by Lisa Childs
He closed his mouth.
And regret tugged at her. But after what he’d told her about his mother, she shouldn’t have been surprised that he would find it hard to believe her—especially when so many people, people she’d thought were her friends—had testified against her.
He touched her chin, tipping it up. She hadn’t even realized she’d bowed her head.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured again.
She shrugged. “I don’t believe you one hundred percent, either.”
After Arte and those people she’d thought were her friends had betrayed her, she couldn’t trust anyone, least of all the divorce lawyer who’d represented her ex.
He flinched but said, “I understand.”
“But tonight, it doesn’t matter what’s truth or fiction,” she said. “Tonight, nothing matters but pleasure...”
“I’ll give you pleasure,” he promised as he lowered his head and brushed his mouth across hers. His lips clung, nibbled, and his breath panted out between them.
It had been too long since he’d kissed her. It had only been days but it felt like years. Long years.
And she knew in this he spoke the truth. He would give her pleasure. But that wasn’t all she wanted tonight. She stepped back, away from his kiss.
He opened his eyes and stared down at her, his jaw tense, as if he was worried she had changed her mind. So she reached for his hand and tugged him along with her toward her open bedroom door.
And he chuckled. “So you’re going to take me up on my offer?”
She wouldn’t have been able to refuse. “I have one of my own,” she told him as she dropped her hand and walked over to her closet. “Let me show you a really good time.”
“Did Bette design something new for you?” he asked, and he almost sounded like a kid asking if Santa Claus had delivered presents.
“Bette’s always designing something new,” Muriel said—with surprise that her friend could think of so many things to do with bows. “I guess she’s been particularly inspired lately.” Thanks to his friend.
“Lucky for me,” he murmured.
“Not tonight,” she said. “Lingerie isn’t what I have in mind.” She pulled out the sashes of a couple of bathrobes and grabbed a couple of scarves. “This is what I had in mind...”
His dark eyes narrowed, and his grin slid slightly away from his handsome face. “What do you want to do with those?”
“Tie you up, of course...”
He laughed, but it wasn’t with amusement now. “And what? Take pictures of me lying there naked and helpless to sell to some tabloid? Or will you just leave me here?”
If he was naked and helpless, she doubted she would be able to leave him.
She shook her head. “I want to tie you up so that you can’t touch me. Only I can touch you. Only I can please you.”
He stepped closer to her and pulled the makeshift bindings from her hand. “This is about control,” he said. “And you know it.”
Heat rushed to her face as she remembered how smart he was. Of course he would know that she wanted to be in control and she wanted to take his.
That was going to be her revenge for what he’d done to her—to drive him out of his mind. But maybe she didn’t need to tie him up in order to do that.
He’d driven her out of her mind every time they’d had sex, and he had never once restrained her.
But she tugged on the ties he held now and murmured, “Ronan, please...” as she stared up at him through fluttering lashes.
He chuckled and murmured back, “No...” He bunched the ties into a ball, which he threw out into the hallway. Then he kicked the door closed, as if he didn’t trust her not to try to use them on him.
“You really don’t want me to tie you up,” she said.
“I really want to touch you,” he told her. And then he proceeded to do just that as he reached for her shirt and lifted it over her head. After he tossed it aside, her hair swirled back down around her bare shoulders.
She had skipped the bra entirely tonight. “Sorry—no Bette’s Beguiling Bows...”
His hands were already cupping her breasts. “I don’t mind. If I’d known you were braless...”
“What?” she asked.
He leaned down and brushed his lips across one nipple. Then he replied, “I would have done this sooner.” And he licked the other one.
She shivered as pleasure coursed through her. She wanted him so badly.
“Aren’t you glad you didn’t tie me up?” he asked as he moved his hands to the waistband of her yoga pants. After pushing down the knit material, he stroked his fingers over her bare ass. She’d skipped the underwear, too, tonight. “I can give you much more pleasure when I can touch you.”
But when he touched her she lost control—and she was losing it now.
Her legs trembled, her pulse raced. She was one more lick or stroke away from an orgasm already. That was how quickly and powerfully he affected her.
And she wanted to do the same to him.
So she reached for him. He must have come to her right from work or court because he wore a suit and tie again. She loosened the tie first and pulled it free from the collar of his crisp white shirt. As she pulled the expensive blue silk through her hands, she stared up at him.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he warned her, but there was a chuckle in his voice and a glint in his dark eyes. He pulled the tie from her hands and tossed it aside. He definitely did not trust her yet.
So she went to work on his buttons, revealing all the sexy, hair-dusted muscles of his impressive chest. Then she pushed the shirt and his dark gray jacket from his broad shoulders and reached for his belt. He pulled that from her hands, too, though, and undid his own button and zipper before kicking off his pants, boxers and shoes.
Then he was as gloriously naked as she was. And she went wild for him, touching and kissing him everywhere. She stroked her hands over his ass and down his hard thighs as she dropped to her knees in front of him. Then she closed her lips around his cock and sucked him deep into her throat.
He groaned. And she could feel him shaking.
She hadn’t needed to tie him up. She could make him lose control without any ropes or bindings.
But he didn’t lose it entirely. He pulled her away before she could make him come. Then he lifted and tossed her down onto her bed. She bounced slightly up from the mattress and met his chest as his body covered hers.
They were a tangle of arms and legs, but their mouths met and mated, kissing each other deeply. His tongue stroked over hers as his fingers slid inside her. He moved his fingers in and out of her until she arched up and whimpered at the orgasm shuddering through her.
But it was nothing compared to the pleasure she knew he could give her. He pulled back—only to don a condom—and then the head of his cock eased inside her. He lifted her legs to his shoulders, so he sank even deeper into her.
He filled her and then some.
She reached between them and tried to stroke him. But he caught her hand and held her back.
“This is why I needed to tie you up,” she mused.
“Then it would have been over already,” he said. “And you would have missed all this fun.”
She wasn’t sure if it was fun or torture. He teased the tension back into her body, teased her to the edge of an orgasm before he pulled out.
She clutched his butt and pushed him back inside her. Then she used her hands to guide his hips.
But he moved again and took her with him as he rolled onto his back. And suddenly she was astride him.
He’d given her the control she’d wanted. And she used it to tease him like he’d teased her, sliding up until his cock nearly came out, then settling back down hard. Up and down...
He groaned and thrashed on the mattress before his hands clu
tched her hips. He didn’t need to guide her.
Muriel knew the rhythm. With him, she could dance. Together they moved as one until she tensed. Her inner muscles convulsed, her body shuddered, and she screamed his name as an orgasm gripped her.
He was with her, his hands biting into her hips as his body tensed. He shuddered and came, too.
Muriel eased off and dropped onto the mattress on her back, boneless and exhausted. She had needed that. She’d needed him. Completed satiated, she closed her eyes.
But he was already getting out of the bed. She figured he was just cleaning up. But it wasn’t the bathroom door she heard opening and closing. It was the front door as he left.
Just as she’d accused him earlier, he was running away. From her? Or from what he felt when they were together?
Muriel wanted to run from those feelings, too. But she wasn’t sure she had any muscles left—she was so loose and relaxed—except for the mad pounding of her heart. She was afraid that she was falling for Ronan.
It didn’t matter what she felt, though, because Ronan wasn’t ever going to let himself feel anything but fear for a relationship. She was going to wind up just like all those other women he’d dated, dumped and left wanting more.
But she realized now, that because of his past, he wasn’t capable of giving any more.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RONAN’S HAND SHOOK as he lifted the glass of water to his mouth. “I should have had you guys meet me at the bar,” he said. He could have used a stiff drink, instead. But he’d called the meeting in Simon’s office, and they all sat around the conference table they used every Tuesday morning for their business meetings.
But it wasn’t Tuesday morning.
And this wasn’t about business as usual. Of course, ever since he’d been reported to the bar association, it hadn’t been business as usual, at least, not for him.
“Do you want a drink?” Simon asked as he stood up and moved toward the bar in the back of his office.
It was Saturday night. Simon should have been with Bette. It was Ronan’s fault he wasn’t. As if Bette didn’t already hate him enough, now she would have another reason. But she wasn’t the only one who hated Ronan. Muriel did. And he wasn’t too crazy about himself right now, either.
“Pour me a drink,” Stone requested. “The trial starts next week.”
“Are you ready for it?” Trevor asked him.
“Of course,” Stone replied. “I’m just a little worried that I might have some surprises. Like Ronan has.”
Ronan had had too many surprises lately.
“Any leads on the mole yet?” Trevor asked Simon.
The managing partner shook his head. “Nothing. I can’t figure out who it could be.”
And that wasn’t good. Simon was the best judge of character of all of them. If he’d been tricked, this mole was good. Very good.
It hadn’t taken much to trick Ronan. He’d fallen easily for Arte’s bunch of lies. “That’s why I called this meeting,” he said.
“You know who the mole is?” Simon asked in surprise. Then he sighed. “Don’t tell me Muriel Sanz. She doesn’t have access to our office.”
She’d walked right in one weekend, but Ronan didn’t bother sharing that. He didn’t believe it was Muriel, either. “I don’t know who the mole is, but I’m worried about the practice,” he said.
“Why are you worried?” Simon asked.
“I think I’m going to get disbarred,” he admitted, and his stomach clenched then sank with the admission.
“You didn’t know those witnesses were lying,” Stone said. “That’ll come out during the investigation of the complaint. You’ll be fine.”
“Street Legal will be fine,” Simon added. Because he was such a good judge of character, he knew that Ronan wasn’t worried just about himself.
He wasn’t worried just about the practice, either. “I really screwed up,” he said.
“The guy’s a con artist,” Simon reminded him.
He shrugged. “But I took it further than I had to. I used McCann to smear the hell out of Muriel.”
Because he’d thought she was like his mother, and he must have subconsciously and childishly been using Muriel to get back at the woman who’d destroyed his father.
“I need to have McCann put out more press releases with the truth about Muriel,” he said. It was only fair to undo the damage he’d done.
“Then the bar will think you knew those witnesses were lying,” Stone said. “You need to keep your mouth shut and let this play out.”
“And keep your zipper up, too,” Trevor advised. “It doesn’t sound like your plan to seduce her into dropping the complaint worked. Sounds like she seduced you, instead.”
She had. He couldn’t deny that. But it had made him discover the truth. “I screwed up,” he repeated. “And I need to fix it.”
“You can,” Stone said. “But wait until the complaint has been withdrawn.”
“She’s not going to withdraw it,” Ronan said. And he didn’t blame her for not believing him enough to do that. After what he’d done, he would never be able to earn her trust. He, more than anyone, understood how hard it was to trust at all—let alone to trust someone who had already hurt you.
Regret filled him. He was so sorry that he’d hurt her. But sorry wasn’t enough.
“So we need to make it go away,” Simon said.
And Ronan had an idea about how to do that. “I’ve got a plan.”
“Your last one didn’t work,” Trevor reminded him. “You should have let me seduce her into dropping the complaint. Are you willing to let me try now?”
“No!” Ronan snapped with such force that Stone grabbed his arm, as if he was afraid that Ronan might leap across the table and go for Trevor’s throat. He was tempted. But he relaxed back in his chair. “Simon has to do this.”
“No,” Simon snapped now. “She’s Bette’s friend. And I’m not cheating on Bette.”
“Have her join in,” Trevor suggested with a lustful sigh. “That would be fun.”
Simon cursed him.
“Two women too much for you to handle?” Trevor teased.
“I can barely handle one,” Simon freely admitted.
“This has nothing to do with women,” Ronan said. “I want Simon to seduce a man.”
“What?” All three of his partners uttered the question.
“Muriel’s ex,” Ronan said. “He checked you out the other day. I think you could get him talking.”
“He’s gay?” Trevor asked, his mouth hanging open in shock. “And he was married to The World’s Most Beautiful Woman?”
Simon sighed and just murmured, “Con.”
“Yes, he is,” Ronan said. “And if we can get him to admit that he asked those witnesses to testify and coached them on what to say, I think the bar would throw out the complaint against me.”
“I am not going to seduce a man,” Simon said.
“You don’t have to seduce him,” Ronan said. “Just con him.”
Simon’s blue eyes narrowed.
So Ronan goaded him, “Unless you’ve lost your touch and aren’t up to the task anymore.”
Simon cursed him now, but he was grinning. Then he asked, “This isn’t just about saving your license or the practice, is it?”
“Of course it is,” Ronan said. “What else could it be about?”
“Muriel,” Simon replied. “You’re falling for her.”
Ronan shook his head as panic clutched his heart. That was why he’d run from her apartment the night before—because of the emotions that had rushed through him. He’d wanted to stay; he’d wanted to hold her all night. He’d wanted to wake up and have her face be the first he saw. But it was, anyway; she was forever on his mind.
“No,” he said and wished that he sounded as i
f he meant it. “I am not falling for anyone. I just want to right a wrong.” And once that was done, he would forget all about Muriel Sanz. That was the problem. He had to clear his conscience. Then he would be able to get her off his mind and out of his...
Heart?
No. She wasn’t in there. No woman had ever been in there.
“I just need for this to be over,” he said. And for his life to get back to normal, to picking up women in bars for one-night stands while he focused only on work.
For some reason, normal sounded empty and hollow now.
* * *
Muriel’s pulse quickened when the doorbell pealed. Had Ronan returned?
She hoped like hell that he had. As wonderful as the night before had been, it had ended too soon. He’d run off too quickly. If he’d stayed...
Hell, if he’d stayed, she would have started getting used to his being around. She would have started envisioning a future with him. And that wasn’t possible for so many reasons.
No. It was better that he’d run off. And if she was smart, she wouldn’t open the door to him. But she wanted him again—still—so she pulled it open without even looking through the peephole.
But she should have, because if she had, she would have never opened the door. Not to Arte Armand. That was one man she was never allowing back into her life.
Hell.
But she was so shocked that he’d have the guts to come and see her, that she could say nothing. And apparently, her silence unsettled him because he began to nervously stammer, “Mur-Muriel, I—I know that after everything that happened, you probably don’t want to see me.”
If he was waiting for her to argue, she couldn’t. “No. I don’t want to see you.” Because now she couldn’t see what she once had—the sweet, funny man she’d thought she loved.
She could only see the lying weasel he had become. Or maybe he had always been the lying weasel. How had she been so blind? She closed her eyes now, as just the sight of his ridiculously handsome face made her feel sick. Where Ronan’s features could have been carved from granite, Arte’s would have been porcelain or some other smooth, flawless material. His features were so perfect that he was more pretty than handsome. Had she been shallow? Had she fallen for his almost pretty good looks without seeing his real character?