Page 57 of His Temptation

Siobhan sighed, turning her head to brush her lips against his. “Yours.”

A satisfied growl rumbled in his chest, but beneath it was something else—something softer.

Because for all his dominance, for all his possessiveness, Daragh O’Neill had never truly caged her. He had protected her, fought for her, bled for her. And now, she had chosen him.

EPILOGUE

DARAGH

Six Months Later

Daragh stood in the shadows of the gallery, watching Siobhan move through the space, her presence commanding despite the soft elegance of her movements. The months since Sebastian Wolfe’s death had been filled with change, with quiet battles and victories neither of them had dared to imagine before. Siobhan had found her footing in his world, had embraced a life for herself that survival alone did not dictate.

She had reopened her gallery, stepping back into the world of art with the same determination she had shown in battle. And Daragh had ensured, without question, that no one would ever threaten what she had built again.

He let his gaze trail over her, taking in the way the deep emerald dress hugged her figure, her hair swept up in an elaborate updo that made the claiming bite on the nape bare. It was accented by the iron and diamond collar he’d had adapted, so she could take it on and off at will. It amused him she wore it more often than not. She belonged here. She belonged to him.

Finn leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he took in the scene. “Never thought I’d see the day Daragh O’Neill stood guard at an art exhibit.”

Daragh shot him a look, unimpressed. “I don’t stand guard. I keep the vermin out.”

Finn chuckled. “Aye, sure. And that doesn’t explain why you haven’t taken your eyes off her since we walked in?”

Daragh ignored him, focusing instead on Siobhan as she spoke to a group of collectors. She was graceful, poised—nothing like the woman who had once been hunted through the streets of Dublin. She had built this from nothing, reclaimed something that had been stolen from her.

And he had been there every step of the way, ensuring no one could take it from her again.

Murphy approached, keeping his voice low. “Security is tight. No uninvited guests. No threats.”

Daragh nodded once, but it didn’t ease the instinctual readiness coiled inside him. This was Siobhan’s night. But his job—his purpose—was to protect her, whether or not she needed it.

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving her.

She turned then, as if sensing him, her gaze locking onto his from across the room. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips, something warm and soft settling in his chest.

Finn cleared his throat. “You keep looking at her like that, you’re going to ruin the whole ‘cold, unshakable bastard’ thing you’ve got going.”

Daragh didn’t bother responding. Finn was an irritating bastard, but he wasn’t wrong.

The thing was, Daragh didn’t care.

Siobhan had survived hell and come out the other side stronger, sharper. She had chosen this life—not because she had no other options, but because she wanted it. She wanted him.

And that? That was enough.

By the time the gallery began to empty, the tension in Daragh’s muscles had eased. He stood near the entrance, watching as Siobhan bid farewell to the last of her guests.

She turned to him once the doors were locked, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve been brooding all night.”

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his fingers brushing against her wrist. “I don’t brood.”

She let out a quiet laugh, warmth flickering in her gaze. “Of course not.”

Daragh traced his thumb along the inside of her palm, watching as her breath hitched, the way her body instinctively leaned into his. His mate. “You did good tonight, kitten.”

Her lips parted slightly, her fingers curling around his. “It’s not over, is it?”

Daragh’s jaw clenched. He knew what she meant. MI5 had retreated, but that didn’t mean they had forgotten. The underworld had quieted since Sebastian’s death, but the O’Neills were always at war with someone.

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