Page 48 of Lawless Rivals

I ease out from under the duvet and tiptoe away, making a beeline for the bathroom.

At the sink, I splash warm water on my face and stare at my reflection in the mirror, not pleased with my tangled hair and eye bags.

There’s not much sitting on the counter, other than a spray deodorant and toothpaste. So I slosh water and paste around my mouth, rake my fingers through the knots and glare at the plastic bag sitting where I’d left it last night.

My only options are wearing his clothes that drown my petite frame or stepping into the borrowed breeches of his pretty girlfriend.

After an eyeroll, a loud sigh and a minty spit in the basin, I pull them on despite myself. They fit well and that pisses me off.

When I’m finished hating the super-soft sweatshirt, that’s actually a nice shade of cornflower blue, I head for the kitchen and switch on a lamp as I pass the sitting room.

There’s a trace of cigarette smoke and coffee in the air, and the first aid kit sits on the table where she’d left it.

I fill the kettle, dip a teaspoon into the coffee jar, and grab the milk from the fridge. The water has just started to boil when footsteps thud behind me.

“Fuck, there ya are.”

Saint’s moving fast as he says it, halfway dressed in a white vest that hugs his chest, boxers tight to his hips, hair a mess from sleep.

He stops short in the middle of the kitchen, eyes flicking over me before he drags a hand down his face. “Thought you’d done a runner again.”

“I wish,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “Because instant coffee tastes like shit.”

His mouth tugs into a faint smirk. “Not good enough for the Paris princess, huh?”

I glare at him. “I’m sorry my standards offend you.”

“I ain’t that easily offended,” he says, crossing the kitchen to the counter where I’m standing. “The coffee, on the other hand, might tell ya to go fuck yourself and drink water.”

He reaches for a mug and makes himself a coffee, stopping close enough that I’m aware of the heat coming off him, the same restless awareness that made it hard to fall asleep and harder still to get out of bed.

He looks at the clothes I’m wearing and nods.

“Congratulations,” he says. “I see you finally did what you’re told.”

“No.” I shift my weight back a fraction. “I decided this outfit was better than yours.”

“Like I said, Harrington,” he replies. “You did what ya were told.”

He takes a drink, watching me over the rim of the mug with intense dark eyes.

“Just because I’m wearing her clothes doesn’t mean you get to look at me like that,” I say. “After last night, you’re the one who needs to be cuffed.”

His eyes don’t leave mine. “Because my foot brushed your leg?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” I let out a fake sigh. “For a guy who set the rules, you got pretty comfortable in your sleep.”

His breath leaves him slow through his nose.

“I didn’t touch ya.”

“Yeah, you did,” I say. “And if you try to put your arm around me like that again, I’ll shove a pillow over your face.”

His jaw muscles clench for a second, then release.

“Read into accidents, Harrington,” he says quietly, “and you’ll embarrass yourself.”

He stays where he is, coffee in hand, the fresh morning haze caressing his bare arms and the ink on his skin.