Keira
“That’s not your call,” Saint bites out. “We have the advantage. Don’t fuck it up. If Sera’s not there, go through the place and get as much dirt on Harrington as ya can.”
I swallow hard and press a hand to my stomach. I don’t know if I’ve just helped them find her or sent them straight into something that could destroy my family.
The door opens ahead of us, and cold air rushes in. Men file out, and Saint holds his hand to curve on my back, urging me forward.
Outside, the driveway is alive with headlights.
Rafe doesn’t wait for anyone to tell him to move, climbing into the Ford as Dane circles the hood and Shay pulls the back passenger door open, all of it happening as Saint leaves my side.
He jogs to the driver’s side window, bends, and speaks to his brothers under the growl of engines.
Eventually he slaps the hood and backs away as the Ford takes off.
Smoke drifts into my line of sight, thin at first, then thicker, and when I turn my head, Máirín is beside me, her shoulder angled toward the yard.
“Harringtons don’t belong under my roof.” She flicks ash so it dances in the light breeze.
I keep my eyes on Saint as he talks to a guy on a motorbike.
“Sitting on my son’s knee was a mistake,” she says. “It won’t happen again. You’re not gonna poison him under my nose. And no, that’s not a promise: it’s a threat.”
More ash flutters from the end of her cigarette and disappears over the edge of the step.
“If my boys walk headfirst into a trap tonight, I’ll shoot ya myself.”
I draw a breath through my nose and hold it for a second before letting it out again, keeping my posture steady, my expression blank.
“It must be exhausting,” I say, “being so bitter.”
“What’s exhausting is seeing ya around here.”
“News flash, Máirín,” I side-eye her. “I didn’t invite myself to your stud. You should think through the consequences of abduction so it doesn’t come as a surprise when you bring the person to your home.”
A flicker of a mock smile plays on her mouth. “Spoken with the haughtiness of a true Harrington.”
Saint joins us on the porch, his presence registering with a rush of adrenaline in my veins. He stops close enough to me that I’m aware of him at my side before I actually look.
“You’ve given us something to work with, Keira,” he says.
The way he uses my name in front of his mother makes my heart pump faster.
Máirín lets out a low breath and taps ash from her cigarette before she turns her head to the taillights in the distance.
“Get the Harrington off my porch,” she says.
Saint digs a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “She didn’t have to say shit, ma.”
“Your sister isn’t safe yet.”
She heads back inside, the door slamming behind her.
My attention stays on the track where the cars have disappeared.
“Was it worth it?” I ask. “Putting your sister at risk.”
Saint pulls a cigarette from the pack, lights it, and takes a drag, his gaze fixed out across the yard, not on me. The smoke leaves his lungs in a slow stream.
“I’m thinking ya belong to the wrong family.”
I frown and then look right at him. “Why would you say that?”
He takes another lungful of smoke, his eyes still on the yard, the line of his jaw set in a way that gives nothing away.
I stare at him for a beat, my emotions firing off. Our situation is impossible. His family will never trust me, let alone welcome me.
“You were right.” I move away and drop onto the first step. “This ends one way.”
“Where d’ya think you’re going, princess?” His voice slips over my shoulder.
“I have no desire to stand on the porch of a woman who’s stuck in the past,” I reply, maintaining my pace.
Gravel crunches behind me as he closes the distance with his long, confident strides, the cigarette smoke following us.
“Why’d ya give us the name of that place?” he asks.
I shake my head and exhale a heavy sigh. “Why did you bring me into your cabin instead of letting me freeze in the hayloft?”
A silent beat of consideration passes.
“Maybe I liked what I saw.”
I keep my eyes on the barn ahead and ignore the pulse thrumming between my legs.
“Well, maybe I don’t want anything bad to happen to a Tallon,” I say, “because I’m nothing like my father.”
As soon as I’ve said it, his hand is on me, his fingers firm around my arm. My ass bumps into the side of the barn, and his mouth is on mine before my next breath.
I whimper when his fingertips press into my jaw and his stubble brushes over my chin.
“Fuck, Keira,” he mutters. “I want ya.”
My hands fist into his jacket, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, the heat of his body burning straight through the cold.
There’s no desire to argue, only a fiery ache for what he’s offering. The need for his hands on my skin again, and the hunger for something I know has already ruined me.
Instead, I focus on the pressure of his mouth, the way he takes control with a demanding pace, and I match it with the same energy.
A shout from a stable hand to his mate breaks the moment before it reaches boiling point.
Saint pulls back, and cool air brushes my lips as we both struggle to catch our breath. He bows his head and rakes a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face.
His chest rises, falls, once, twice, control slotting back into place with every breath.
My fists uncurl from his shirt, and I force myself to move sideways. “Stop messing with my head, Saint.”
“Is that what ya think I’m doing?” he says, catching my wrist to stop me from walking away.
His gaze finds mine again, darker now; whatever he’s holding back is sitting closer to the surface than ever before.
He drags me into the barn toward the staff room, the door already half open as he kicks it wider and pulls me inside with him.
When the door slams shut behind us, my pulse thunders in my ears, the ache burning low and tight. The faint scent of coffee mixes with the raw, masculine heat rolling off Saint in waves.
I try to steady my breathing. “This is pointless.”
The words come out weaker than planned, my body on high alert.
Those dark green eyes lock onto mine, wilder now, the last threads of control fraying fast. Instead of answering, he crowds me against the wall.
His hand is on my throat in the next heartbeat—large, rough, possessive—tilting my chin up with firm pressure.
“This is all I can think about,” he says, voice husky and low. “Me…touching ya.”
Then his mouth crashes over mine.
The kiss is filthier the second time round—his lips wet, hungry with no restraint left. His tongue pushes deep, stroking mine in hot, demanding slides that make me whimper into his mouth.
He tastes like tobacco and danger, and I’m drowning in it, my hands fisting his jacket as my pelvis jerks into him.
His other hand jumps to the zipper of my jeans, teasing it lower before he slides inside, straight to where I’m soaked and throbbing.
Two thick fingers drag through my slick folds, spreading me open.
A deep, guttural grunt rumbles from his chest.
“Jesus Christ…” His voice is gritty and deep. “You want me too, Keira. And this fucking tension needs an outlet.”
Heat explodes across my skin. I’m so turned on I can barely speak. His grip on my throat tightens just enough to keep me right there, eyes on his.
He leans in, lips brushing my ear, breath hot and ragged. “Spread your thighs for me. Admit how badly ya need it.”
When I obey, he angles his wrist and slides two fingers inside me. He curls and strokes while his thumb grinds tight circles over my swollen clit.
I cry out, hips jerking wildly against his hand. “Saint—oh fuck—”
“That’s it. Moan my name while I finger-fuck ya.” The heel of his palm rubs against my throbbing clit. “I should have done this to you in Ma’s kitchen. Claimed ya as mine so no one else could say another fucking word about it.”
“I’ll never be yours,” I whisper in a ragged breath.
“Then what are you right now?”
The ache coils tighter and tighter in my belly, pushing me right to the edge.
“Show me who you come for,” he growls against my lips, voice breaking with the force of his own need. “Soak my hand and let me hear my name cry out of this pretty little mouth.”
That’s all it takes.
The orgasm charges through me. I shatter hard, my inner walls pulsating around his fingers.
My whole body convulses, legs shaking as he holds me up with nothing but his hand on my throat and his fingers buried inside me.
I’m panting, lost in the aftershocks when his phone rings from inside his jacket.
Saint freezes, fingers still knuckle-deep, forehead close to mine. For one suspended second, he doesn’t move as if he’s fighting every instinct to ignore the world and keep ruining me.
The phone doesn’t stop ringing.
We both know it’s news about Sera.
He lets out a muttered curse, but he doesn’t pull his fingers out. They stayed put while he unhands my neck and pulls the phone out of his pocket.
“Talk,” he says, locking eyes with me as he listens.
My scalp tingles. His nostrils flare.
“Understood.”
When he ends the call, he takes his hand back, lifts it to his mouth, and sucks his middle finger.
“Well?” I say, still breathless. “Did they find her?”