Page 20 of His Temptation

She sighed, tilting her head toward the shadowed corridor leading to the back of the house. “And if I wanted some fresh air?”

Murphy gave her a patient look, but she caught the warning underneath it. “I’d be happy to accompany you to the terrace.”

Right. Because guards also protected the terrace.

Siobhan let out a soft laugh, nodding. “That’s thoughtful of you.”

She turned on her heel and headed back upstairs, her mind already whirring with calculations. Daragh hadn’t underestimated her. That meant she had underestimated him. Damn it.

She stepped back into her room, closing the door behind her. The lock clicked softly, but she knew it was only symbolic. They weren’t worried about her trying to leave. Because they both knew she couldn’t. She let out a slow breath, staring at her reflection in the massive antique mirror across from the bed. Green eyes stared back, filled with something wild and caged.

Twenty-four hours.

A slow, sharp smile curved her lips. They thought they had her trapped. They thought she had no options. They thought she would accept her fate without a fight.

They were dead wrong.

The scent of coffee curled through the air, rich and tempting. Siobhan sat at the long wooden dining table, her fingers curled around the delicate porcelain mug, willing herself to focus on the heat of the liquid rather than the man standing at the head of the room.

Daragh.

He hadn’t spoken since she’d entered the kitchen, hadn’t acknowledged her beyond the slow, assessing glance that had brushed over her skin like a caress before he returned to his conversation with a man stationed outside.

She should have been relieved. She should have been grateful for the moment of peace, the illusion of control. Instead, irritation burned through her veins because he wasn’t paying attention to her.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Siobhan gritted her teeth and took another sip of coffee, forcing herself to listen to the conversation happening across the room.

“…Nothing suspicious overnight,” the guard—Murphy, again—was saying. “Perimeter’s secure, and the patrols didn’t pick up anything unusual.”

Daragh nodded once, absently rolling his shoulders, the muscles shifting beneath the crisp white button-down he had thrown on without bothering to button all the way. The columnof his throat was bare, a hint of dark ink peeking from beneath the fabric where the first few buttons lay undone.

Her eyes lingered longer than they should have. Daragh turned suddenly, and she knew he’d caught her looking.

His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, locked with hers, a tangible heat radiating between them, a silent echo of their previous night's encounter.

“You’re up early,” he finally said, his voice smooth and unreadable.

Siobhan lifted her chin. “I could say the same about you.”

A slow, calculated pause.

Then, she heard Daragh say, “I got little sleep.” There was something deliberate about the way he said it, something that made her stomach clench. “I kept thinking about a certain little runaway.”

Last night had left her too wired, too aware of the collar still locked around her throat, too wound up from knowing that she had tested every escape route and failed.

“And why is that?” she murmured, lifting the mug to her lips.

Daragh didn’t look away. Didn’t blink.

“Because you’re beautiful and defiant and I look forward to taming you,” he said, the amusement in his voice doing things to her she wasn’t ready to examine too closely.

Siobhan’s fingers tightened around the mug. “I was just exploring.”

His gaze dropped to her throat, lingering there for a beat before traveling up the line of her jaw to meet her glare.

“You were casing the house,” he corrected.

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