He took her by the upper arms and moved her back three full steps. "And I'll make you call my name as you come, screaming."

He let go of her but shock immobilised her. When she found her voice, she looked up at him and laughed, with more confidence than she truly felt. "I'll call you many names, diabhal. But it won't be from anything intimate, I promise. The likes of you isn't getting anywhere near me."

Jack's nostrils flared. "The likes of me?"

"Descendent of murdering bastards," she clarified recklessly. "The Quinns weren't good enough for the O'Malleys eight centuries ago. You're nowhere near good enough now."

The cold fury in his eyes shocked her. She recognised she'd overstepped the bounds of his good nature, but she stood her ground, even when he took a large stride in her direction. She kept her head tilted back, unsure whether she was being brave or just stupid.

On one hand, if she made him angry enough, he might decide she and the O'Malleys weren't worth the effort and he'd leave them the hell alone. On the other, antagonising a lion was rarely a good idea.

Viciously he encircled her upper arms once again. He dragged her onto her toes and against the solidness of his masculine body.

His lips found hers, demandingly, punishingly.

The latent passion, eight hundred years of anger, flared in an instant.

A slow throb uncurled between her legs, just like the one during her earlier fantasies.

He forced her mouth apart, and their tongues met.

He was warm, insistent.

She worked her hands between them and pushed against his leather-covered chest. The man was unmovable.

He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. She parried, as if they were sparring.

But he was relentless.

With his kiss, he dominated her.

Her body betrayed her with a rush of desire.

There was something between them, 'twas as if they'd met before. She knew him. And he knew what she wanted.

No other man had ever been so uncompromising with her.

Her breaths became ragged as she fought her need to surrender. Abruptly, he ended the kiss and released her. There were no gentle nips. There was no softness, nothing to show that he desired her.

Her emotions went arse end over tea kettle. She suddenly, ridiculously, felt rejected. She wanted more. What was wrong with her? They were enemies, had been for centuries. "I'll thank you to keep your hands off me in future.'

"With that body of yours? No fecking chance."

She folded her arms across her chest. As if that could protect her from him.

"I've had a taste, Sinead, and I want more."

Even though there'd been no soft words, he wanted her in a carnal way that made her senses whirl.

"And you want me."

"It's cold in here. Hell must have just frozen over."

He raised a brow.

"If you're thinking I want you, hell froze over," she added, just in case he'd obtusely missed her meaning.

"Your mouth is far better used for kissing than talking," he said. "Much sweeter that way."

He moved fast.

He had her arms uncrossed and pinned at the small of her back before she could blink. He imprisoned both of her wrists in one of his callused hands. She fought, but she couldn't get away. In fact, he brought her closer to his body.

His strength was nearly overwhelming. His chest was solid. And his cock was hard, pushing demandingly against his jeans and against her belly.

She shouldn't want his possession, but she did.

The small struggle had made the robe's lapels part slightly. Her breasts were thrust towards him, and her nipples had hardened. Most upsettingly, her pussy had moistened with arousal.

"Not much to say now, hey?"

"Release me."

He relentlessly held her gaze. He wasn't stupid; he knew she was having a physical reaction to his touch.

He traced a finger into the V where the robe's material overlapped.

Her breaths became even sharper.

"Tell me you don't want my touch."

"I don't.". Even she barely recognised the sound of her own voice.

"Tell me that convincingly."

"I..." Oh, aye, she wanted his touch. More than anything, she wanted to not want it.

Still holding her prisoner, he tugged on the knot of her belt.

"Unhand me, you unholy bastard."

The belt fell apart, the ends dangling at her sides.

He wouldn't...

"Your skin is so soft, Sinead. Inviting."

"The invitation isn't for you, Quinn."

"Oh aye; yes it is. I'm the only one here," he whispered, his hoarse voice throwing her into a seduced trance. "Here with you. I can hear your breaths. I can smell that heat that comes off you. Pungent."

"You're crass."

"The smell is all woman, Sinead. Like you're in heat."

She was going to drown in a sea of her own mortification.

"I'll bet, when I part this robe, that your breasts will be full and your nipples hard. Any bets, Sinead?"

"Fuck you."

"Yes.That's exactly the idea. I'll fuck you. Then you can get on top and fuck me."

She wanted to tell him not to touch her, but her damnable body betrayed her. When he moved the robe back across her shoulders, her breasts were heavy, and her nipples were pebbled.

"You have beautiful breasts," he said. "And your nipples..."

He cupped her left breast and gently squeezed.

"How much pressure do you like on your nipples?" he asked.

"Don't..."

"A little? Or are you as tough as you want people to believe you are? Is it only an act, Sinead?"

This time she didn't answer; she couldn't find her tongue in order to speak. It had been so long since a man had touched her, she was hungry for anything, the gentlest of touches or something wild that ignited her.

While he held her breast in his palm, he brushed a thumb across her nipple. It tightened a little more.

"Maybe a bit more pressure?"

She closed her eyes.

He gave a gentle squeeze that he instantly released.

"Oh God," she whispered.

"Too much?"

She shook her head, even though she felt as if she were betraying herself to the enemy. She hadn't known she liked this kind of intensity. Even the one man she'd been with who was more adventurous than the others hadn't stimulated her nipples this much.

Quinn did it even harder.

She sucked in a breath, but she didn't object. She'd never had a man apply that much pressure before, and damn, she liked it, the pain with the pleasure.

He eased up a bit and she tried to move towards him. His hands and the way the robe had fallen back off her shoulders restricted her movements in a way that aroused her even more.

"Ah," he said. "Have you ever worn nipple clamps?"

Through her haze she asked, "Nipple clamps?"

"You'll become intimately acquainted with them."

Then he squeezed her tortured little nipple hard and for a long time.

Moisture pooled between her legs. If he'd known she was aroused earlier from her scent, there'd be no doubt now.

She whimpered when he released her.

Then, dizzyingly, he grabbed the nipple again, viciously pinched it and pulled it up and away from her body.

"Definitely clamps," he said.

He released her nipple then moved so quickly he shocked her. He shoved a hand between her legs to cup her feminine mound. He tightened his grip against her cunt. She screamed out an instant orgasm. Still holding her wrists, he eased her towards him.

Her legs were weak, and she offered no resistance.

"I had no idea you were so perfectly responsive."

She drew a few shaky breaths before realising her cheek rested against his chest, against the leather jacket warmed from his body. He still held her pussy, and his thumb was possessively on her thigh.

She was all but naked while he was fully dressed and demanding sexual responses to her.

"Don't fight." He released her wrists and wrapping his right arm around her, holding her intimately still, as if she were a lover.

She stiffened.

Suddenly, no matter how much she'd wanted it, how much she'd willingly surrendered, she was angry...with herself, with him.

She pushed away his hand and ducked out from under his arm. She moved towards the window, away from him as she frantically struggled back into her robe, trying to reclaim her composure as well as her dignity.

The distance helped the haze of delirium to fade and she thought about what she'd done...what they'd done. "You took advantage of me." She furiously knotted the belt and yanking the lapels over each other.

She expected his outrage or upset or denial. Instead, he laughed. The arrogant bastard had the nerve to laugh.

"I took advantage of you?" he asked. "Are you implying that this is not your cum on my fingers or that you didn't shamelessly grind your cunt against my hand?"

"Don't be so crass."

"That wasn't crass."

He started across the room towards her. She involuntarily stepped back before freezing in place, refusing to be intimidated.

He advanced on her. Despite her resolve, she retreated. He backed her up against the wall. He had her trapped. There was a purposeful gleam of intent in his eyes.

"This," he said, "is crass..."

He trailed his still-damp fingers across her lips. She'd never tasted herself before, and while it wasn't totally unpleasant it was outside of her experience. The man unnerved her.