Page 2 of His Obsession

“I know what you saw,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through her panic. “I saw it, too. If you value your life, you’re going to forget you ever saw anything and pray that no one else finds out differently.”

She turned her head, her amber eyes blazing as they met his. “I can’t do that. I just saw a man murdered. The police need to be called. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

His lips curved into a dark smile that wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “The man who just saved your pretty little life.”

She should have been terrified—his presence radiated a menace that promised he was no better than the man she’d just seen pull the trigger. But beneath the fear was an undeniable heat, a pull she couldn’t explain.

“You—” she began, her voice faltering as he leaned closer, his breath brushing against her temple.

“I’ll explain everything,” he said, his tone softening but losing none of its edge. “But not here.”

The hum of the gala carried on just beyond the hallway, oblivious to the violence that had unfolded mere feet away. Isolde’s mind screamed at her to run, to escape the man who held her like a fragile bird in his grasp. But his touch, rough and unapologetic, ignited a spark of defiance—and desire.

“I don’t go anywhere with strangers,” she managed, her voice steadier than she felt.

He released her mouth, his thumb brushing against her jaw in a gesture that felt both possessive and oddly reverent. “Then it’s a good thing we’re not strangers. Callum Kavanagh.”

Her breath hitched. She’d heard the name before—whispers of power and danger that swirled through Dublin’s elite circleslike ghost stories told in hushed tones. He was said to be the right-hand man for the Devil of Galway, Conchobar O’Neill, one of the most powerful underworld figures in all of Great Britain.

“You’re him,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“And you,” he said, his gaze raking over her, “are in way over your head, Isolde Fitzwilliam.”

“How do you know my name?” she demanded, her anger flaring to cover the vulnerability that threatened to consume her.

He leaned closer, his lips a whisper’s breadth from her ear. “I make it my business to know everything about the people in one of the cities in which we have business. Especially those who stumble into things they shouldn’t.”

Her knees weakened as his words settled over her, a heady mix of warning and promise. She should push him away, scream for help, do anything but stand there as his hand slid to her waist, grounding her in place.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t go straight to the police,” she challenged, her voice trembling but defiant.

His dark chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. “Because they can’t protect you from what’s coming.”

The air between them crackled, the world outside the hallway fading into irrelevance. For an instant, she forgot about the body lying not too far away, about the danger she was in. All that existed was the man before her—dangerous, dominant, and utterly in control.

And heaven help her, she wanted to know what it would feel like to lose herself in that control. She told herself she didn’t, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

“Let me go,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Not yet,” Callum murmured, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Not until I’m sure you understand what’s at stake.”

The unspoken threat in his words left her breathless. Isolde wasn’t sure if it was fear or desire she was feeling so strongly—orperhaps a volatile mix of both. As much as she wanted to shake off the arousal that coursed through her veins, she couldn’t seem to do so. Her breath and heart rate were increased, and it wasn’t only because of what she’d just witnessed. All she knew was that her life, so carefully controlled and predictable, had just taken a turn she could never have anticipated.

And somehow, Callum Kavanagh was at the center of it all.

The warm press of his body against her back was a stark contrast to the icy fear clawing at her chest. Isolde’s breath came in shallow gasps, the adrenaline coursing through her veins screaming for her to run. But his arm, like an iron band around her waist, held her in place.

“You don’t want to do anything stupid, love,” his voice was low and smooth, a predator’s purr that sent a shiver skittering down her spine. “I’d hate to see you get hurt because you couldn’t follow simple instructions.”

His breath brushed her ear, sending a jolt of something dark and unwelcome through her. She twisted slightly, trying to look up at him, but his grip tightened, his dominance unmistakable.

“I—” she began, her voice faltering as her gaze flicked to the scene unfolding in the shadows ahead.

Two men moved with disturbing efficiency, their faces impassive as they dragged the lifeless body out of sight. A third man, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, wiped a smear of blood from his hands before nodding once in Kavanaugh’s direction and disappearing through a side door.

She swallowed hard, her mind racing to process the gravity of what she had stumbled into. The acrid scent of blood still lingered in the air, but it was overpowered by the faint trace of Callum’s cologne—expensive and intoxicating, a disorienting blend of cedar and leather that clung to her senses.

“You just killed him,” she whispered, her voice raw with disbelief.

---