Page 69 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation

Of course he has a steak. I’m shocked he didn’t order me a salad.

I have a bite, but I can’t taste a thing. I reach for my wine when my hand freezes.

Seamus eats his steak, and it looks good, but he’s eating it how I’m eating my pasta. And as the haze of his touch dissipates, my mind starts working.

“If you know there’s a deal, why are we here?”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps eating.

“Or maybe you don’t know a thing about it.”

“Maybe I’m waiting to see if you recognize someone…” He trails off.

And I follow his gaze.

There’s a man I don’t know standing at the bar with a scar across his cheek. He’s tall, not as tall as Seamus, but tall enough, and lanky. His gray hair’s slicked back and his gaze is locked on us.

“Seamus. Who’s that man?”

“I think I’ll go find out. Wait here.”

He gets up, and a nasty smile crosses the man’s face as he speaks to his companion.

But Seamus stops short of him, where the scarred guy stands at the bar, and talks to the bartender instead. And my stomach is knotted with anger, this time aimed at myself.

I need a few minutes to think. I get up from the table and walk toward the bathroom. It’s empty when I step inside, lit with flickering candles. It smells sweet and clean as I slide down to the floor in the opulent room.

He’s playing games with me. But for what reason, I can’t figure out, at least not beyond wanting at least some, if not all, of my bratva. One I’m still not allowed near. Maybe this outing was meant to scare me or fuck with?—

“Open this fucking door, Ava, or I’ll fucking kick it in.”

I straighten up and open it, mainly because I believe him. “Always the brute.”

“Always the spoiled Russian princess pretending to be noble when you’re as greedy as every other fuck out there.”

“I thought you were going to talk to them?”

He laughs. “I ordered us champagne and a dessert for our wedding, bumped up against one Lev Grant, which isn’t much of a Russian name but hey, look at our dead friend Paddy.”

I shove him and the door slams shut. He reaches behind and locks it. Then he marches me over to the chaise lounge that sits in one corner and pushes me onto it so I’m on my back. He shoves the dress up to my hips, exposing all my nakedness, my hard nipples. My aching pussy.

“Just how I like a cunt, wet, soft, and willing.” He goes down on his knees and licks me, making me whimper.

Hate crackles in the air. Lust, too.

“The bombs, Ava.”

“Not your business.”

He pushes three fingers into me and one in my ass. I pant. He doesn’t move, just leans down and bites my clit. It’s a soft bite, but there’s an edge to it, and all I want is for him to lose his mind and go in on me, hard.

I need to come.

I’ve needed it since the moment I saw him in nothing but those boxer briefs.

“We’re getting somewhere,” he says, blowing on my clit, then sinking his teeth—hard—into my outer thigh. “We both agree you made them.”

“Yes,” I hiss. “But I didn’t do the Semtex one. I’ve never touched the stuff.”