Page 54 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation
I can’t tell him because I want him dead, that if I had my way I’d rip my own libido out and then stab him. I’d shoot him with his own gun. “Because the Murphys, even if I don’t like you, evenif I hate you, are known to be fair. I don’t want the bratva ripped from me.”
“Who says I won’t?”
The fact that I’ll kill him when it’s done. “The prenup.”
“So why do you hate me? What the fuck did I do?”
I stand up, my head spinning, chest so tight it feels like it’ll explode. “Because you killed my cousin and you don’t even remember his name!”
He stares at me, and a ringing starts in my ears. I didn’t mean to say that.
The words slipped out. They’re out there now.
He looks at me like I’ve just morphed into an alien.
Seamus stands, too.
“I kill a lot of people, Ava,” he says. “I don’t keep a black book of dates and names.”
“You’re a fucking bastard, Seamus. A vile bastard who just kills because he can. A brute who lacks a conscience?—”
“And one you like to fuck.”
I close my eyes. Then I open them, looking at him. “You’re right. I don’t just hate you. I despise you.”
“Were you close?”
“No.” The word’s bitter and it’s hard to swallow.
Seamus sets his drink down and walks toward me. “So were you and Paddy closer, then?”
He pushes me against the wall and slides his hand up between my thighs, stroking my pussy. How the fuck does he know about Paddy? Is he just playing with me to see if I’ll react?
“No,” I choke out.
The smile’s grim. “But you knew him. He’s dead, you know. Also by my hand.”
A small moan breaks free as he pushes two fingers into me, his face coming in close, lips feathering mine.
And then he moves his mouth to my ear. “You’re a fucking greedy little creature. This is all about your bratva, what’s yours, and fuck everything else. You don’t hate me for the death of your cousin. It’s all about your bratva.”
Fury bursts like bubbles in my veins. “He was going to hand it over to me, and you killed him in a bar fight.”
Seamus strokes into me, hooking his fingers, making it almost impossible to concentrate. “I haven’t been in a fucking bar fight since I was a kid in Ireland. I’ve taken people out in bars. Very different. What bar?”
“The Kelly.”
“The Bronx. Irish.” He nods, almost to himself. “Good darts league, so I hear. Never fucking been.”
Now he moves his thumb to my clit.
I gasp. “Lies.”
He slams his free hand near my head. And looks at me, nose to nose. “In what world would I lie? I’d own it, sweet thing, and I think you know that. It’s your excuse to hate, isn’t it?”
“No—” I gasp, a spasm hitting, and he backs down, slowing the thrusts, thumb moving off my clit.
“You believe me. And in your little black heart you’ve never quite known. Just worked yourself up to hate us. The Irish newcomers, am I right?”
