Muireann.
Later.
Night…
I sit in front of my mirror, my eyes watching me as I fasten the small set of pearls around my neck.
The clasp clicks softly into place.
I watch as the pearls gleam in the low light of my room, pale and luminous against my skin.
I’m calm and controlled.
A lie.
My reflection barely betrays the storm raging in my chest.
A storm of emotions; intrigue, excitement, sadness, anger, each one colliding into the other, spiraling out of control inside me.
I look composed.
Elegant.
Untouched.
Inside, I am anything but.
My mind drifts, unwillingly, back to the conversation I had with Zafron days ago.
His curiosity when he found me in my sanctuary, devastated by grief I hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t prepared for.
“This isn’t the first kill you’re executing since you laid the curse,” he had said.
“You usually kill them without meeting them firsthand.
So what has happened?”
The question had caught me off guard.
Maybe because I hadn’t expected it.
Maybe because it startled me to realize that something had changed in the way I handled things.
Or maybe because I was too ashamed to admit, even to myself, that I had been weak.
Weak to a mere Lysander look alike.
A weakness I knew displeased Zafron that night.
And yet, even then, he made no move to stop me.
Instead, he gave me permission.
A go ahead laced with warning.
“Your heart,” he had said quietly, dangerously, “Belongs to me forever.”
The truth is simpler than Zafron wants to believe.
My heart belongs to no one.
Not to me.
Not to him.
There is no love left in it for any man.
And even if Zafron has the power to squeeze my heart muscle, because he granted me immortality so I could fulfill my curse on the Daorheche lineage, that does not mean he owns my heart.
It only means he owns my suffering.
A knock sounds at my door, sharp and timely.
I lift my eyes.
“Come in.”
The door opens quietly.
“Ma’am, Mr.
Sawyer is dressed and waiting downstairs for you,” Lar says, stepping inside.
A slow smirk curls my lips.
“Brilliant.
He’s punctual.”
I rise from the mirror, catching my reflection one last time before I leave the room.
The heated look in his eyes travels over my body openly, unapologetically, as if he wants to peel off the thin green silk slip I’m wearing with nothing but his gaze.
The straps sit delicately on my shoulders, the neckline plunging low, revealing the kiss tattoo nestled in the valley of my breasts.
My hair is twisted into a loose bun, my neck exposed, offered.
“Green suits you,” Tarian says politely, though his eyes tell a different story as they finally lift to mine.
I arch an amused brow.
He doesn’t flinch.
He matches my stare with one of his own.
Steady.
Unafraid.
He doesn’t cower in my presence.
Interesting.
“Coming from you.” I murmur, smiling slowly, seductively, “I’ll save that in a special place.”
A grin tugs at his mouth.
“And where would that be?” He asks quietly.
Curiously.
I close the space between us until I can breathe him in.
Tonight, he smells of citrus and cinnamon.
Warm, clean, intoxicating.
I slip one knee between his thighs, rubbing gently, deliberately.
He doesn’t step back.
Instead, his palm lifts instinctively, settling on the small of my back, pressing me closer.
“You’d be surprised to know, Mr.
Sawyer…”
“Tarian,” he cuts in smoothly.
My gaze drops to his lips.
I watch the swell of them.
The way they part.
The way they dip and rise with each breath.
“Call me Tarian.”
Heat coils low in my belly at his words.
I lift my eyes to his now.
I feel the hunger inside me.
I see it mirrored in his gaze.
The thrill of it sends a skitter down my spine.
“Tarian,” I echo.
My voice comes out weaker than I intend.
He notices.
The look he gives me then, slow, dark, assessing, makes me swallow hard against the pool of heat gathering inside me.
“Ma’am.
Dinner is served.”
Lar’s voice slices through the moment like a blade.
I straighten sharply, irritation flaring hot and sharp in me.
“All right, Lar.
His gaze flicks briefly between Tarian and me, observantly, before he disappears behind one of the doors.
“Let’s go have dinner,” I say, turning back to Tarian.
“I’m starving.”
My eyes linger where Lar vanished, puzzled by the look he gave.
Dinner is beautiful, as it always is here in my Nantucket home.
I rarely invite anyone, and when I do, I remind them not to take photographs of the property.
Everyone is eager to see what lies inside these walls.
“I enjoyed the view of your pearl farm earlier today, Miss Amran,” Tarian says, breaking into my thoughts.
I tear my gaze from the exquisite salmon in front of me and smile.
“Miss Amran?” I lift a brow, taking a sip of my deep red wine.
He smiles back, raising his glass.
“I did ask you not to be too formal with me.” He swirls his glass of wine.
“And yet you didn’t reciprocate.” He adds calmly, sipping and swallowing his wine.
I watch his throat bob as he swallows.
I wonder what it would look like when he drinks my c*m.
“Muireann,” I say softly.
“Please call me Muireann.”
He exhales, something like relief crossing his face.
“And I’m happy you enjoyed the tour.” I add.
“The farm has been in my family since my grandmother started it after the Second World War.”
The lie slips out effortlessly.
I’m used to it by now.
He studies me with new interest, as if something about me has shifted in his mind.
Then he sets his fork down.
“I’m curious,” he says evenly.
“A woman as successful as you are, with neither of us sharing production interests, what interest do you have in investing in our fishing company?”
I hold his gaze, unblinking.
I sit there watching the only fertile living offspring of the Daorheche family, thinking how easy it would be to kill him right now.
How simple it would be to finally take my last pound of flesh from his bloodline.
Knowing his father was sterile after birthing him.
Knowing that if he dies, the bloodline finally ends.
But it would be too easy.
They wouldn’t squirm enough.
So no.
Not now.
I wait.
I always wait.
Leaning back into my seat, a smug smile curling my lips, I speak.
“How about we play a game of Russian roulette?” I suggest lightly.
“Three rounds.
First to win three rounds makes a demand.”
I watch with satisfaction as his eyes widen just slightly before he regains his composure.
He studies me coolly as I continue.
“And I know a million things I’m sure you’d like to demand from me.”