by Lisa Childs
The only way she wanted Ronan Hall was...on his knees begging for her forgiveness. And she knew that wasn’t very damn likely to happen. Ever.
Not until she’d inflicted the same hell on him that he had put her through.
CHAPTER TWO
RONAN’S HEAD SNAPPED back with the force of her slap. But he only grinned. Even though his cheek was stinging, that kiss had been totally worth it. He could taste her still on his lips. She was so damn sweet.
How could she taste so sweet when she was such a hard and vicious woman? Yeah, he’d needed that slap to bring him to his senses before he did something stupid, like pull that bow loose on her shoulder.
What would she do if he did that? Slap him again? Seeing her without the camisole, that would undoubtedly be worth another slap, though. He could see her tightened nipples pushing against the thin silk. She wore nothing beneath that camisole but her honey-toned skin. He wanted to close his lips around one of those distended nipples and tug at it until she cried out and begged for more.
His fingers still on that bow, he toyed with the end of it. One tug was all it would take.
But then she smacked his hand away and shoved him back with her palm against his chest. “Don’t you dare!”
“Don’t dare me,” he advised her. He was the kid who would have stuck his tongue on the icy flagpole with the first dare. He wouldn’t have even needed to be double dared. He lifted his hand toward her shoulder again.
She jerked up her sweater and wrapped it tightly around herself, as if he would have forcibly undressed her. As if anyone would need to. On all those billboards and magazine covers, she wore barely more than her seductive smile. Usually just a few scraps of lace or silk.
“What game are you playing?” he asked her. She was not a modest woman, but she was a cunning one. Those forged documents proved that. “Game?” she asked, her husky voice pitched higher than usual with outrage. “You’re the one who kissed me.”
“You trapped us in this elevator and climbed all over me,” he pointed out. Was she trying to seduce him? Or just sexually tease him into madness?
“I fell on you,” she said. “And I did not trap you.”
He snorted. “I wasn’t the one playing with the control panel, punching in every damn floor before you stopped it entirely.”
“I stopped it,” she said, “because I wanted to stop you from harassing Bette anymore.”
“I’m not going to harass Bette,” he said. For one—Simon would kill him if he did. The guy was already furious with him over some things Ronan had said to her. Poor Simon had fallen hard for his mousy former assistant.
But then, maybe Bette wasn’t that mousy—to a guy who liked the sexy librarian type.
That wasn’t Ronan’s style. He didn’t want someone repressed. He wanted someone as wild and adventurous and as into sex as he was.
Muriel stepped in front of the elevator doors, as if she could stop him. “No. You’re not talking to Bette at all anymore.”
He didn’t want to talk to Bette. He didn’t want to talk at all. He wanted Muriel back in his arms, her body pressed to his. She was the one, the female who might finally match his appetites in the bedroom and wherever else they might dare to do it...
“We’re stuck here,” he reminded her. And as he said it, the elevator rocked and creaked.
And Muriel gasped and shot forward—straight into his arms.
“Did you fall again?” Ronan teased her. “I wouldn’t think a supermodel would be as clumsy as you are.”
Despite glaring at him, she remained in his arms with hers locked around his shoulders. “Didn’t you feel that? We’re falling again.”
“I’ve never fallen before,” he told her. “So I’m not about to fall now...” And especially not for a man-eater like Muriel Sanz.
Then he realized what she meant even before she murmured, “I was talking about the elevator.” Then she started laughing, and as she laughed, she stepped back and dropped her arms from around his shoulders. “I wasn’t talking about falling for you. You can’t believe I would actually fall for you.”
He narrowed his eyes and glared at her. She made it sound ridiculous that she could care for him. Plenty of other women claimed that they had. But then, he hadn’t had the relationship with those other women that he had with her. Actually, he hadn’t ever had a real relationship with anyone.
Just sex...
And he would like to have that with her, even though she was trying to destroy his career. Because from that kiss, he knew it would be good between them. Hell, it would be better than good; it might be great.
He hadn’t had great in a while—probably because every time he’d been with a woman the past few months, he’d imagined that woman was Muriel and he’d been disappointed when he’d realized she wasn’t.
“I would never make the mistake of thinking you could love me,” he assured her. “I don’t think you’re any more capable of really falling in love than I am.”
“I was married,” she said, “until you ended that.”
“You ended that with your cheating.”
She lifted her hand, but before she could swing it toward his face, he caught her wrist. Through gritted teeth, she told him, “I did not cheat.”
He snorted again, almost amused over her show of righteous indignation. She could be one of those models who easily crossed over into acting; she had the skills. “So how did your ex find so many witnesses who testified otherwise then?”
Her green eyes widened. “My ex...? He found the witnesses? I thought you did—you or that PR firm.”
“Yeah, that was your second mistake when you forged those notes that supposedly came from my case files,” he said. “You made it sound as though I found the witnesses.” He shook his head. “And that wasn’t true.”
She glared at him. “What those witnesses said wasn’t true. They perjured themselves and you knew it.”
“And that was your first mistake,” he said. He stepped closer now, pressing his chest up against her breasts. “Trying to blame me for your bad choices.”
“Bad choices?” she repeated. “My only bad choice was getting married in the first place.”
He nodded. “In that, we are in complete agreement. Marriage is always a mistake.” His parents’ marriage had showed him that. Their constant fighting was why he’d run away from home for a while in his teenage years. “People aren’t meant to be monogamous.”
“Many people are,” she said.
He shook his head now. “Not people like you and me, Muriel.” He skimmed his fingertips along her jaw, down her throat to push her sweater from one shoulder. Then he toyed with that bow again. He was so tempted to tug it loose. So damn tempted.
His fingers twitched and the bow began to loosen. Then the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.
Muriel stepped back through the doors. But as she did, she reached out and struck a button on the control panel. The doors closed as she turned and ran down the hall.
Ronan wasn’t sure what floor they had stopped on, or if it had even been her floor, or if she had just really wanted to get away from him. Before he could look at the numbers above the doors, the elevator began to move again—heading down—until it stopped in the lobby.
He hesitated a moment before he stepped through the open doors. He’d changed his mind about trying to apologize to Bette again. It was probably better for Simon if Ronan didn’t talk to her at all. He suspected she’d already told him all that she knew. No. If he wanted to get to the bottom of the documents that had been given to the bar association, he needed to talk to Muriel again. But he would have to do that another time—because if he tracked her down now, after that kiss and seeing her nipples pushing against that camisole, he would do a hell of a lot more than talk to her.
* * *
Legs trembling, heart po
unding, Muriel leaned back against her apartment door. She’d turned the deadbolt, so even if he’d followed her, he would not be able to get inside her place. But she didn’t think he’d followed her. The elevator doors had closed before he’d had a chance to step through them.
But he could track her down...especially now that he knew where she’d moved after the divorce. While the building was nice, her apartment was small—much smaller than her old place. Maybe Ronan didn’t realize she lived here; maybe he’d thought she was just visiting Bette.
Then she should have gotten off on another floor...because she wouldn’t put it past him to knock on every door until he found her.
He was furious with her for reporting him to the bar association. Why was he so angry? Because he’d been caught? Or because he hadn’t suborned perjury, as he’d tried to claim?
She could understand his anger if he’d done nothing wrong. That was how she’d felt over her divorce proceedings. She’d been maligned in court and in the media, and she hadn’t done anything of which she’d been accused. She had definitely not cheated.
She’d taken her vows seriously. She’d been monogamous. That was all she knew. Even before she’d gotten married, she’d never dated more than one man at a time. And since the disastrous divorce, she hadn’t even started dating again.
Maybe that was why Ronan Hall had affected her so much. Or maybe it hadn’t been him at all. Maybe it had been the elevator malfunctioning and making her fear that they were about to plunge to their deaths. With her emotions so heightened, it was no wonder she might feel attracted to him.
And it wasn’t as if he wasn’t good-looking and sexy...
But still, she should hate him, not desire him. And she did hate him.
But what if he wasn’t responsible for those witnesses coming forward? What if those memos from his Street Legal law practice had been forged, as he’d claimed?
No. She couldn’t believe that. She knew every one of those witnesses who’d testified. While they hadn’t all been close friends of hers, they were acquaintances. They wouldn’t have lied about her without some serious coercion. Arte wouldn’t have done that. He hadn’t been the man she’d thought he was, but he wasn’t a monster or she wouldn’t have married him in the first place. He’d once been so sweet and charming.
No. Ronan Hall was the monster. And she would prove it. In case those memos weren’t sufficient evidence, though, she needed to find more.
Ronan had been attracted to her, too. And she didn’t think it was because he’d been scared. No. He was attracted to her because of how she looked. Her looks were why—despite her reputation being smeared—her career hadn’t suffered like she’d worried it would. Magazines and designers said she sold copy and clothes, maybe even more so since she had become so notorious.
But she hadn’t wanted to be notorious. And she was mortified that so many people believed those lies about her and that her grandparents—the sweet couple who’d raised her—had heard those lies. About affairs and orgies and sex parties...
While they knew her too well to believe them, they had to contend with the comments from their friends, from their fellow parishioners, from their neighbors...
That was why she hated Ronan Hall. Not so much for what he’d done to her as for what he’d done to them. She wanted him to suffer like they had. That was why she’d turned those papers she’d received over to the bar association. But maybe she should have had them authenticated first. She’d thought Bette had given them to her, though.
But Bette hadn’t known anything about them.
So who had delivered that envelope of memos to Muriel’s door? And were they real?
She needed to know the truth. And she needed proof of it. The best way to do that was to go directly to the source: Ronan himself.
Could she use her looks to get him to admit to what he’d done? An audio recording of his confession would be indisputable evidence.
But what would she have to do that would compel him to confess? Seduce him?
Instead of disgusting her, the way the idea should have, she was strangely excited by it. Maybe that was just because it had been so long since she’d been with anyone but her vibrator. While that eased some of her tension, it wasn’t like being with a man—like having his hands and his mouth on her.
Like Ronan’s mouth had been on hers...
Heat flashed through her, and she headed toward her bedroom—and to the vibrator she kept in the table beside the bed. For tonight, it would have to do...while she planned how to seduce Ronan Hall into confessing to his misconduct during her divorce proceedings.
That was what she really wanted. His confession.
Not him...
But she thought of him as she pulled the vibrator from the drawer. From the erection she’d felt straining against his dress pants, she knew he was bigger than her toy. And if it was possible, maybe harder...
He had wanted her. No matter how much they detested each other, they couldn’t deny the attraction between them. And Muriel would use that to her advantage, just like she used thoughts of him as she shrugged off her sweater and pushed down her yoga pants. Then she lay back on the bed, and she imagined Ronan kissing her, touching her...
She tugged one of the bows of her camisole free and began to touch herself. There were two more bows holding her panties together. She undid those as she flipped the switch for the vibrator. And she imagined it was Ronan’s long, hard cock as she slid it inside herself.
She came almost instantly, and to her horror, she cried out his name.
CHAPTER THREE
LIGHTS BLAZED, BUT that wasn’t what had sweat beading on Ronan’s brow. The heat flashing through him had nothing to do with the lights and everything to do with the woman posing beneath them.
She wore so very little on her gorgeous body—just some scraps of lace and silk and all that naturally tan skin. Desire slammed through Ronan with a force he’d never felt before. It knocked him back on his heels while making his cock rock hard.
Maybe coming here had been a bad idea.
But he wanted to come—inside her. He knew she was the only one who could relieve the unbearable tension that had been building in his body since he’d been trapped in the elevator with her a couple of nights ago.
“Muriel!” the photographer shouted at her. “You’re not giving me what I want!”
She wasn’t giving Ronan what he wanted, either—because he wanted her to untie that bow between the cups of her strapless black bra, wanted her to untie the bows on each hip that held up her panties.
But he wanted more than to see her naked. He wanted to feel her, taste her...and bury himself deep inside her.
Why the hell was he so attracted to this woman? He would have screwed her in the elevator if she hadn’t pulled away and slapped him. But she’d kissed him back before she’d done that. Was she attracted to him, too?
He was counting on it—so that he could get the truth out of her. That was really why he was here, why he’d tracked her down at her photoshoot. It wasn’t for sex.
He could get that anywhere. It wasn’t as if he wanted or needed only her. Any woman would do.
No. What he really wanted from Muriel Sanz was the truth.
Her lips curved into a slight smile. “What do you want, Lawrence?”
“Bad,” the photographer shouted back. “I need you to be bad.”
She was bad, and Ronan had proved that in court. She claimed those witnesses had been lying, though. Why would they lie? Why would they risk perjury charges? They’d had nothing to gain from their testimony.
Muriel Sanz was the liar. And Ronan intended to prove it. He just had to get her to admit to forging those memos. Could he seduce her into a confession?
Those witnesses had claimed she was addicted to sex and that was why she’d cheated on her husband. So if she was addicte
d to sex, maybe he could get her addicted to sex with him—so addicted that she would confess all to him.
He knew it was possible for a person to get addicted to another person. That had been his father’s downfall: his addiction to Ronan’s mother despite how badly she’d mistreated him. She’d been a lot like Muriel Sanz—beautiful and selfish and completely devoid of a conscience.
“I need you to be the badass of Bette’s Beguiling Bows,” Lawrence said.
This photo shoot was for the line of lingerie Muriel exclusively modeled. That line had been designed by her friend and Simon’s former assistant, Bette Monroe.
He had to admit that Bette had a talent for design. Her lingerie was the sexiest he’d ever seen.
Unfortunately, so was Muriel.
“Oh, I can be a badass,” she assured the photographer. But she was looking at Ronan now. He could feel her gaze on him, and his skin began to heat even more. She raised her husky voice a little more, probably making certain he would hear, and added, “I can be very, very bad...”
Ronan chuckled. She’d already started confessing...and he hadn’t even touched her yet.
The camera clicked.
She ran her fingertips down her deep cleavage to the bow between her breasts. And she toyed with the ends the way he’d toyed with the bow the other night...in the elevator.
Too bad that bow hadn’t been between her breasts, too. Then he could have touched her, like she was touching herself.
As she stroked her fingertips up and down her cleavage, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip then swiped her tongue across it.
And Ronan groaned. The photographer echoed the sound and shot a glance at him. Instead of admonishing him for trespassing on the set, the guy grinned at him. “You must be the reason for that sudden spark in her eyes,” Lawrence said. “You made her bad.”
Ronan chuckled. “Nobody made Muriel that way.” Least of all him. She’d already been bad.
“I’m good,” she said. And she tilted her head provocatively. “Very, very good...”