Page 18 of Lawless Rivals

“I know what you’re thinking.” I sigh. “Don’t even try it. You won’t get far, especially on a night like that. You’ll be on your ass before you clear the sill, and it won’t be from the wind.”

When I gesture to my gun holster, her pretty eyes flash with irritation. “Ah, Saint Tallon the criminal mind reader. Is that one of your many annoying skills?”

A slow breath works through my chest. I meet her stare, letting the intensity of it grow stronger between us. “No. I just recognize trouble when it’s dripping on my floor.”

The temperature rises and the urge to strip her bare has my pulse thrumming.

“Take as long as ya need,” I add, backing out and closing the door.

The less time she’s in my company, the better.

I march to my bedroom and ignore how my dick is straining behind my Levis. Fuck that woman would test the patience of a Saint.

I smirk at the joke and bring my focus back to the deal I made earlier and the job waiting for me tomorrow.

That’s the priority for now. Not fooling around with Keira Harrington.

Despite myself, every time I blink, I see her soaked through, nipples taut, skin flushed, and I remember how good it felt to have her pressed against me with her heart hammering like it wanted out.

Christ, I need a cold beer and a shot of McGrath whiskey.

I unfasten my holster and set the gun on the dresser before removing my shirt and unbuckling my belt.

While she’s in the main bathroom, I’ll wash up in the ensuite shower.

Before I get the chance to unbutton my flies all the way down, there’s a muted thump and a frustrated groan that sounds far too much like a struggle.

For fuck’s sake. She’s trying to escape.

I’m out of my room in one breath, wrenching open the door and barging in without any airs or graces.

Except I don't find her stuck in the window frame.

She stands in front of the mirror, fighting with the zipper lining her spine.

The tiny teeth have zipped up a clump of her hair, and she’s twisting her arms at impossible angles trying her hardest to pull it lower.

For a moment, she freezes, caught mid-twist, staring at me through the mirror. Her gaze wanders all over my inked chest, dropping lower to the boxers peeking out from behind my partially opened jeans.

It stops there and I watch her throat move when she swallows. My cock notices the attention and starts filling out behind the denim. She sees that, too. Her eyes snap up to mine in the glass, and the flush that crawls up her neck is worth every mile of this fucked-up night.

Keira swallows hard. Her pale cheeks flush, though her chin hitches with that stubbornness I’ve come to find sexy.

“Don’t just stand there looking,” she says, breathless. “Help me.”

My brows pop high and I fold my arms over my chest. “Say what now?”

Her eyebrows snap together. “You heard. Help me, Saint.”

I let out a low rumble of amusement. “If you want my help, you’d better ask nicely. I don’t make a habit of helping people I dislike."

She lets out a frustrated grunt. “Fine. We’re even on that score. Forget it. The show’s over. Stop looking at me and close the damn door on your way out.”

“Are ya going to shower with your dress on?” I ask, smug as fuck.

“Maybe,” she snaps, still clawing at the zipper with an arm that clearly isn’t built for contortion.

The wet satin only tightens around her breasts as she twists, her cleavage bulging, her nipples pushing hard little points through the fabric, and Christ, this is a whole new satisfying kink.