seconds ago, but whatever was alive between us has fizzled out.
He reaches for the shirt we were sitting on and throws it back on while I redress in damp clothes. The soggy fabric clings against skin that hasn’t stopped humming.
Grabbing the jacket, he pulls out his cigarettes, taps one free, and sparks the lighter. The flame flares briefly, reflected in his eyes before he inhales and lets the smoke settle his breathing.
Then he holds the jacket toward me without looking.
“Put it on.”
He turns his back to me and walks away, smoke trailing behind him as he calls out to his brother.
“Rafe! Over here.”
Hoofbeats break through the trees before I finish pulling the jacket on.
Saint is already halfway down the slope when they appear between the trunks, Rafe in front, Shay behind him, Bran led on a loose rein between them.
The horse snorts when he sees Saint and tosses his head.
Rafe reins in first, scanning the clearing with sharp eyes. Shay follows, gaze sweeping over me once before settling on Saint.
“What the hell happened?” Rafe calls.
“Two guys in a van came outta nowhere and started shooting. The old bridge gave way,” Saint replies, short and flat. “She went in. I got her out.”
That’s all he offers.
Rafe’s gaze flicks to the river, then to the fire, then back to Saint. “You were sitting here in wet clothes?”
“That’s all ya gotta say?” Saint strokes Bran’s neck and checks him over. “How about you tell me who those fuckers in the van work for.”
Shay swings down from his saddle without joining the conversation. He walks to the fire and kicks dirt over the base, then drags a boot through the embers until the flames gutter and die.
A final shove of soil smothers what’s left.
“Don’t worry. I’ll find out.” Rafe reaches into his jacket and pulls out a hip flask, tossing it toward Saint. “That’ll warm ya up.”
Saint catches it. He stares at the metal case, then turns and hands it straight to me and nods.
Rafe blinks. “Jesus, Saint. I don’t want a Harrington supping from my flask.”
Saint’s jaw tightens. “You sound like a little bitch, Rafe.”
The liquor burns down my throat and settles warm in my belly.
“Thanks.” I pass the flask back, keeping my face neutral. “I’ll ride back with Shay.”
Saint’s brows draw tight.
He takes the flask from me and tips it back without breaking eye contact. His throat works as he swallows, gaze fixed, unblinking.
When he lowers it, his fingers flex once around the metal before he passes it to Rafe and walks over to Bran.
After he gathers the reins and swings into the saddle, his stormy gaze clashes with mine.
“Get over here, Keira.”
My heart skips.
“Shay,” he says, already shifting in the saddle to make space, “give her a leg up behind me.”
Rafe looks between us, eyes narrowing.
“You’re on first-name terms now?” His mouth twists. “What exactly happened out here, Saint?”
Saint plucks the cigarette from his lips and exhales a lungful of smoke while Shay helps me mount. Once I’m settled, he gathers the reins and nudges Bran forward.
“Names don’t change blood, Rafe.” The words are flat. “Blood is blood.”
My lips still carry the pressure of his, and heat creeps up my throat as I brush my fingertips over them, remembering how badly I’d wanted him. For those few minutes beside the fire, I let myself believe he wanted me, not the Harrington he’d kidnapped as leverage.
He never forgot.
And I won’t give him the chance to make me forget again.