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Completely, irrevocably mine.

I knew what this meant. Knew exactly what I had done by bringing her here, by taking her, by marking her as mine in every way a man could mark a woman. Her father would find out eventually. Even I knew these things always came to light, no matter how carefully you tried to hide them. There would be consequences. Serious ones. There would be war.

Men would die because of this. Good men, loyal men, men who had done nothing wrong except find themselves caught between a man and a woman who couldn’t resist the pull of temptation.

Maybe I would die because I fell in love with a woman.

Who knew? But lying there in the growing dawn, watching her sleep in my arms, feeling the warmth of her body against mine, I realized something with absolute clarity.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t care about any of it.

I’d fallen in love with an Irish beauty, and she was mine.

I would do anything to keep her. Kill anyone who tried to take her from me. Burn down the entire world if that was what it took. Start a war with her family, with my own family if necessary, with every other family in the world if it came to that. I would destroy everything and everyone to make her mine permanently, to keep her exactly where she was right now—safe in my arms, marked by my touch, bound to me in ways that couldn’t be undone.

The realization should have terrified me. It should have made me pull back, reconsider, think rationally about the consequences and the bloodshed that was coming.

But it didn’t.

Because with her sleeping in my arms, her body marked by mine, the taste of her still on my tongue, the scent of her skin mixing with mine, I knew she was worth any price. Worth any consequence. Worth any amount of blood that would be spilled.

I spent my entire life being careful. Being controlled. Being the dutiful son, the perfect soldier, the reliable enforcer. Doing what needed to be done for my family, for the business, for the legacy my father had built with blood and bullets and backroom deals. I killed without hesitation, negotiated without emotion, made the hard choices without flinching or losing sleep afterward.

But she had changed everything.

She’d slipped past every defense I’d built, cracked me open and crawled inside, and now I couldn’t imagine my life without her in it. I couldn’t imagine going back to the way things were before I met her—that cold, sterile, empty existence where nothing mattered except duty, loyalty, and maintaining the family’s power. I couldn’t imagine letting her go, watching her walk away, going back to that house and her father’s world where I couldn’t protect her, touch her, or keep her safe.

I brushed a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering against her cheek, as she stirred slightly, making a soft sound in her sleep, but didn’t wake. My chest ached with something I couldn’t name. Something bigger than desire, deeper than need, more consuming than anything I’d ever felt before. This was what people killed for. What they died for. What they started wars over and destroyed kingdoms to possess.

And I finally understood why.

Because if anyone tried to take her from me, I would burn the world down. I would paint the streets red with blood. I would do things that would make my previous sins look like mercy, make my father’s worst atrocities look tame in comparison.

She was mine now. And I was hers.

And whatever came next, whatever the consequences, whatever the price I had to pay in blood or with my own life, I would face it without hesitation or regret.

Because she was worth it.

She was worth everything.

The sun was fully up now, streaming through the window in golden shafts, illuminating the dust motes floating in the air, and I knew we couldn’t stay here forever, suspended in this perfect moment. Soon she would wake. Soon we would have to get dressed, leave this room, face reality and the impossible situation we had created, whether we wanted to or not. But for now, in this moment, I held her and watched her sleep and accepted a truth that I had been avoiding since I’d first laid eyes on her... I was completely, irrevocably, dangerously in love with Madigan Kelley.

And God help anyone who tried to take her from me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

She woke slowly, her body stirring against mine as consciousness crept in, the quiet sound of her breathing mingling with the distant hum of city traffic outside the window. I’d been awake for hours, letting the warmth of the morning sun seep into the room, watching how its golden rays danced across her face and turned strands of her hair copper. The scent of her shampoo—something wild and floral—drifted between us, familiar and intoxicating. The air felt heavy and still, thick with everything that had happened and everything that still might.

I should have been exhausted. Should have been thinking about returning home to Nevada, about the business I was neglecting, about the calls I wasn’t returning. Should have been planning my next move, calculating the consequences, preparing for what came next. But all those worries hovered just out of reach—overshadowed by the risk that lingered between us.

I wasn’t thinking about any of that. Instead, all I could think about was her—her laughter echoing in my memory, her honesty, the way she looked at me like she’d decided, against all reason, to trust me and only me.

Her eyes opened—those winter eyes, icy and clear, that had haunted me since the moment she revealed her secret. She blinked slowly, focusing on my face. For a second, I saw confusion there, then recognition, then something that made my chest ache—a kind of hope, fragile but real.

“Hi,” she whispered, her voice rough with sleep. The sound was soft, barely more than a breath, but it filled the quiet in the room.