Page 66 of Unholy Obsession

“I know,” I breathe back. “But only because I was afraid you were a very bad boy. I was afraid you didn’t want to be seen in public with me.”

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes, and there it is again—that almost smile like I’m the only thing in the world capable of pulling it out of him.

And then he leans in like he’s going to kiss me—claim me—right here in this room full of fancy people, collar and all?—

When a clearing throat suddenly interrupts us.

“Seducing a priest at my charity gala, Moira?” comes my brother’s cutting voice. “You really will stoop to any low to get my attention.”

TWENTY-FIVE

BANE

I pull backfrom Moira slowly, deliberately, as if Domhnall’s voice hasn’t sliced through the moment. My gaze stays locked on her flushed face, lips slightly parted, pupils blown wide with something darker, wilder and far more appealing than innocence. She looks like sin wrapped in velvet.

But the sudden tension stiffening her body isn’t because of me. It’s from him.

Her brother.

I turn my head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze over Moira’s shoulder. He stands a few paces away, rigid in his tailored suit, his eyes full of judgment. His voice might’ve been cutting, but his cold eyes are worse. They carry the weight of history and clear resentment.

Moira straightens beside me, rolling her shoulders back like she’s preparing for war.

“Domhnall,” she says sweetly, all sugar, but I know her well enough by now to hear the razorblade underneath. “I waswondering when you’d crawl out from whatever dark corner you were brooding in.”

His lips twitch, but not in amusement. No, I don’t think this man finds anything amusing when it involves his sister.

There’s clearly bad blood here. Moira told me she and her brother had a falling out, but now I’m thinking there’s much more to it than that.

His gaze flicks to me briefly, assessing, then back to her like I’m nothing more than a shadow.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks coolly.

“Oh, immensely,” she replies, her grin widening like she’s daring him to push. She gestures between us. “You’ve met Bane? He’s my”—her eyes flick toward me before she quickly finishes—“my Dominant.”

Domhnall’s jaw tightens. His eyes drag over me, slow and deliberate, the way a predator sizes up another predator. His glare lands on my collar. “And you decided to cosplay at my charity event?”

“What? No! He’s really a?—”

I step forward slightly, not enough to be overt, but enough to remind him I’m not background noise and extend my hand. “We haven’t had the pleasure.”

Domhnall’s hand shoots forward, rigid, the motion practiced and hollow. I clasp it, our grips locking in something far less polite than the gesture suggests. His palm is calloused and controlled. I feel the strength in his intent. He’s not pleased I’m here, and he wants me to know it.

I squeeze just enough to make a point.

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Bane, is it?”

“Father Blackwood, if you prefer,” I reply smoothly. “Or if you have sins to confess.”

His eyes narrow, but he lets go first. That’s two points for me, though I doubt he’s keeping score the way I am.

Moira steps between us, ready to steamroll over the tension. “Where’s Anna? I thought she’d be glued to your side.”

Domhnall’s expression shifts, the sharpness fading into something more subtle. His eyes dart around the room, scanning the glittery crowd.

“She had to go to the restroom, but that was ten minutes ago,” he mutters, more to himself than to us.

Moira’s smile falters, just a crack, and I see the undercurrent of worry that mirrors her brother’s.

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