Page 49

"Seven years of planning for revenge. You built an entire identity."

"Yes."

"You wormed your way into my family."

"Yes."

"Into my confidence."

She doesn't look away. "Yes."

"Into my bed."

A flush spreads across her cheeks. "That wasn't planned."

"But you didn't stop it."

"No. I didn't." Her breathing quickens. "I told myself it was tactical. Getting closer to you meant access to information."

"And was it? Tactical?"

Her eyes darken. "No."

I shouldn't want her. Not now, knowing who she is, what she planned. Yet desire cuts through my anger, inseparable from betrayal.

"You've destroyed any chance of trust between us," I tell her, my face inches from hers.

"I know." Her voice drops to a whisper.

"I should turn you over to my father."

"But you won't." She says it with certainty.

My hand moves to her throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a reminder of power dynamics between us. "Why am I here, Orla? Why come alone instead of bringing security?"

"The same reason I didn't give Doyle what he wanted." Her pulse races beneath my fingertips. "There's something between us that makes no sense."

My mouth crashes onto hers with punishing force. I consume her gasp, teeth clashing, anger transmuting to brutal need. She matches my fury, biting my lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

I pin her wrists above her head with one hand, my other ripping her blouse open. Buttons scatter across the floor. She fights against my grip, not to escape but to touch me. I hold her harder, leaving marks.

"You're mine," I growl against her mouth. "Even in your lies."

"Prove it," she challenges, eyes wild.

I tear her bra away, exposing her breasts. My mouth closes over one nipple, biting hard enough to make her cry out. Her body arches toward me instead of away. I suck the pain away, my tongue circling the hardened peak while she writhes against me.

"You want this?" I demand, releasing her wrists to grip her ass, lifting her against the wall.

"Yes," she pants, fumbling with my belt. "Like this. With truth between us."

Her skirt tears under my hands. I rip her underwear away, exposing her completely. My fingers find her already wet, ready despite—or because of—our anger.

"Look at me," I command. "I want Orla Nolan, not your fake persona."

Her eyes meet mine, defiant yet vulnerable. "Then take her."

I push two fingers inside her roughly. She cries out, head falling back against the wall. "Cillian!"