Page 10 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation
He’s a Murphy. The high cheekbones, sensuous mouth, dark brows, dark-green eyes, and hair that curls. He needs a shave, and the cynicism in his eyes twines with a wicked awareness that threatens to send that roller coaster hurtling down.
Even with a smear of soot and dirt on his face, the rip in his pants, he’s hotter than fuck. Handsome, maybe even beautiful in that male way.
Before he just had on a shirt and a shoulder holster.
Now there’s a jacket over those weapons—and by weapons, I mean his muscles and that metal.
The man should look ridiculous. The veneer of sophisticated gentleman with the soot and dirt.
But he doesn’t.
He looks dangerous. Animalistic. A predator, and fuck, I think that makes me even wetter.
I swallow, throat thickening.
Romanov and Assisi hired a third party for security. A party known to be hard and brutal should anyone be stupid enough to attack. A party with no cards at the table.
The Murphys.
The Murphys play a different game. I know enough about them. But they’re too protected and close-knit for me to get to Seamus. For me to take my sudden need for revenge.
A part of me hates that the revenge play isn’t really for the cousin I barely knew. Stan was exactly as Iosif described, but he still stole my birthright. And that pisses me off to no end.
Still, Stanislav was family.
It’s enough to spill blood.
But whichever Murphy this is, he isn’t Seamus, the man I saw in the photo. So I stand down.
“We’re not strangers, not after that run-in earlier.” He looks me up and down. “How did you escape? The ties weren’t too tight, but it takes most a while to get free. You should still be lying there like a special gift waiting to be opened.”
“And you should be in little pieces,” I spit, ignoring the fact my bomb wasn’t that powerful.
He smiles, and while my heart swells, the anger burns. “You should have built a better bomb.”
“That’s the thing, though, you see, I was out for a little stroll when some brute attacked me.”
“If that was a stroll, sweet thing, then we should do it again, because…” He pushes against my ear with his mouth, his demanding hands skimming over my hips. “I think you liked the, ah,attackmore than you want to admit.”
“No—”
“Or wait,” he says, silky and full of bite, “didn’t you attack me?”
“Get out of my way.”
“Only if you tell me your name.”
“None of your business.”
He clicks his tongue. “It’s definitely my business.”
Before I can respond, Romanov storms out. “Murphy?”
Reality crashes down on me.
I’ve been so caught up in this man that I didn’t notice the others near us, two other men who must be his brothers. But when the light hits, I realize that the one who looks over to Romanov is the one I know from the picture.
Seamus Murphy.
