CHAPTER EIGHT
SUNSHINE POURED THROUGH the wall of windows in Ronan’s office. Street Legal’s offices encompassed the entire top floor of a building in Midtown. The space was like a loft with high ceilings open to the rafters, exposed ductwork, brick exterior walls and rough-sawn hardwood floors.
Ronan stood at his desk. He had the kind that he could raise, so he could forgo a chair. He didn’t like sitting. It was hard enough staying in his seat in a courtroom, which he managed to do only as long as he had to, when the opposing counsel had the floor.
He flipped through the file on his desk, reading over the court transcripts he’d printed out, and he snorted in derision at his opposing counsel in this case. The defendant’s attorney had posed no challenge for Ronan at all.
She hadn’t raised any of the arguments that Ronan would have, had he been Muriel’s attorney. But he hadn’t been. He’d been working for her ex.
He remembered Stone’s comment at the meeting. The reason Ronan’s partner had questioned Muriel’s intelligence wasn’t because she was a model but because of the man she’d married. Stone didn’t have a very high opinion of Ronan’s former client, and as Ronan reread his real case notes—not the forged ones Muriel had given to the bar association—his opinion of Arte Armand sank, as well.
Why the hell had he represented this schmuck?
Oh, yeah, he’d felt sorry for the guy. Arte had been a broken man when he’d come into Ronan’s office. He’d sobbed out his misery over how horribly his new bride had mistreated him. New bride...
They hadn’t been married very long at all. Less than a year. The prenup she’d had him sign should have held up—would have held up—had she not been proven at fault in the divorce. Had Ronan not proven her at fault.
Had she been at fault? All those witnesses had claimed she was, that she had treated Arte as horribly as he’d said she had. But if that was true, why had he stayed with her?
Because he hadn’t been able to leave, just like Ronan’s father hadn’t been able to leave his mother? That was why Ronan had taken the case, because Arte had reminded him of his father. But his father had loved his mother for years before she’d started cheating on him. They’d had a child together. He’d had reasons to stay.
What had Arte’s reasons been? Money? Or love?
He’d claimed he’d loved Muriel. But if that were true, why had he wanted to hurt her so badly? To publicly humiliate her? And why had Ronan helped him do it?
That twinge of discomfort and regret he’d been having turned into a gnawing ache in his chest now. Had he been wrong? No. That wasn’t possible. Not with all those witnesses claiming how badly Muriel had treated her ex...
But as he read their testimony in the transcripts, he noticed how similar their stories were, which had previously convinced him of their veracity. Now he wondered...were they too similar, almost as if every one of them had been reading from the same script?
He felt a shiver of unease chasing down his spine. It wasn’t because of the transcripts but because someone stood in the doorway of his office. He turned toward where Muriel leaned against the jamb, watching him.
How had she gotten past Miguel, their receptionist-slash-bouncer? Then he remembered that it was Sunday. Miguel didn’t come in on Sundays. Nobody did but Ronan and his partners. Stone had come in, too, to prepare for his upcoming murder trial. And Trev was working on something, as well. Only Simon hadn’t come in—probably because he was still in bed with Bette.
Ronan wished he was still in bed with Muriel. He shouldn’t have left her Friday night. Right now—as he stared at her, looking so gorgeous in artfully ripped jeans and a sweater with shoulder cutouts—he didn’t know how he’d left her at all when she’d been lying there naked in the sheets tangled from their sexual romp.
Remembering how she’d looked—her silky skin flushed from their passion—his body tensed, and his cock hardened. He wanted her again. Still...
She was so damn sexy and looked almost posed against that doorjamb, the way she had posed for that photo shoot. Then she moved, her hips rolling as she walked slowly toward him.
His hand shook slightly as he closed the file—her case file. He didn’t want her to see what he’d been reading. He didn’t want her to know that she was getting to him, giving him doubts.
He had to clear the desire from his throat to ask, “What are you doing here?” But the question came out brusquely, his voice still gruff.
“It’s good to see you, too,” she remarked sarcastically.
It was better than good to see her. Despite her face being everywhere, he’d missed her, and that unsettled Ronan. It wasn’t like him to miss anyone but his friends. And he and Muriel were not friends.
They were enemies. Weren’t they? She’d turned him into the bar association, and he had...
What had he done?
And what was she doing? She stopped next to his desk and glanced down at the surface of it.
He flipped over her file. “I’m working.”
“I’m sorry.” She held up her palms, but he didn’t mistake it for a gesture of surrender, especially when she added, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you ruining someone else’s life.”
“I’m not,” he said. At least, he hoped he wasn’t. “And I didn’t ruin yours.”
“Yeah, right...” She snorted.
“You’re on the cover of every magazine and all over the news,” he said.
She shuddered.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Why would she have become a model unless she’d wanted to become famous?
“I didn’t want it like this, because of a scandal,” she said. “I wanted to know I earned it.”
“You did.” She had been the most beautiful woman in the world even before the scandal.
She snorted again. “I have been half expecting you or that sleazy PR firm to send me a bill.”
He wouldn’t put it past that PR firm: Allison McCann was nearly as mercenary as Ronan’s mother and maybe Muriel’s ex had been. If anyone sent her a bill, though, it would probably be Arte Armand...
“I’m not giving you a bill,” Ronan assured her.
He couldn’t and wouldn’t speak for Allison McCann, though, and he wondered now if he should have let her speak for Street Legal, at least for this case. Had Arte and his friends, who were probably now Muriel’s former friends, been telling the truth?
“I don’t want your money,” he said. He just wanted her—like she’d been the other night, naked and wild for him. His fingers twitched now with the urge to reach for her, to touch her.
“I know,” she said. She tossed something down on his desk, right on top of that case file.
“What’s this?” he asked as he glanced at the big orange envelope.
“This is what you seduced me for,” she said.
He groaned. He should have known Bette would tell her about his plan. They were friends. Apparently better friends than he and Simon were, since Simon hadn’t kept that dare a secret for him.
“Muriel—” Before he could say anything else, and he wasn’t certain what he could have said, she put her fingers across his lips.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I was seducing you, too.”
Instead of being offended or furious, he was amused and moved his lips against her fingers as he grinned. He’d wondered why she’d let him close to her. Obviously, she’d been after something, too.
She shivered and pulled her hand from his mouth.
And he asked, “What did you want from me?”
* * *
What had she wanted from him? At the moment, she couldn’t remember. Hell, she wasn’t sure she even knew her own name anymore. All she knew was how he made her feel wanton.
She wanted him so damn badly.
“Right now,” she murmured, “I don’t know.”
“I think you do,” he said, and he stepped out from behind his tall desk—which put him right in front of her—so close that his thighs touched hers.
She wore heels today, very high stilettos. Since she was already tall, the heels brought her nearly to his height. But he was ridiculously tall and broad and muscular and handsome.
“It’s really a waste that you’re a lawyer,” she murmured. With his devastating good looks, he should have been a male model. He would have been far more successful than her ex had been.
Ronan must have mistaken her comment for an insult, though, because he flinched. “Everybody hates lawyers.”
Not everybody.
“Only divorce lawyers,” she teased. “I don’t have any problem with your partners.”
He narrowed his dark eyes and studied her face with obvious skepticism. “Not even Simon?”
“Not now,” she said. “But if he hurts Bette, I’ll kill him.” She’d never had a friend like Bette—she knew that now, after all those people had given false testimony against her. They hadn’t been true friends.
Ronan chuckled and reached for her arm, gently squeezing her biceps. She flexed for him. “I think you could take him,” he said. “Hell, you could probably take me.”
“I wanted to kill you for a long time,” she admitted.
And he flinched again. Then he slid his fingers up to her shoulder and, stroking her bare skin, he asked, “And now?”
Now she just wanted him. She shivered in reaction to his touch. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted his hands everywhere on her. She wanted his mouth everywhere.
His name slipped through her lips on a soft, lustful sigh. “Ronan...”
He pressed his mouth to hers. His kiss was gentle at first, just a whisper-soft brush of his lips across hers.
Her breath sighed out in a gasp of pleasure. She hadn’t known he could be so tender. It was almost as if he cared about her. But that wasn’t true.
She had to remind herself of that—of the fact that Ronan Hall didn’t care about anyone or anything but winning. And he wouldn’t stop until he’d won, until he seduced her into doing what he wanted. While he wanted to find out where she’d gotten the memos, he also wanted her to withdraw her complaint to the bar association. Bette had warned her.
If she was smart, she would stay far away from him. But she was the one who’d sought him out today. Bette had refused to give her his home address, but she’d reluctantly admitted that he could be at the office, that the partners often worked weekends.
Was that why Ronan hadn’t come back to her apartment? Because he’d been too busy working? Too busy ruining other people’s lives to seduce her again?
Taking advantage of her parted lips, he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue inside her mouth. He stroked his tongue across hers, teasing her, tasting her.
Desire rushed through Muriel, heating her skin and making her pulse race wildly. She didn’t care about anything right now—about his motives or hers. All she wanted was the pleasure she knew he could give her.
He pulled back and panted for breath, his eyes dark and wild with desire. “Damn you...” he murmured.
Instead of being offended, she laughed because she knew he felt it, too—the overwhelming attraction between them.
His lips curved into a slight, reluctant grin. “You are becoming an addiction.”
Apparently he didn’t understand the definition of addiction—because if he was addicted to her, he wouldn’t have been able to walk away from her like he had the other night. He wouldn’t have been able to leave her bed at all.
There was no bed in his office. She wasn’t even sure he had a chair. He’d been standing at that odd desk of his. But she didn’t care where they had sex; she just had to have sex with him.
Now.
She understood what an addiction was, and she was very afraid that she was becoming addicted to him. Her body ached with desire—with need—for his.
She clutched the nape of his neck as she pulled down his head so she could kiss him back. She skipped the tenderness he’d shown her at first, and she went straight for the passion, kissing him deeply and hungrily. She nibbled at his lips and teased his tongue with the tip of hers.
He groaned and lifted her, the muscles in his arms bulging and rippling as he carried her.
She wasn’t certain where he was taking her, and she didn’t care as long as he took her.
He settled her onto something that was hard and cold beneath her bottom. And when she glanced down she saw she was on the bar that ran along one wall of his office. The surface was black granite with a vein of gold running through it. The faucet on the little sink was gold, as were the liquor decanters sitting next to her ass on the countertop.
“Need a drink?” she asked.
“I need you,” he said. And he dragged her sweater up and over her head. Her hair tangled around her face, blinding her for a moment. So she didn’t see his reaction to her bustier. It was black leather and, of course, a bow topped the laced-up front of it. But she heard his reaction in the sharp intake of his breath.
Then he groaned her name. His fingers shook slightly as he fumbled with the button of her jeans. He got it loose, though, and tugged down her zipper, as well. She wore leather panties to go with the bustier. They were also laced up the front and tied with a bow.
“Remind me to compliment Bette on her brilliant designs,” he murmured as he lowered his head and kissed her again.
She nipped his bottom lip between her teeth. She wanted more than his kisses. She wanted his dick. So she reached for it, sliding her hand over the fly of his jeans. His cock strained the already worn denim. She jerked his button loose and pulled down his zipper to free him from his boxers.
Then she wrapped her hand around him, stroking her palm up and down the length of his cock. “I need you now!” she said. “I need to feel you inside me.”
He groaned. But he didn’t protest. In fact, his control must have snapped because he pulled off her jeans and nearly tore off the bow holding up her panties. The leather dropped away from her. But she was still hot, still burning up for his touch. His fingers slid inside her, and he groaned again. “You’re so wet.”
So ready for him...
She tugged free the bow on the bustier, and her breasts sprang over the tops of the leather cups. The nipples were already tightened and pointing up toward Ronan. He took one in his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.
She moaned and squirmed against his hand. He moved his fingers inside her while grinding his palm against her mound. Then he flicked his thumb back and forth over her clit. She tensed but then he closed his teeth gently over her nipple and she came, the orgasm shuddering through her.
“Ronan...” She nearly sobbed his name. She tightened her grasp around his cock and stroked harder.
He shuddered and lifted her again. Despite his strength, he stumbled back. Or maybe he’d intended to walk backward, because he dropped into a chair with her astride his lap. He pulled out a condom packet, tore it open and sheathed himself.
Desperate to feel him filling her, Muriel rose up on her knees and guided him inside her. He was so big, so thick, that he stretched her. She arched and took him as deep as she could. He moved his hips and thrust a little deeper.
She’d never been this full, this complete. A moan tore from her throat as passion overwhelmed her. He was so damn good. And as he continued to move his hips, he touched her breasts, teasing her nipples into even tauter points. She bit her bottom lip, but she couldn’t hold back another moan.
He drove her crazy. And she wanted to drive him just as crazy. She touched him back, teasing his flat male nipples until they pebbled. Then she reached beneath her butt and stroked his thighs and balls.
He groaned, and the muscles in his neck corded and stood out. “Muriel...” He growled her name like a warning. And sweat beaded on his upper lip and brow as he struggled for control.
She wanted him to lose it, wanted him as wild as he made her. She leaned forward and kissed him deeply before sliding her lips over his granite jaw to his neck. She nibbled on those corded tendons, then suckled.
He clutched his fingers in her hair, tangling it even more than it had already been. He pulled her face from his neck and kissed her, and as he drove his tongue between her lips, he drove his cock deeper into her.
She rocked her hips against him, arching and straining to ease the pressure that had built inside her again. The tension was nearly unbearable. Despite the release he’d already given her, she needed another.
She needed more of the intense pleasure she feared only he could give her. She’d never had orgasms as long or as powerful as the ones he’d given her. Then he stroked his thumb over her clit once more and she came again, screaming his name.
Her name echoed his, as his big body tensed, then shuddered with his own release. Like her, it seemed as though he came and came. As she collapsed against his heaving chest, he wrapped his arms around her. And their hearts pounded in the same frantic rhythm.
Muriel had never felt so close—such a connection—to another human being. But that wasn’t possible, not with Ronan Hall. He didn’t let anyone close.
And after how she’d been betrayed, neither should she. Remembering how badly she’d been hurt, how badly Ronan had hurt her, she scrambled off his lap. Then she ran back to the bar where he’d taken off her clothes.
“I could use a drink, too,” he murmured, as if that was what he thought she needed.
Instead of reaching for one of those decanters, she grabbed up her clothes and donned them in such haste that she didn’t realize her sweater was inside out, until Ronan tugged on the tag. Then he reached over her and lifted one of those decanters, and as he did, she noticed his hand was shaking.
Maybe he was as unnerved as she was. He must have dressed quickly, too, because his jeans were up and zipped again. Once he poured the drink, he walked back toward his desk—leaving the route to the door unobstructed.
Instinct prompted Muriel to run for it. If she was smart, she would. But if she was smart, she wouldn’t have come here today—she wouldn’t have risked seeing Ronan ever again.