Page 37 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation
“I need help, and I need to know I can trust you,” she says. And fuck, she’s good. I almost believe her with that.
She sounds innocent, naïve, someone desperate to trust in a savior. But her hatred for me, for the name Murphy, is shining in her eyes. Just like the lust.
“I need to know why you put flash bombs and that other small bomb in the yard of a man whom you know. One who hasn’t killed you yet. Which, from what I know of Iosif Romanov, is highly unusual.”
I like to make jokes, act outrageously, and treat life like it’s just a grand old party. On the surface. But beneath that, I’m a fucking Murphy. I’m calm and levelheaded, and I can be brutal and cold, and while I’m not joking right now, my tone suggests I might be.
I want to keep the dark-haired beauty on her toes. I want to find out all of her deepest, darkest secrets, and I’m beginning to think she might be as slippery as I can be.
“I didn’t plant those bombs. I told you that already.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Don’t fucking lie. If you want my help, you’ll tell me the truth; otherwise, give me my gun and get the fuck out.”
Her eyes widen and it’s real surprise I see flickering in the depths. “You wouldn’t.”
“Curiosity only goes so far. I’m not interested in dying for you.”
She licks her lips and misses the blood. Or rather she leaves it. I’m glad, because I want to taste it, as feral as it sounds. There’s an element of primal play in her bones, and while blood play’s never interested me, with her, it might.
I think she wakens the primal beast inside me.
But before I play, and I will play, I want information.
“I’m not asking you to die for me,” she says, staring at me, wide-eyed and demure. “I’m asking for help.”
“Sometimes those are the same things.”
“I can’t ask Romanov for help. The offer he has is unacceptable.”
“And maybe my family’s price will be, too.”
She swallows, and her gaze steadies. “I heard you’re fair. I need… I need fair.”
There’s truth in her words, but something darker lurks. For as much as I want her, I don’t like this woman. But she does offer me more than honesty, more than likeability. She offers me intrigue.
It’s not enough.
I don’t move, but Ava steps closer, and then closer still. We’re not touching, not more than a breath apart. I can smell the night jasmine and spice, her intoxicating scent. Her heat swirls around me like it’s her superpower.
Shit, I hate to say it, but she has my dick’s full attention.
I nod at her bag. “Put it down.”
Ava hesitates but does as asked. And when she glances back at me, the fire there burns hotter. It’s fucking real.
I’m betting she’s as wet as I am hard.
We want each other.
At least there’s honesty in that.
I cross my arms, mainly to stop myself from pulling her against me. If I don’t, there won’t be anything to prevent me from getting her naked, wet, and convulsing around me.
I clear my throat. “Why the fuck would I be fair with you? Why would I help?”
“Because I do need protection. Not just from Romanov, but from other unknown parties.” She runs a hand down the front of her dress to highlight her manufactured attack.
And fuck, the urge to lick that blood’s real.
