Page 54 of His Temptation

Marks held his gaze for a long moment before letting out a sharp breath. “This isn’t over.”

Con’s grin widened. “It never is.”

Without another word, Marks turned on his heel, motioning for his men to fall back. Within seconds, they were gone, their black SUVs disappearing into the night.

Daragh didn’t move, his focus still locked on the door.

Siobhan stepped closer, her voice quieter than she meant it to be. “It’s over.”

Daragh turned, and the look in his eyes made her stomach flip. “It’ll never be over,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against her wrist, his grip warm and solid. “But you’re safe. And that’s all that matters.”

Siobhan swallowed against the lump in her throat. She had needed no one to fight for her. Had let no one claim her battles as their own. But Daragh wasn’t just anyone. He was her protector, but more than that, he was her mate.

The O’Neill estate loomed in the distance, its dark stone walls standing firm against the morning mist that clung to the hills. The drive from the warehouse had been silent, tension thick in the SUV as Daragh kept one hand on the wheel and the other clenched around her wrist, as if he thought she might disappear if he let go.

Siobhan didn’t fight him. She didn’t pull away, didn’t argue, didn’t pretend she was anything but what she was in thatmoment—shaken, exhausted, and struggling under the weight of everything she had gone through, everything she had done.

Sebastian Wolfe was dead. His lifeless body had been nothing more than a heap on the floor when Daragh had holstered his gun, stepping back without so much as a flicker of remorse. She had thought she would feel something—relief, vengeance, maybe even satisfaction. But there had been nothing. No great surge of victory, no cathartic release. The cold realization hit her: one monster was gone, but the shadows of her past would remain forever.

She had been trained for this. Conditioned to play the game, to infiltrate, to deceive, to kill if necessary. And yet, as she sat in the passenger seat of Daragh’s car, his presence a solid force beside her, she wondered if she had ever truly known who she was beneath it all.

When they pulled through the gates of the estate, Murphy and Finn were already waiting, their expressions hard as they scanned the grounds, ever-watchful, ever-ready for a fight that might not yet be over. Con’s men had reinforced the perimeter, their numbers tripled since the last attack, ensuring that MI5, or whatever desperate remnants of Sebastian’s network remained, wouldn’t have a chance to retaliate.

Daragh parked the vehicle, but he didn’t move. He sat there for a long moment, his fingers flexing against the steering wheel, his gaze locked on the house as if it held all the answers he refused to voice.

Siobhan swallowed, her throat tight. “You did it,” she whispered.

Daragh’s head turned, his eyes pinning her in place. “We did it.”

A lump formed in her throat. She had never been part of a‘we’before. She had spent years on the outskirts, running, surviving, never truly belonging to anyone or anywhere.

She reached for the door handle, but Daragh’s hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist again. “We’re not finished.”

Her breath hitched. “Daragh…”

“No.” His voice was low, steady, but there was an edge beneath it. “Not yet.”

He climbed out of the car, moving to her side before she could protest. He opened the door, offering his hand. She hesitated, her fingers curling against her palm, but the way he looked at her, the way his presence wrapped around her like something tangible, left her with no choice but to take it.

The moment their hands met, Daragh pulled her to her feet, his grip firm, his dominance radiating through every touch. He didn’t let go as he led her into the house, past Murphy, past Finn, past the lingering gazes of the men who had risked their lives to bring her back.

The moment they stepped into their bedroom, the door shut behind them, Daragh released her only to cup her face between his hands, his thumbs tracing over her cheekbones.

“Say it.”

Her lips parted, confusion flickering across her face. “Say what?”

His jaw tensed, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Tell me you’re staying.”

Siobhan’s breath caught in her throat. It would have been easier to lie, to tell him what he wanted to hear, to let herself sink into the illusion of safety he offered. But Daragh didn’t want an illusion. He wanted the truth, and so did she.

“I don’t know if I know how,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Daragh’s grip tightened, but not out of anger. “How what?”

“How to be part of this.” Her fingers curled into his shirt, fisting the fabric as if that alone could ground her. “How to be yours.”

His gaze darkened, something primal flashing in those ice-blue depths. “You already are.”

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