"You didn't follow my orders," he told her.

She stiffened, aware of her state of undress and the fact his jaw was set in an uncompromising line. Butterflies roiled in her stomach. "I asked for permission when I came," she whispered.

"You didn't keep your hands behind your back."

"I was going to lose my balance, you bastard."

"You were given an order. You'll be punished for your transgression." He reached across the bed and smoothed her hair, brushing strands back from her cheekbones.

What the hell was wrong with him? He was soothing her, even as he threatened her.

She reached for her robe and dragged it over her. She sat up and scooted away, pressing her back against the headboard.

She saw that his cock had hardened. His threat turned him on. Sick sod.

So what did that say about her that her pussy moistened slightly at the idea of him punishing her? She tried to rid her mind of the thought and all-too carnal images. But part of her wanted to know what he had planned. Part of her hoped he wasn't just tormenting her.

"Get your sweet little arse across my knee."

In a very American way, something she learned from Brandon, she said, "Bite me."

"Right, then."

He moved fast. Before she knew what he was about, he'd stood and grabbed her. The robe fell onto the carpet. Despite her flailing, he effortlessly managed her. As if she weighed nothing, he sat back on the edge of the bed and turned her over his knee.

She learned her lesson about goading him.

His denim jeans were scratchy beneath her bare skin, and she was aware of the power and strength of his thighs. He was all man. Strong. Unyielding.

She desperately fought for balance, and before she found it his hand came down-hard-on her arse. "Curse you a hundred thousand times!" She kicked her legs futilely.

He placed a hand firmly on the small of her back and spanked her again. This one wasn't as hard, and in fact it wasn't totally unpleasant.

She tried to ignore the little voice that reminded her that boring sex and conventional expectations were some of the reasons she'd ended the relationship with Donal.

She'd wanted to experience more.

He stroked her pussy. "You're damp." He slapped her right butt cheek again. "Cease your struggles and we'll end this after two more."

She nodded weakly. She could do this. She wanted it.

"Put your hands behind your back."

"How will I balance?" she demanded, the words muffled because of her position.

"I'll make sure you don't fall."

"I'm to blindly trust you, am I?"

"You're being punished because you didn't keep your hands behind your back," he reminded her. "Next time perhaps you won't forget."

She knew right then that he was giving her a choice. She might call him names, he might truly be an ogre-with a wart on his nose and all-but he'd made certain she was aroused.

He was as good as his word. He moved a big hand to the side of her ribs and gave her support while she brought back her arms.

"Clasp your hands just above your buttocks," he instructed.

She shifted her weight so that she was more balanced on the balls of her feet.

Once she was positioned, he moved his hand to the centre of her back. "How many more?" he asked.

"Two. You said two."

"If you cease your struggles," he reminded her. "Otherwise we can keep going. It's up to you, a rn."

She could do anything for that short a period of time. Caution to the wind, she challenged, "Bring it on."

He laughed. "Reckless little thing, aren't you?"

Before she had the chance to answer, he brought his hand down across both buttocks. She yelped and her right foot came off the ground. "That fecking hurt!"

"I imagine it did. It stung my hand."

She bit back another reply, realising it wouldn't get her far.

"Settle yourself and let me know when you're ready for the next one."

"It'll be the last one," she corrected. Her thoughts were becoming fuzzy with all the blood that had rushed to her head.

"If you take it well," he agreed blandly.

"It's the last one," she bit out.

"Let me know when you're ready."

"Do your worst."

She braced herself, tensing her buttocks, but the final blow was nearly gentle. He'd placed it directly on top of the previous one and the sensations ignited her response. She was on the verge of another orgasm.

Instead of pleasuring her like she'd hoped, he helped her to her feet.

She swayed for a few seconds, but he kept a steadying hand on her. The man was pure genius when it came to arousing her. And at the moment he was a pure torment when it came to satisfying her.

"How was your first spanking?"

She might have snarled if she had the energy. But truthfully the man had fulfilled a naughty fantasy. It had been everything she'd imagined. No wonder she'd had trouble finding a man to settle with. She'd been restless with plain man-on-top until he got it done-a couple of minutes if she were lucky-sex. This, this had been so different. He'd been all about her pleasure. Crikey, he hadn't even undressed. But no way would Sinead admit the truth to Quinn. He'd grin or gloat, maybe even both. Then she'd have to kill him.

"I'll be looking forward to your next beating."

"You're the only one," she lied.

Tenderly he smoothed back errant strands of her hair. "You're so much more than I expected."

His opinion of her didn't matter...or at least that's what she told herself.

"I see why a man would be willing to risk his life to fall in love with an O'Malley. Come to bed, Sinead."

He snagged her wrist and drew her towards him. She thought he might kiss her. She was disappointed when he didn't. "You can sleep on the settee."

"That's one lesson well learned now, lass. I always sleep in the bed. Fuss and fight all you want, but I'll never give up a bed. I'd prefer you sleep in the bed with me, but I'll ring for an extra blanket it you're preferring the sofa."

She was short, but the settee didn't look all that comfortable to her, either.

"I'll thank you to stay on the far side of the bed."

"I'm sure you would." He grabbed her robe from the floor and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair.

"I'd like to sleep in that."

"You'll sleep nude to dissuade you from dashing out the door."

Did he think of everything?

He left on his own clothes and climbed onto the bed. He lay next to her. "Rest. You can fight me later," he said. "And I'm certain you will."

Without allowing her the luxury of arguing, he held her. He had one arm around her waist; he pressed the other just above her pubic bone. In this position, her buttocks were nestled against the firmness of his pelvis.

The flight might be over for now, but the fight would begin anew as soon as she had the energy. She'd not allow the Quinn diabhal to have power over her body or her mind. Nor would she be his bride.

But a naughty, naughty part of her wondered if he was as good with his dick as he was with his fingers.

Telling herself she'd never find out, that thoughts like that were dangerous and led nowhere, she tried to wriggle away from him, even by just a few centimetres, but he was relentless in this just like everything else. Without saying anything, he simply held her even tighter.

Chapter Four.

For the first time, Jack thought that perhaps mthair Chrona knew exactly what she was doing by inviting an O'Malley into their ancestral home. Well, not exactly inviting, he mentally amended. It wasn't as if Catherine had suggested they have Sinead to tea. Mthair Chrona was all but asking Sinead to be the home's mistress.

Catherine was convinced that they had the chance to end the bitter feud once and for all. By marrying Sinead and having babies with her, eight hundred years of angst could be laid to rest.

Until now, he hadn't been convinced.

He didn't believe in curses and Banshees any more than Sinead did. He would have never taken time out of his business and followed her but for one thing: seeing his mthair Chrona happy.

When Catherine had found a comb with the O'Malley family crest on it, she'd seen it as a sign. Why else would something from the O'Malley clan appear in her very own bedroom?

After nearly a millennium of fighting, of kidnappings, of stealing, of sabotage, Catherine was convinced it was her obligation to put an end to the curse. If she had to manipulate and cajole her grandchild, so be it. She had the chance to leave a legacy, and by hell, she was going to do it.

When he'd protested that there was no such thing as a curse, she'd put her hands on her arthritic hips and glared at him as if he were once again a naughty child in short pants. "Perhaps not, my boy. But are you gonna deny that there's bad blood between the O'Malleys and the Quinns?"

He'd shaken his head.

"Or that our family started it?"

Again, he'd shaken his head.

"Then it's fitting that we should end it." She'd dropped her voice then. "Then that's that. You and I, my boy. We're the only ones who can. That makes it our obligation."

His entire life, obligation had been drilled into him. It was the reason he'd got an education, the reason he always returned to the lands. The Quinn legacy was in his hands, and he'd heard that from the time he'd been in the cradle.

"So what's the harm in marrying the lass? You're over thirty, now. It's high time you help shape the future."

Mthair Chrona was right about a number of things. He was in his thirties, and it was high time he married.

This was no longer the middle ages and he wasn't required to produce an heir. Even if he had no children, the home would go to a cousin...but the nearest relation wasn't a man he particularly liked. And if he stepped outside tradition and left the estate to another cousin, the legal battles would keep the home's future tied up in court.

Mthair Chrona, until now, had been tolerant enough to leave him to his own devices, especially the last few years since Maeve. Since Maeve's betrayal, he'd enjoyed his bachelorhood. He'd dated plenty of beautiful women. And he'd engaged in consensual BDSM with many.

Despite mthair Chrona's patience and hope, he'd found no one else he wanted to marry. His grandmother had recently been insisting that Maeve had broken his heart. He didn't believe in broken hearts any more than he believed in leprechauns. The fact was, none of the women he'd been with in the past few years had held his attention long enough to even consider asking his grandmother to open the family vault so he could select a ring for a bride-to-be.

Still and all, burying an axe, making mthair Chrona happy and settling down all in one move was smart and strategic. There was only one flaw in the plan. Sinead herself.

The petite and athletic woman was filled from the tips of her toes to the top of her lovely head with vim and vinegar.

She clawed and scratched, but she had a submissive side, of that he was sure. Putting up with her shenanigans would make the times she purred all the more spectacular.

Jack grinned as he felt her slowly, slowly, relax against him.

The wench fought her own responses as much as she fought him. The dossier hadn't prepared him for the reality.

His mthair Chrona's men had even interviewed people familiar with Sinead, but even that didn't tell the whole story.

She was passionate and wild. A hellcat. But when his mouth was on her hot little mound, she purred like a kitten.

Behind his jeans, his cock throbbed. He wanted his dick in her, wanted to fill her pussy and pound into her.

Then he wanted to fill her arse, stretching that tight hole for his penetration.

No matter what passed her appealingly sweet lips, Sinead liked things the way he did, over the edge, as untamed as the land they both called home.

Honestly it hadn't been his idea to marry her. And even if he'd been forced to write up a list of eligible and appealing women, her name wouldn't have been on the list. Still, if he had to be burdened with one, especially an O'Malley, it might as well be her. There were many advantages financially, despite the fact her family was struggling. The O'Malley lands adjoined his and he had the resources to turn around her family's fortunes.

He didn't fool himself, though. She'd be a challenge from beginning to end.