Page 27 of His Temptation

Siobhan said nothing. She didn’t need to. Her body screamed the answer. Daragh chuckled, low and dark. She could fight this all she wanted. Hell, she could pretend, could lie to herself, could run. But she’d never be able to escape the truth. Not anymore.

Because now? Now, he knew.

CHAPTER 8

DARAGH

The morning light streamed through the tall windows of the estate, warm and soft, cutting through the cool dampness of the Irish air. Daragh sat in the oversized chair in his study, his fingers drumming against the mahogany armrest as he sipped his coffee. Across from him, Murphy stood at attention, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression as neutral as ever.

“The seamstress has arrived,” Murphy said, his voice devoid of anything but quiet efficiency. “She’s waiting in the east sitting room.”

Daragh nodded, setting his mug down with deliberate care. “And Siobhan?”

Murphy’s lips twitched, the closest thing to amusement Daragh had ever seen from the man. “Pacing her room, cursing in multiple languages, from what I could hear.”

A slow grin curved Daragh’s mouth. His kitten was fighting, even when she knew she’d already lost.

He pushed to his feet and made his way upstairs, taking his time. He wanted her stewing. Wanted her simmering in frustration so that when he walked into her room, she would already be halfway to furious.

Because when she was furious, she was spectacular.

When he reached her door, he didn’t bother knocking. He pushed it open and stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the room.

Siobhan stood by the window, her arms crossed over her chest, her hair still damp from her shower. She wore a loose, off-the-shoulder sweater and leggings, but despite the casual attire, she looked every bit the wild, untamed thing he had no intention of letting go.

Her emerald-green eyes flicked to him, sharp and narrowed. “What now?”

Daragh leaned against the doorframe, taking his time raking his gaze over her. “Your dress is here.”

She scoffed, turning back toward the window. “Great. Just what every woman dreams of—a bridal gown she didn’t pick for a forced wedding in a house she can’t leave.”

Daragh pushed off the door and crossed the room in two easy strides, crowding her against the window. “Careful, kitten. You’re acting like you think you can change your mind. You can’t. I gave you a choice, you made it, and we sealed the deal in a most intimately satisfying manner.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move. “And what if I refuse to wear it?”

Daragh’s fingers curled beneath her chin, tilting her head until their eyes met. “Then you walk down that aisle with a very red ass under your gown. Up to you.”

Siobhan’s pupils dilated, her breath coming faster. But instead of backing down, she lifted her chin defiantly.

Daragh’s lips brushed her ear as he murmured, “Go on, fight me on this. Give me a reason to put you over my knee before we even get to the altar.”

Siobhan inhaled sharply, her throat working as she swallowed. She hated the way those words made her feel. Then,with a sharp jerk of her chin, she yanked her face away from his grasp. “Fine.”

He let her go, satisfied. “Good girl.”

She shot him a glare that would have sent lesser men running. Daragh only chuckled, enjoying every second of her fury.

An hour later, Daragh stood in the east sitting room, watching as the seamstress laid out the selection of gowns. He barely spared the other options a glance before pointing to the one he wanted.

“That one,” he said, his voice leaving no room for discussion.

The woman nodded, her hands brushing reverently over the luxurious fabric. “A fine choice, Mr. O’Neill.”

It was more than fine. It was perfect. A modern princess gown, strapless, with a sculpted bodice and a lace-up back that would mold to Siobhan’s curves like a second skin. The full, sweeping ballgown skirt was made of textured organza, regal and dramatic, the kind of gown designed to make a woman feel both powerful and utterly feminine.

It would suit her. Whether or not she wanted it to.

When finally forced to try it on, Daragh watched Siobhan stand before the mirror, staring at her reflection as if she didn’t recognize the woman looking back.

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