Page 15 of His Temptation

So she waited. It was a strategy she had learned long ago. Let them think you’re beaten. Let them believe you’re out of options. Then strike when they least expect it.

The SUV took a turn down a private road, winding through thick trees until the heavy gates of an estate loomed ahead. The iron arch bore the unmistakable insignia of the O’Neill family—the symbol of panthers standing over a Celtic knot, a reminder that once you entered their domain, you belonged to them.

Her stomach twisted. This wasn’t just any hideout. This was one of their fortresses, a place where outsiders didn’t leave unless the O’Neill allowed it.

Daragh rolled down his window, pressing his thumb to a biometric scanner mounted to the security post. The gate groaned as it slid open, and they drove inside, the estate revealing itself in the moonlight.

The main house was a sprawling, stone structure with a modern touch, but Siobhan wasn’t interested in admiring architecture. She was calculating escape routes, assessing the number of guards she could see, and filing away any weaknesses.

Daragh parked near the entrance, then turned toward her, his expression unreadable. “Let’s go.”

Siobhan didn’t move. His gaze sharpened, amusement flickering across his features before disappearing behind that damn frustrating mask of control.

“You can walk inside, kitten and I’ll show you to a guest room. Or I can carry you inside to install you in mine.” His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, a dark promise beneath the words. “I know which I’d prefer—you too I suspect.”

Siobhan unclenched her jaw and shoved the door open before he could make good on the threat.

The moment her boots hit the gravel, the cool night air wrapped around her. The scents of rain-soaked earth, heatherand wildflowers combined with the faint tang of the sea filled her nose, grounding her for a fraction of a second.

She followed Daragh up the steps, her body humming with awareness of the man beside her. He moved with predatory ease, a calculated grace that reminded her of the very thing she had been trying to run from all these years.

The O’Neills were not good men. And Daragh? He was their fixer. That, in her mind, made him the worst of them all.

Inside, the house was quiet but not empty. She could sense the presence of others—guards stationed near exits, silent figures watching from the shadows. Every instinct told her she was being herded into a fortress so strong it made the Tower of London look like a run-down hotel.

Daragh led her through a set of double doors into what looked like an office. A fire crackled in the enormous stone fireplace, casting flickering light over the massive desk and shelves lined with books and weapons alike.

He gestured toward the chair across from the desk. “Sit.”

Siobhan stayed standing.

Daragh sighed, but there was something too controlled about it, like he expected her to fight him at every turn. He sat on the edge of the desk, his long legs stretched out as he studied her.

“You have three options,” he said, his voice cool, almost bored.

Siobhan’s hands curled into fists.

“First option,” he continued. “MI5 finds you. They were at your storage unit so we already know they’re aware you’re alive and are looking for you. Maybe they’ll put you in a cage, study you like some kind of lab rat. Maybe they’ll decide you’re too dangerous to keep alive.”

Her gut twisted, but she refused to react.

“Second option,” he went on, tilting his head slightly. “Sebastian Wolfe gets to you first. He also knows you’re alive.”

The ice in her veins was immediate. Daragh didn’t miss it.

“He’s spent years searching for you, kitten,” he murmured, voice deceptively soft. “You think he wants you dead?” His lips quirked, the closest thing to amusement she had seen from him yet. “No, sweetheart. He wants you alive.”

Siobhan swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Daragh let the words sink in before continuing.

“Or we have the third option, which is my personal favorite,” he said, his voice turning smooth, deliberate.

Siobhan’s jaw locked. “And what, exactly, is that?”

“Does it really matter? You’ve made your feelings pretty clear on the first two…”

“Yes, but as far as I know the third might be worse.”

He straightened, pushing off the desk with the unbothered arrogance of a man who already knew the answer.

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