Chapter 12 Siobhan #2
“Mission accomplished.” His gaze drops again, this time lingering on the deep V of my neckline, the way the silk clings to my waist and hips.
When he looks back up, the carefully controlled mask has slipped.
What I see underneath sends a shot of lust straight to my clit.
“Though I’m curious who the intended target was. ”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” He reaches out, fingers brushing the bare skin of my shoulder with a lightness that is unexpected. The contact makes me shiver. “Because if it were for a man, I’m about to do something very unprofessional.”
I should step back. Should remind him we’re in public, that dozens of people could see us, that both our families would view this as betrayal. Should do anything except lean into his touch, anything except let my eyes close briefly at the sensation of his skin against mine.
“We can’t do this here,” I whisper, not moving away.
“I know.”
“My father just called to warn me away from you.”
“Mine sent me here specifically to engage with you.” His thumb traces my collarbone, the gesture possessive and gentle at once. “Connor thinks I’m seducing you for tactical advantage.”
The admission should sting. It doesn’t. “Are you?”
“I don’t know anymore…” The honesty in his voice surprises us both.
He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t need to. I can feel it in the way his hand lingers on my skin, and I can see it in the frustrated desire darkening his eyes.
“This is insane,” I say, though I’m the one moving closer now, drawn by gravity I can’t resist. “We’re enemies.”
“Our families are enemies.” His other hand comes up to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his. “But we’re something else entirely.”
“What are we?”
“I have no fucking idea.” His thumb brushes my lower lip, the touch sending sparks through every nerve ending. “But I’m done pretending I don’t want to find out.”
The logical part of my brain—the part that’s kept me alive and successful in this world—screams warnings. This man is an O’Neill. This man is dangerous. This man could destroy everything I’ve built, everything I care about. This man is exactly what my father warned me against.
But there’s another part, darker and more honest, that doesn’t care about logic or consequences or family politics. That part only knows the heat building between us, the way my body comes alive under his touch, the certainty that kissing Liam O’Neill will either save me or ruin me.
Possibly both.
“Someone could see us,” I manage, even as I reach for his lapels, my fingers curling into the expensive fabric.
“Then we should move somewhere more private.” His voice drops to a register that makes my knees weak. “There’s a terrace. Through those doors.”
I should say no, walk away, return to the ballroom, maintain the careful distance we’ve pretended exists.
Instead, I hear myself whisper, “Show me.”
His control fractures visibly—a sharp inhale, a tightening of his fingers against my skin, a flash of something primal in his eyes. Then his hand slides to the small of my back, guiding me toward a discreet door half-hidden behind a marble column.
We cross the threshold into cool night air. The terrace overlooks St. Stephen’s Green, the park quiet and dark below us. City lights glitter in the distance, but up here, we’re alone. Shadows and silence and the poisonous electricity crackling between us.
Liam pulls the door closed behind us, the soft click loud in the quiet. He backs me against the stone balustrade. “Last chance,” he says, though his body presses against mine, hard and wanting. “Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me this is a mistake and I’ll walk away.”
This is every kind of wrong wrapped in six feet, three inches of devastating man.
“Don’t stop,” I breathe, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”
The last word barely leaves my lips before his mouth crashes down on mine.
It’s not gentle. Not tentative or exploratory or any of the things a first kiss should be.
It’s claiming, demanding, a declaration of war and surrender at once.
His tongue parts my lips with a savageness that I shouldn’t allow but crave desperately.
I taste whisky and want and something darker. Possession. Obsession.
My fingers thread through his hair, messing the perfect styling, needing him closer even though there’s no space left between us. He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through my chest, making me clench with need.
His hands are everywhere—one tangling in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, the other sliding down my side to grip my hip with bruising intensity. I arch into him, feeling exactly how much he wants this, wants me, the evidence hard against my trembling body.
“Christ, Siobhan,” he mutters against my lips, pulling back just enough to speak. His eyes are black with desire, all traces of control abandoned. “I’ve been thinking about this for years.”
“Years,” I gasp as his mouth moves to my neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin.
“Since you came back.” He bites down gently where my pulse hammers, then soothes it with his tongue.
The admission should disturb me. It doesn’t.
“Everything about this is fucked up. I’m supposed to subdue you, take you out.” His hand slides higher, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through silk.
I pull his mouth back to mine, kissing him with all the fury, fear and forbidden desire I’ve been suppressing. His responding groan sends heat flooding through me. This is dangerous. This is insane. This is the best thing I’ve felt in forever.
His fingers find the high slit in my dress, tracing a slow path upward that leaves fire in their wake. I shiver, anticipation making me dizzy, wanting those fingers higher, wanting—
The terrace door opens.
We spring apart like guilty teenagers, me smoothing my dress, him adjusting his cuffs, both of us breathing hard. A couple stumbles out, laughing, drunk, oblivious to what they’ve interrupted. They head to the opposite end of the terrace, wrapped up in each other.
Liam’s eyes meet mine, frustration and dark amusement warring in his expression. “Terrible timing.”
“Or perfect timing.” I press my fingers to my swollen lips, already missing the pressure of his mouth. “We can’t do this.”
“We just did.”
“And it can’t happen again.” Even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. We both do. “This is—Liam, our families—”
“I know.” He steps closer, one hand coming up to fix a strand of hair he displaced. The gesture is surprisingly tender. “Believe me, I know all the reasons this is impossible.”
“Then why—”
“Because I don’t give a fuck about impossible right now.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “Because you looked at me across that ballroom like you wanted to devour me, and I’ve never wanted anything more than to let you try.”
A shocked laugh escapes me. “You’re insane.”
“Probably.” He smiles then, a real smile that transforms his severe features into something so beautiful, I want to weep. “But so are you, or you wouldn’t have followed me out here.”
He’s right. God help me, he’s right.
“We need to go back inside,” I say, even as my body protests the distance growing between us. “Separately. People will notice if we return together.”
“Let them notice.”
“Liam—”
“I know.” He steps back, creating space that feels like violence. “You’re right. Professional distance. Family politics. All the sensible reasons to pretend this didn’t happen.”
“Can you?” I ask, needing to know. “Pretend?”
His eyes burn into mine. “No. Can you?”
“No.”
The admission hangs between us, a confession and a promise. The drunk couple has disappeared back inside, leaving us alone again, the temptation to close the distance almost overwhelming.
“I should go first,” I say, though I don’t move. “Give it a few minutes, then follow.”
“Siobhan.” My name on his lips sounds like prayer and profanity at once. “This isn’t over.”
“It has to be.”
“It’s not.” He moves closer, one last invasion of space, one last reminder of what we’ve started. “Next time, there won’t be interruptions.”
The certainty in his voice makes my stomach flip. “There can’t be a next time.”
“There will be.” He brushes his lips across mine, feather-light, devastating. “Because you want this as much as I do. Because we’ve already crossed the line, and there’s no going back now.”
He’s right, and we both know it. The first kiss, the first admission of want, has changed everything. Ignoring each other was easy when it was hypothetical. Now I know how he tastes, how he feels pressed against me, how his hands feel on my skin; it’s impossible not to want to do this again.
“I hate you,” I whisper, though it’s never sounded less convincing.
“No, you don’t.” His smile is dark, knowing. “But you’re going to. Before this is over, you’re going to hate me for making you want me this much.”
He steps back, creating the distance we need.
In seconds, he’s transformed back into the controlled O’Neill heir, the brutal executioner with no trace of the man who just kissed me like he was drowning and I was air.
It slams home how wrong this is. Am I just another conquest?
He said as much, and here I am throwing myself at him.
“Three minutes,” he says. “Then I’ll follow.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and force myself to walk away. Each step feels like tearing away from gravity, my body protesting the separation. At the door, I pause, looking back.
He’s watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. In the shadows, with city lights behind him, he looks every bit the dangerous man my father warned me about. The criminal heir who’s destroyed better people than me for lesser offenses than wanting him.
God help me, I want him anyway.
Inside, the ballroom noise hits me like a wave of chatter, laughter, and the orchestra playing something classical and appropriate. I accept another Champagne from a passing server, downing half of it immediately to cool the fire still burning through my veins.
Fiona finds me within seconds. “There you are! I was about to send a search party.” Her eyes narrow, taking in my flushed cheeks, my slightly mussed hair. “Are you okay? You look—”
“Fine.” I cut her off, perhaps too sharply. “Just needed some air.”
“Mm-hmm.” She doesn’t believe me for a second. “Well, while you were getting air, the hospital administrator was looking for you. Something about photographs for the press release?”
“Right. Yes. Of course.” I smooth my dress, trying to pull myself together. “Where is she?”
“Near the stage. But Siobhan—” Fiona catches my arm, her expression serious. “Whatever you’re doing, be careful. The vultures are circling tonight, and you’re looking distinctly like prey.”
I follow her gaze and notice what I missed earlier—the speculative glances, the whispered conversations behind hands, the way certain people are watching me with new interest. Had someone seen us on the terrace? Or is it just the guilty conscience making me paranoid?
“I’m always careful,” I lie.
“That’s what worries me.” Fiona releases my arm. “You’re many things, boss, but careful around that particular man isn’t one of them.”
Before I can respond, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd.
I make my way toward the administrator, pasting on a professional smile and playing the role expected of me. But my awareness remains heightened, tracking Liam’s return to the ballroom, the way he doesn’t even glance in my direction as he rejoins the businessmen from earlier.
Professional distance. Plausible deniability.
All the things we should have maintained from the beginning.
My phone buzzes again. A text from my father: Chris will be at the gallery at 10 AM. Be there.
I type back a quick confirmation, then delete the message chain. Evidence of compliance, nothing that could be used against me later.
Across the room, Liam finally looks at me. Just once. Just long enough for our eyes to meet, for that electric current to spark again, for the memory of his mouth on mine to make my knees weak.
Then he turns away, disappearing into the crowd, leaving me aching and furious and more alive than I’ve felt in years.
Fiona was right. I’m not being careful. I’m being reckless, stupid, and self-destructive.
But as I touch my lips, still swollen from Liam’s kiss, still tasting his possession, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
Not yet.
Not until the inevitable consequences come crashing down, and they will. Oh, they fucking will.