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“Oh, right,” she nods. “Saoirse’s brother.” She exhales, the tension in her shoulders easing. Then, as if she realizes what that means, her face hardens into shock. “Oh my God! You’re herbrother.” She clasps her hand over her mouth, pulling a chuckle from me.
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my trousers. “I am. And you’re the event planner. Samira, is it?” I glance around the closed-off alleyway, then step closer when I’m satisfied we’re alone. “And there’s no running from me now, is there?”
I dip my head against her neck, a finger running along the bare skin there. She’s trapped between the brick wall and my hard chest. I ignore the crackling tension between us, yank my hand away, and take a step back. It's just enough to allow her space, but I keep my hand right where it is. My heart kicks up, processing what this means. Samira will be in the Murphy circle, close-knit. Once my sister digs her nails into someone, she doesn’t let go. She gets kind of attached like that. And I’m going to enjoy playing with this woman, the woman I thought I’d never see again. My thumb stops right at the vein right above the delicate curve of her clavicle. It’s pulsing just as rapidly as mine, but for different reasons. I’m aroused while she’s scared.
I don’t blame her. I’m a Made Man with a dark past, a hot temper, and demons dancing in my brain. She’d be insane to think any part of me is welcoming.
Samira continues to stay in place, unable to move because I’m not allowing her. I know this is wrong, but she’s too fucking intoxicating. Maybe it’s her mysterious vibes, the way she took off right before she allowed me to make her come, or even the way she reacts to me. Like she’s not sure what to do or say, like her only focus is on making it out of this with her head screwed on straight.
“You should get back inside,” I finally say. If it were up to me, I’d strap her to me just so I could have that scent following me around. “My sister will be missing you.”
She swallows, the bobbing of her throat causing my gaze to drop. My tongue darts out, wetting my suddenly dry lips.
A soft sigh escapes her. “I’d move, Mr. Murphy. But you’re not allowing me.”
Chapter Seven
Citrusandazestytang invade my nostrils as Declan Murphy crushes me to the wall. His lip curled up as he chuckles, the low hum causing my heart rate to pick up. Nothing I’ve said this evening can warrant being humorous. Nothing he’s said can either. Yet, here he is, pinning me to the brick wall, invading my personal space.
“Ask nicely, Samira,” he says, his nose rubbing against my cheek.
I groan, hating how slick this entire encounter has made me. He’s a client’s brother, a rich boy, someone who thinks he can take whatever he wants, and completely not my type. Despite all of that, here I find myself turned on by the danger this man omits.
I’m not one who believes in auras and other world energies, but even I can feel the danger that comes off him in waves. Why hadn’t I felt it last night in the club? There, he seemed safe, inviting. Now? Now he’s intimidating, and I don’t know what’s changed, or even what to make of it.
I clear my throat. “Mr. Murphy. Please step aside so I can get back to work,” I say. My voice cracks, betraying any amount of confidence I might have had.
He nods, stepping back. Relief shudders through me but is quickly replaced with disappointment at the lack of warmth that goes with him. My gaze falls to his waist as he stuffs his hands into the pants pockets of the black tuxedo.
It’s hard to see muscle, or the fine outline of his body in formal attire, but I can tell he’s big, cut to handle any type of hostile situation. It’s why I approached him at the club the last night. He seemed like he could hold his own in a fight. Something about him told me he was safe. Like tugging toward a magnetic field.
I want to head inside, but that feeling is still there. The distance is too much, despite knowing I shouldn’t give in. I can’t do this. Can’t get involved with someone so close to my personal life. It makes moving on too real, and I’m not ready for that.
Declan heads for the kitchen door and opens it. Then he steps aside to let me in first. I inhale, bracing myself to get back to work, to slip on the professional mask and forget this brief encounter outside ever happened. I’d meant to call my dad on this break, but that clearly isn’t happening.
I step inside, the slam of the door behind me jolting through my entire body.
Declan’s hand rests on my shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. “It was just the back door, Samira,” he says, his voice calm and soothing my nerves. I’m shaking like a leaf, my teeth chattering as the kitchen staff hustle around us.
Hot and cold. Intimidating, then calming. The whiplash from this man is intense. It also makes me wonder. Who is he? What’s the real version of him?
“Sorry,” I whisper, continuing our path until we shove through the doors and into the ballroom.
People mingle in the open space I’ve decorated with soft blues and pinks. The tablecloths on the round tables are navy blue, and in the center are baby pink flowers in crystal vases. The open bar has the same-colored cloth, and in the center of the room, where people should be dancing, they’re just standing about, chattering away with drinks in their hands.
I exhale. Right. Rich people rarely dance. They mingle and use these things for political gain. How can I forget that? The first birthday party I’d ever attended with Ian had been similar. It was the most boring party I’d ever been to, and it was a kid’s party. No games, no music, no fun.
Snooze.
Saoirse spots me from across the room and rushes for me. Her eyes narrow in on Declan. He lets out an annoyed huff. “Look out. The fun police have arrived.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Saoirse is there, dressed in a black cocktail dress and looking stunning; her red hair is tucked in an elegant updo. Her glare stays on Declan as she pulls me into a hug. “There you are. I haven’t seen you all evening.”
I pull from her embrace. “Hey, Saoirse. Sorry, I’ve been in the back making sure everything runs smoothly.”
Declan side steps so he’s closer to me, and I catch another whiff of that citrus scent. It only makes my heart beat faster. He practically presses his chest against my back, heat radiating from him in bursts, and I stiffen while trying to focus on Saoirse. She’s staring at us, lips formed into a scowl.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus. “Okay, so all that’s left is for you to announce that the guests can head to the room in an hour,” I say. “And then I’ll be sneaking off like we discussed.”
