She knew his intent-it was telegraphed in the set of his jaw.

He cupped her left breast. Despite herself, her pussy moistened. What is it about this man? He squeezed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"Perfect for clamps," he told her.

She shuddered.

He tightened his grip and her hips jerked.

He kept her breast cupped in his palm. He moved his head forward. After slowly releasing the taut nipple, he sucked the nub into his mouth. He gently bit, then he used his tongue to press the flesh against the back of his teeth.

"I could come from just this," she confessed.

He shook his head.

Denied the orgasm, she irrationally tried to scoot farther away, as if that would diminish the demanding need. But she was trapped, at his mercy.

He tightened the grip of his hand and plumped her flesh.

"I need you to stop, or I need permission to come."

He showed mercy.

With agonising deliberation, he released her, first the pressure on her nipple, then he moved his tongue completely away then he uncupped his hand.

It was then that she realised he'd showed no mercy.

She was totally hot for him. Her breaths were ragged. She curled the fingers of her free hand into a fist. The need for an orgasm throbbed an unrelenting demand.

He was a master, skilled at seduction. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Where was I?" he asked. "Letting you go so you can come downstairs for a cup of coffee? Or tying your other arm and your legs and putting nipple clamps on you and watching your writhe as I use a lash lightly on your swollen cunt?"

Coffee was forgotten as that torturous image pushed her even closer to an orgasm. Her lips parted. "You really are a perfect sub. After coffee, I'll get out the clamps."

She nearly whimpered her disappointment.

"Before I release you, I'll have your word that you'll behave yourself in front of my grandmother."

"I don't know what kind of person you think I am," she snapped. "I will treat your grandmother with respect."

He nodded. He probably realised that was the best he could hope for.

It took him only a few seconds to unfasten her wrist. "Move slowly." He rubbed her wrist.

She gasped. A sharp pain shot through her arm. She hadn't been bound tightly. He'd left her plenty of slack so that she could move, but she was shocked by the pain of returning circulation.

He soothed her, stroking her hair. Then he completely distracted her by stroking her pussy.

She dug in her heels, arching towards him.

She'd rather have him an enemy than this. Kindness she didn't know what to do with.

"You're slick. In a word, perfect."

She didn't want to think of herself as his submissive. But her body objected to her mind's decision. Her body felt wanton. She craved his domination.

He continued to care for her until her arm felt nearly normal again.

This was a paradox she didn't know how to solve. He tied her, but he comforted her.

He helped her from the bed. "I'll give you five minutes in the toilet," he said. "Leave the door cracked open else I'll remove it from the hinges."

She pulled a sheet from the bed and wrapped it around her.

Sinead dashed for the bathroom. He brought his foot down, hard, on the sheet. The material floated to the floor. And damn him, the scowl she cast over her shoulder didn't seem to impress him at all.

In the bathroom, she collapsed against the wall.

Her emotions were topsy-turvy, her body ached. And thoughts of Jack Quinn crowded out everything else. They were sworn enemies, but more and more, she was having difficulty remembering that. How could a man so hated make her so weak?

Sinead took every moment of the allotted five minutes, and threw in an extra few seconds for good measure.

"Sinead?" He pushed the door open.

"Patience is not a virtue in your clan?"

"In the clan, aye. In me? No."

"And privacy?"

"Submissives receive none." He curved his hands around her upper arms and pulled her nude body close, then closer still. "For example, I want to fuck you thoroughly. Not just arouse you, mind you. I want to have my cock in you."

His arousal thrust against her belly. If it weren't for his trousers, she suspected he'd take her as he promised, as he threatened, despite the fact his grandmother awaited them.

He nipped at her right ear lobe.

"Quinn," she protested.

He laved the tiny hurt with the tip of his tongue.

Her nipples had remained hard. Her pussy still throbbed. He cupped a breast, as if weighing it. Juices flooded her.

At each turn, she proved him right. She was naturally submissive to him.

"Get dressed, lass, 'afore I change my mind."

"Maybe I'm hoping you changed your mind."

He laughed. The sound was as rich and intoxicating as the man himself.

"Your clothes are in the bottom two dresser drawers."

She pulled away from him and hurried to the corner of the room where he'd left her baggage. She was all-too-aware of him standing there, legs spread shoulder-width apart, arms folded as he watched her every move.

"If it 'twouldn't shock mthair Chrona, I'd keep you naked."

She donned a bra then pulled on a T-shirt.

"What fresh hell is this?" he asked, reading her the writing across her chest. He raised his brows.

She refused to be embarrassed. "It's not what I would usually select to meet someone's grandmother. Next time you kidnap me, buy me some clothes."

"The naked thing is sounding more tempting than ever."

A deadly, wicked gleam entered his blue eyes.

Quickly she wriggled into a skirt, just in case he was serious.

He held open the bedroom door and preceded her down the stairs, evidently not taking any chances.

She noticed that the front door was still bolted.

With an outstretched palm, he indicated she should precede him into the breakfast room.

The room was as striking as the rest of the home. Watercolours of outdoor scenes hung on the walls. There were several floor-to-ceiling windows with heavy drapes pulled back. Sunlight streamed in.

He announced their presence.

When the woman turned from one of the windows, he said, "Mra, may I present Sinead O'Malley. Sinead, my grandmother, Catherine Quinn."

When he addressed his grandmother, his voice held a tender note. Mra was an affectionate term, one he'd likely used since boyhood. It revealed another side she found dangerously appealing and endearing. The man was making it more and more difficult to hate him.

"Sinead. It's my pleasure." Tall and regal, Catherine Quinn resembled a warrior princess. Even though she leaned on a cane for support, the years had been kind. With grace and a simultaneous air of command, she crossed the room. She stopped in front of them and smiled brightly. The corners of the woman's eyes crinkled in genuine welcome.

Sinead was taken aback again.

She'd spent her life despising the Quinns and resenting their success and wealth. And yet the clan's matriarch seemed warm, holding no hostility.

Catherine leant on the cane with her left hand and extended her right hand, saying, "Thank you for accepting my invitation. I'm afraid I spent several sleepless nights afraid you wouldn't come."

Sinead fired a scowl at Jack. "I was given little choice in the matter, ma'am. It wasn't phrased as an invitation."

"Oh?" She shot her grandson a stern look. "Is that right, Jack?" Catherine asked.

He ran a finger beneath his collar.

Jack had warned her to mind her manners and she'd also been raised to respect her elders. But she couldn't fight her innate sense of fair play. She wanted his behaviour on the table. She didn't want Catherine believing she'd issued an invitation and that it had been cordially accepted. That would be dishonest.

She accepted Catherine's extended hand. "It seems your family has a history of kidnapping O'Malley women."

"Kidnapping, is it?" Catherine asked her grandson, her head cocked to the side.

"Sinead..." His soft word of warning was wrapped in a sheath of anger.

"He warned me to mind my manners with you," Sinead told Catherine. "I think I'm in for some terrible trouble now."

"Nonsense. My grandson is as kind as the day is long."

During winter in Siberia.

"Right," he agreed.

Catherine used her cane for support as she lowered herself into a high-backed chair at the head of the table. "Do not dare," she told Jack when he tried to assist her. "Men in this family," she said to Sinead. "Think they can solve everything for their women."

"Physically."

She heard his growl.

"Please have a seat, child," Catherine said, indicating the chair to her right. "And you," she told Jack, "can pour our guest a cup of tea, if you will." She indicated the sideboard, with a lovely teapot in a colourful cosy. An assortment of pastries was arranged on a two-tiered serving plate.

"Coffee, please," Sinead managed, as she took the seat. "The promise of a cup was the only thing that got me out of bed."

"Anything for your highness," he asked, clearly annoyed by her behaviour and his grandmother ordering him to fulfil host duties.

She smiled sunnily. "Of course. Perhaps a scone or croissant, as well. Chocolate something or other."

"The coffee is in the kitchen, I believe," Catherine told him.

"Yes, I know. I brewed it already."

Catherine cleared her throat. "Go on with you, my boy."

He clearly saw what his grandmother was about and he didn't like it. Well and all, wasn't that too bad? Sinead wanted a minute or two alone with the clan matriarch as much as Catherine seemed to want time with her.

"He's not a bad sort, actually," Catherine said after he left the room. She picked up her china cup, the nearly translucent porcelain appearing delicate in her grip.

"If you go for brutes."

The cup didn't even rattle as she returned it to its saucer. "He's a brute, is he?"

"Terrible."

"And you haven't blackened his eye?"

Sinead laughed. Suddenly she liked the older woman, especially as she hadn't raised a brow at Sinead's attire.

"He's terribly protective of me. And since the silver comb on my pillow..." She spread some butter on a cream cracker. "I'm afraid he's certain I'm going to pop off."