Page 20 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation

“Because you put them where they don’t belong.”

I smile slowly. “Maybe they do belong there. As a holding place for bigger, better things.”

She grips the edge of the bar and snatches her drink with her other hand. “Look, I’m not of any interest to you?—”

“But you are, sweet thing.”

“That’s not my name.”

“What is it?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

“I’m—”

“A Murphy.” She says it with such vitriol that I let it go. My interest hikes up a notch. And I slip my fingers around to where her thighs part.

She doesn’t clamp her legs together as I venture lower, under the lace of her panties, down the front, over her bare, warm flesh, to stroke her engorged clit.

Fuck, her skin is velvety soft, her clit perfection in the way it throbs against my fingers, and her little moan the sound that could launch a thousand wet dreams. I go lower, sliding between her folds, and one of her hands grabs my forearm.

But all she does is push me down lower, so I have better access.

Holy fuck.

I don’t trust a single thing about her.

Not one.

But this… the blatant need and desire, I believe that. It’s the only truth I’ve gotten from her. Want and need, desire and lust. And hate. That one’s blazingly true.

Only, I don’t know why.

I lean in. “Tell me, sweet thing, did I go and ruin your little plan to blow up the Romanov mansion? Because I gotta tell you, you’ll need better bombs than that. Even the Semtex ones were crap.”

“The Semtex? I didn’t—” She stops, snaps her lips closed, and tries to push me away, even though I’m two knuckles deep in her tight, hot wetness. I don’t move.

“Didn’t what? Set that bomb?”

“I don’t fool with shit like that. Stop touching me.”

Fuck, do I want to ignore her. But I don’t. I take my time, curling my fingers to rub her G-spot as I draw them out as her low, hissing moan wraps around me.

“But you set the others. Who taught you to make Irish-style bombs? That certain kind of Irish-style bomb.” The bombs Igrew up making, the ones I knew Paddy made, too. That same style.

All bombs are different, but these little homegrown ones are specific to where we ruled those streets back in Ireland.

So yeah, I’m pretty fucking interested, and if she knew Paddy, then my lack oflikemight shrivel down into hate.

No matter how tasty she is.

But right now, she’s a toy for me to play with. And I will try all the little cords, switches, and buttons to figure out her angle.

In truth, I’m not overly interested in Romanov or Assisi. But I’m interested in why this little Russian princess is running around like she’s a patchwork of girl in trouble, a mad bomber, thief, and gangster with some serious skills.

I want her story.

Because whatever it is has to do with my family.