Page 22 of His Temptation

Daragh studied her for a long moment, his gaze dropping to her lips before sliding back up. Then he let his hand fall away.

“Fine.”

Siobhan blinked. That was it? Just fine?

But before she could savor the victory, Daragh leaned in, his breath brushing her ear, his voice a dark, silken threat. “But don’t mistake my generosity for weakness, kitten,” he murmured. “You’re still mine.”

Siobhan’s heart slammed against her ribs, her body betraying her in the worst possible way. She hated him. And even worse—some traitorous, primal part of her knew she was lying.

The estate was vast, its walls thick and fortified, its security tighter than a prison. Every attempt she’d made to slip through its defenses had failed. As the golden morning sun cast long shadows across the sprawling grounds, painting the dew-kissed grass in shimmering light, she knew this was her last chance to escape.

Siobhan moved carefully, her body pressed into the shadows of the back corridor. In the control room, personnel monitored the security feeds, but the guards rotated every fifteen minutes, creating a slim opening. She knew the risks. She didn’t care.

With her panther locked away beneath the iron collar, she only had her human skill set—deception, speed, and silence. She moved with precision, slipping past the first checkpoint, her pulse steady, her ears straining for any sign of movement.

The outer hallway stretched before her, leading to the servant’s entrance—her way out. If she made it past the next corridor, she’d reach the lower levels and disappear into the city before Daragh even knew she was missing. But the moment shestepped past the last doorway, everything changed. A solid wall of muscle blocked her exit, cutting off the dim light.

Siobhan’s stomach plummeted. Daragh. His scent wrapped around her before she even lifted her gaze—smoke, leather, whiskey, and the crisp bite of cold air. Her pulse slammed against her ribs. She barely had time to react before he moved. He didn’t grab her, didn’t drag her back like she expected.

He backed her against the nearest wall with deliberate, measured force, his broad frame caging her in, one palm pressing against the stone beside her head, the other tipping her chin until she had no choice but to meet his eyes.

The stormy blue depths locked on her, burning with something she couldn’t name. Her breath stuttered.

Daragh’s jaw ticked once. “How many times, kitten?”

His voice was too smooth, too controlled—which meant he was furious.

Siobhan swallowed. “How many times what?”

His lips curved, but there was nothing soft in it—nothing forgiving. “How many times were you planning to try before you accepted there’s no getting out?” His fingers flexed against her chin, his thumb sweeping over her pulse, feeling it race beneath her skin.

She lifted her chin defiantly. “If you expect me to just lie down and accept this, you don’t know me at all.”

Daragh’s eyes darkened, his body pressing just a fraction closer. “I know exactly who you are,” he murmured. “I just don’t think you want to admit what we both know you want.”

Siobhan hated the way her body reacted to his proximity, the way the heat of him sent a slow coil of unwanted pleasure through her veins. She didn’t want to want him. Did she?

“You’re full of shit,” she snapped.

Daragh chuckled. The sound was low, knowing, and entirely too confident. “Am I?” He shifted slightly, his thigh pressingbetween hers, his breath a whisper against her cheek. “Tell me, kitten—if I’m so full of shit, why are you still here?”

Siobhan refused to answer. She couldn’t. Because he was right. She hadn’t run. She could have fought harder. Could have made him kill her before she ever accepted this fate, but she hadn’t. Deep down, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Daragh exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience visibly fraying. Then he glanced at his watch. He met her gaze again, the finality in his stare sending a pulse of something hot and electric through her. “Time is ticking away.”

She turned and ran up the stairs to her room, locking the door with a sharp click before pressing her back against the cool wood. Siobhan had no doubt that if Daragh didn’t have a key, he could bloody well kick the door in. Her breath came fast, chest rising and falling in ragged pulls as she fought to steady herself.

Her knees felt weak, her body throbbing with residual heat and frustration. Damn him. Damn Daragh O’Neill for backing her into a corner—physically, emotionally, in every possible way.

The heavy iron collar, a constant reminder of her captivity, encircled her throat. That no matter how much she fought, no matter how many times she tested the estate’s defenses, she wasn’t going anywhere.

She spent the day pacing her room and watching the clock, wondering if she was watching the last minutes of her freedom tick away forever. Repeatedly, she walked out onto the balcony only to see two men stationed immediately below her and roving patrols covering the grounds.

Her fingers curled into fists as she pushed off the door for the hundredth time, stalking to the window. The sky had darkened, the last traces of sunlight being swallowed by the encroaching night. Time was slipping away. The twenty-four-hour deadline he had given her was running out, and she was no closer to an answer than she had been the moment he’d given it.

Siobhan paced, her boots scuffing against the hardwood floor, her mind racing through every possibility, every potential escape. But she had nothing. No weapons, no allies, no plan.

She glanced at the bedside clock. Hours left.

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