Legal Attraction Page 14

  Muriel knew why he’d stopped—what he wanted. She wanted it, too. So she pushed her other concerns aside and focused only on the overwhelming attraction between them.

  He pushed back his seat and lifted her across the console, and now there was nothing between them. But he settled her onto his lap so that she was staring out the windshield, too. The woods were getting dark, and the glass just reflected back their images—like that mirror in the dressing room.

  And like with that mirror in the dressing room, they watched each other, watched every flicker of pleasure and sigh of desire through parted lips. She wore a dress today, one so short that it had already ridden up around her waist. Ronan pushed her panties aside to slide his fingers inside her. Then he moved his other hand farther up beneath her dress and pushed up her strapless bra to free her breasts. While he played with the nipple of one breast, he slid his fingers in and out of her. Soon Muriel was panting for air, and the windows fogged up. She couldn’t see herself anymore. She couldn’t see Ronan.

  She could only feel him as he lowered his fly, sheathed himself and slid it inside her. He lifted her so that she could slide down on top of him. He filled her completely, perfectly.

  The tension inside her spiraled up, then broke, and she shuddered as she came. He tensed and writhed beneath her, losing control until he came, too, and shouted her name. Limp with release, Muriel sagged against the steering wheel and the horn blew.

  Ronan cursed and pulled her back. “Damn, someone might see us.”

  Moments ago her control had snapped. Now her temper did. “And why would that be so terrible?” she asked. “Are you afraid of being seen with me?”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  Muriel straightened her clothes and scrambled back into the passenger seat. “I’m talking about how you never take me anywhere, how we’re never out in public.” And as the words reverberated inside the steamed up car, Muriel winced, recognizing that she sounded like a nagging wife.

  “You haven’t been really happy with the publicity I already got for you,” he said. “So I hardly thought you’d want to be seen with me.”

  And she winced again because he had a valid point. The press had just begun to die down. If she was seen in public with her ex’s divorce lawyer, she would stir up the scandal all over again.

  Then he continued, “It’s not as if we’re dating, anyway.”

  And she felt as if he’d punched her. “What are we doing?” she asked. But the question was more for her than him.

  He knew what he was doing—what he was always doing—just screwing around...

  She didn’t screw around; she fell in love. And once again she’d picked the wrong man to fall in love with. At least Ronan hadn’t conned her. He’d been honest from the start that he wasn’t the forever kind of guy.

  For a man who knew what he was doing, he didn’t give her an answer—just opened and closed his mouth as if he couldn’t find the words.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You’re sorry?”

  She nodded. “I shouldn’t have asked you to drive me home—now you have no place to escape.”

  His brow furrowed with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “How you always take off and run the minute we’re done having sex,” she explained. “You can’t do that now. Unless you toss me out of the car and have me walk to the city.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he said. But he started up the car and backed quickly onto the street. He began to drive so fast that it was clear he couldn’t wait to escape.

  “I shouldn’t have brought you to meet my grandparents,” she said. “I guess I was hoping you’d see that they have something special, that not every marriage is like your parents’.”

  “Most of them are,” he insisted. “How can you forget I’m a divorce lawyer?”

  “I didn’t forget,” she assured him. “But you have to realize you’re only seeing the bad marriages. Not the good ones.”

  He snorted derisively. “I could read you statistics, too. But I wouldn’t have thought I’d have to. Your marriage was a scam. How could you ever consider getting married again?” He shivered as if he abhorred the thought.

  “I didn’t think I would, either,” she admitted. “Arte made me doubt my judgment, not just in men but in friends, too. But then Bette became such a good, loyal friend to me.” She blinked as tears stung her eyes. She’d learned that the quantity of friends didn’t matter; it was the quality.

  “I’ve been lucky in that regard, too,” Ronan said. “I have damn good friends.”

  “So, if we can choose good friends, why can’t we choose good mates?” she asked.

  He glanced over at her then looked back at the road. “I don’t want a mate,” he said. “I never intend to get married. If you thought taking me to meet your grandparents would make me propose.”

  She snorted now. “God, no. I don’t want to marry you. We haven’t even been out on an actual date.” And that was what she’d wanted from him. Not a proposal—just a date. An actual relationship and the hope that it could go somewhere, someday, when they were both ready.

  But it was clear that Ronan would never be ready. At least, not with her.

  They were silent the rest of the drive into the city. And when he drew near her apartment building, he double parked by a cab. He obviously had no intention of showing her to her door. She jumped out before he could even put the vehicle into Park.

  “Don’t worry,” she told him. “I have no intention of trying to tie you up or down.”

  “Muriel...”

  “In fact, consider yourself cut loose right now, for good,” she said as she slammed the passenger door shut.

  He opened his door and called out to her over the roof of the car. “Muriel!”

  She sucked in a breath to brace herself before turning back toward him and the car.

  His brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. I thought you were enjoying...” He glanced around the busy street as if worried someone might overhear them.

  But everyone appeared too busy with their own lives to bother eavesdropping on theirs. And for once there were no reporters around.

  She was old news again. And, unfortunately, so was whatever the hell they’d been doing. “I’m not enjoying it anymore.”

  It hurt—every time he ran away from her, it hurt. So this time she was the one who turned and ran...

  But she knew it wouldn’t matter how far and fast she went. The pain was going to catch up with her. She had fallen in love with another man who would never be able to love her back.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “ARE YOU SURE she wants me here?” Ronan asked, as he stood in front of the last empty chair near the stage runway. It was probably the only empty chair in the whole, crowded, loud, chaotic place. He was lucky Simon had saved it for him. But he wasn’t certain he should have.

  “Who?” Simon asked. “Muriel?”

  Her name struck him like a blow, making his breath shudder out in a ragged sigh.

  “Don’t worry,” Simon said. “Muriel has no idea you’re here.”

  He didn’t doubt that or he probably wouldn’t have made it past security even with the pass Simon had given him and the other partners. Trevor and Stone sat on the other side of their managing partner.

  “I was talking about Bette,” Ronan said. “She’s not exactly a fan of mine, and this is her show.” The official launch of her line of lingerie. She’d worked very hard for this, and he didn’t want to mess it up.

  “Maybe if you become a fan of hers, she’ll become one of yours,” Simon suggested.

  Ronan settled onto the chair next to him. “I’m already a fan,” he said. “Huge, huge fan of her work.”

  And Simon chuckled. “So you’ve seen some of her designs already...” Then he nodded.
“Of course, when you were seducing Muriel.”

  He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually seduced her. But she had definitely seduced him—so much so that he couldn’t stop wanting her.

  It had been almost two weeks since she’d dumped him outside her apartment building. Dumped? They’d never really been together for her to be able to dump him. Like she’d said, they’d never gone out on a real date. He should have taken her. Or at least asked...instead of just assuming that she wouldn’t want to be seen with him.

  Because then she’d gotten the wrong idea about him, had thought he was ashamed of her or something.

  But that wasn’t the only wrong idea. She’d started to think that he might be looking for more than just sex. And that was crazy.

  Of course he’d had fun with her no matter what they’d been doing. And he’d really enjoyed that dinner with her grandparents. They were as sweet and funny and honest as she was.

  Fingers snapped in front of his face. “What’s wrong with you?” Trevor asked from where he leaned around Simon.

  “He zoned out thinking about Muriel,” Simon said as if he perfectly understood.

  Stone snorted. “Just because you do that thinking about Bette doesn’t mean Ronan is falling in love, too.”

  Trevor laughed. “Ronan in love...that would be the day.”

  “Why?” Ronan asked, and even he was surprised to hear how defensive he sounded. “Why would that be the day?”

  Stone stood and stared down at him, his gray eyes full of concern. “Are you okay?”

  No. He hadn’t been since Muriel had gotten out of the car that day and told him she was cutting him loose.

  “You’re the one who always says love is a sham,” Trevor reminded him. “So of course you’re never falling in love.”

  “I used to say that, too,” Simon said. “Now I know the truth.”

  So did Ronan. The truth was that Muriel was a good person. She was not a cheater or a liar. She was not his mother. And he had been an idiot to ever think she was.

  “Love is real, guys,” Simon said.

  While Stone and Trevor laughed, Ronan did not—because, for the first time, he realized that it was.

  Simon loved Bette and she loved him. Sure, maybe they wouldn’t last. Maybe they’d burn out like so many other couples did—except for Muriel’s grandparents. They still flirted with each other, still snuck hot glances and touched each other—and they were old. They’d been together so many years, but they still saw each other. It was possible to love someone and it was possible for that love to last.

  He didn’t know if it would for him. But maybe he owed it to himself, and to Muriel, to at least try. He knew that it would take more than flowers and a dinner invitation to get her to give him another chance, though. It was going to take a grand gesture—one that would be humbling and humiliating if she didn’t want him anymore.

  If she’d moved on to someone else...

  He opened his mouth to ask Simon if Muriel was seeing anyone, but before he could get the question out, the lights dimmed and the background music stopped playing. With a swish, the curtains opened to a woman standing behind a podium. Bette wore one of her own designs—a silk robe with bows—and for the first time, Ronan understood why his partner was so crazy about his former assistant.

  She was gorgeous. But she wasn’t The World’s Most Beautiful Woman.

  Bette was talking, but he couldn’t hear any of it. He couldn’t hear anything but his pulse pounding in his ears and his blood rushing through his veins—because Muriel had stepped onto the stage.

  She looked gorgeous in a soft pink teddy with bows as the straps. Even her slippers, as she glided down the runway, had bows on them. He wanted her to see him. But anytime she looked away from the stage, so many bulbs flashed that she was probably blinded.

  Did every fashion show get this much attention or were they here for Muriel?

  He couldn’t blame them. That was why he was here. Sure, he’d claimed he was just supporting Bette. But he’d wanted to see Muriel again.

  But seeing was never enough...

  He wanted to kiss her and touch her and taste her. And most of all, he wanted to hold her, all night long—he wouldn’t run away.

  He had to convince her to give him another chance. And as the bulbs continued to flash all around her, he realized exactly how he was going to do it. Yeah, he’d be humiliated if it failed. But another chance with Muriel far outweighed any risk of humiliation.

  * * *

  Spots danced in front of Muriel’s eyes. She was lucky she hadn’t fallen during the show. All those flashing bulbs had nearly blinded her. She wasn’t able to see well. But she’d been able to feel...his presence.

  Ronan had attended the show.

  Before giving tickets to Simon’s business partners, Bette had asked if it was okay with Muriel. She’d agreed, but only because she hadn’t thought Ronan would actually attend.

  Had he been alone? Or had he brought a date? Someone he wanted to be seen with?

  Of course, he’d explained why he’d never taken her out. But the press had let up on her; they could have taken their relationship public. But then, it had only ever been sex, and taking that public—more public than the elevator, the dressing room and the car—would have gotten them arrested.

  Muriel stepped out of the dressing room where she’d changed from Bette’s Beguiling lingerie into a short black dress and boots. She’d promised Bette she would attend her party after the show. But if Ronan was there...

  Bulbs flashed in her face again, and she flinched. Ronan was the least of her concerns at the moment. Along with the cameras, there were microphones—all shoved toward her face. How had they gotten backstage?

  “What do you have to say about the latest news?” someone asked.

  Muriel wasn’t sure what they meant, but she focused on what they should be focused on. “Bette’s brilliant,” she said. “Her designs are amazing. And she’s the one you should be interviewing.” Not her. She had had more than enough press to last her a lifetime.

  “So you have nothing to say about the interview your ex gave?” a woman reporter asked.

  She swallowed a groan. What had Arte done now? The man was seriously a pathetic fame whore. “I didn’t see his interview,” she said, “and I don’t care to.”

  “So he’s right—nothing he says or does will compel you to give him another chance?”

  “God, no.” She shuddered at the thought. What the hell kind of game was Arte playing now?

  Did he think declarations of undying love for her would save his musical?

  The last thing Muriel wanted to do was feed his need for fame. She shook her head. “You’re wasting your time. And so is he. Please focus on the real story and Bette’s beautiful designs.”

  Taking her advice, the reporters put down the microphones and turned away with the cameras. As she did, the female reporter shook her head. “You’re a stronger woman than I am, then,” she murmured. “There’s no way in hell I would say no to Ronan Hall.”

  Muriel reached out and grasped her arm, jerking the woman to a halt. She waited until the others had filed out of the hallway before asking, “What? What did you say about Ronan?”

  “He’s the one who did all the talking,” the woman said. “About you.”

  “He—he’s the ex you’re talking about?”

  The woman nodded then laughed. “You thought I was talking about your ex-husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hell, no, I was talking about his gorgeous lawyer. Nobody even knew the two of you were dating until he gave the interview at the fashion show.”

  Muriel hadn’t even known they were dating. “He—he told you that?”

  “I can show you the interview,” the woman offered.

  The woman pulled a tablet from her bag and touched the
screen. A video began to play. The woman spoke on camera—to Ronan. “You’ve declined all interviews about representing Arte Armand in his divorce trial from Muriel Sanz. Why have you agreed to talk now?”

  “Because I need to publicly apologize to Muriel,” he said. “I had no idea her ex had influenced those witnesses to perjure themselves.”

  “Yet someone reported you to the bar association for suborning perjury,” the reporter said on the tablet.

  Muriel glanced at the young woman. She wasn’t a normal tabloid reporter. She was good.

  “That person was misinformed,” Ronan said, “and later withdrew her complaint.”

  “Was that person Muriel Sanz?” the reporter asked.

  Ronan offered the reporter a grin and a redirection. “I want to talk more about Muriel,” he said. “I want to talk about how beautiful and honest and hardworking she is.”

  “You sound like a man in love,” the reporter remarked. In real life, however, she was focused on Muriel’s face instead of the screen.

  Muriel felt her watching, but her attention was on the tablet, on Ronan’s unfairly handsome face. She looked for fear or panic. But she saw nothing except another grin cross his face.

  “I guess I do...” he murmured.

  “Are you in love with Muriel Sanz?”

  “I was falling for her,” he said.

  “You were dating Muriel Sanz?”

  They hadn’t actually been dating, but he nodded as if they had been.

  “I blew it, though,” he said.

  The reporter giggled on camera, and standing next to Muriel, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I find that hard to believe, Mr. Hall...”

  “No,” he said, his voice gruff with regret.

  Or was that just wishful thinking on Muriel’s part? Did she want him to regret having run away again?

  Actually, she was the one who’d run last. But he hadn’t stopped her. Then. What the hell was he up to now?

  “I really screwed up,” he said. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do that will convince her to give me another chance.”