# Legal Attraction

Lisa Childs

"You are becoming an addiction…" And he's about to find out how irresistible she really is…Criminally handsome divorce lawyer Ronan Hall decimated Muriel Sanz’s reputation to win her ex a higher settlement. In retaliation, she wants to kill his career. They should hate each other. But they can’t keep their hands—or their lips—to themselves. If they don’t destroy each other in court, they may just destroy each other in the bedroom…

“You are becoming an addiction...”

And he’s about to find out how irresistible she really is...

Criminally handsome divorce lawyer Ronan Hall decimated Muriel Sanz’s reputation to win her ex a higher settlement. In retaliation, she wants to kill his career. They should hate each other. But they can’t keep their hands—or their lips—to themselves. If they don’t destroy each other in court, they may just destroy each other in the bedroom...

“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”

—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author

Ever since LISA CHILDS read her first romance novel at age eleven (a Mills & Boon story, of course), all she wanted was to be a romance writer. With over forty novels published with Mills & Boon, Lisa is living her dream. She is an award-winning, bestselling romance author. Lisa loves to hear from readers, who can contact her on Facebook, through her website, lisachilds.com, or at her snail-mail address, PO Box 139, Marne, MI 49435, USA.

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Legal Attraction

Lisa Childs


www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07123-9

LEGAL ATTRACTION

© 2018 Lisa Childs

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

DAMN IT! RONAN HALL had been seeing her everywhere. But then, Muriel Sanz was everywhere: on every billboard in Times Square and on the cover of every magazine in every newsstand in the city. Hell, in every city...

Ronan hadn’t expected to see the woman here, though, in the lobby of the apartment building he’d just been about to leave. She’d walked in as he’d been walking out, but he’d turned around to follow her to the elevator. Maybe he should have expected her to be here, since he knew they were friends. Their friendship could cost him his law license if the bar association believed Muriel’s lies and the evidence she’d manufactured against him.

Damn her!

As the elevator doors began to slide closed, he shoved his hand between them and held them open. She wasn’t getting away from him. Not that she’d been trying. She hadn’t seemed to notice him at all as she passed through the lobby of the building in the Garment District. While crossing the polished terrazzo floor she had been looking down at her cell phone, typing a text.

Who was she texting? Her friend Bette? A lover? Given what he knew about her and her insatiable appetites, probably a lover.

The doors started to close again—on his fingers. He cursed and used both hands to shove them open so he could step inside the car.

She stood alone in the elevator, at the polished brass control panel, pressing the button to shut the doors. She had definitely seen him now. Her naturally tan skin was flushed, and her pale green eyes were bright with anger.

She was so unbelievably beautiful—maybe the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. That was why she was such a successful supermodel. Her hair had strands of every color in it, and her face was all cheekbones and full lips and those big, beautiful eyes. And her body...

Even though she wore a long, oversize sweater with black leggings, the green knit clung to every swell of her full breasts and curvy hips and ass. It just wasn’t fair she had a figure like that.

And he suspected none of it was surgically enhanced or the media would have discovered and had a field day with that, just as they had every other aspect of her life.

That was why he saw her everywhere—even in his damn dreams.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked.

He’d been in the building to see her friend Bette Monroe. He and his law partners, minus their managing partner, Simon Kramer, had come to talk to her on Simon’s behalf. Bette was Simon’s former assistant, and he was miserable without her—personally more than professionally. And it was Ronan’s fault that she’d broken off her personal relationship as well as her professional one with Simon.

So, after his partners had left, he’d stayed behind, trying to decide if he needed to come back and apologize to her again. Or maybe for the first time. He wasn’t exactly sure if he’d already apologized or not. But then, he wasn’t exactly sure if he owed her an apology or not.

“I’m going to see your friend,” he said, his decision made, and he reached for the control panel.

A button was lit up, but it wasn’t for the tenth floor where Bette’s apartment was. Before he could touch it, Muriel slammed both her palms against the panel, hiding the buttons but also pressing them all in the process. The doors closed, and the car began to ascend. The elevator was small, with smoked mirrors, polished brass and a floor that matched the terrazzo in the lobby.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

The car stopped and the brass-plated doors slid open. But she didn’t step out of the elevator. Instead, she jabbed the button to close the doors again. Then she pressed the button for the lobby, but all the other floors were already lit up. They would have to stop at every one going up before the car would bring them back to the ground level.

“You’re not going to harass Bette anymore,” she told him. “She is not the one who gave me the evidence I forwarded to the bar association.”

“Evidence.” He snorted. “That’s not evidence. All of it is forged bullshit, and that’s going to be easily proven.”

Her wide eyes narrowed with suspicion. “If that’s the truth, then why are you so tense? So nervous?”

“Because I’m pissed you’d go to such extremes to smear me.” A former runaway who’d spent some time living on the streets, Ronan had worked hard to achieve everything he had, and he hated that anything—especially her lies—could put his career and his partners’ law practice at risk.

She snorted now. “That I would go so far to smear you? You hired a PR firm to destroy my image! And for what? Just so you would win a bigger settlement for my slimy ex in the divorce?” Her long, thick lashes fluttered, but he doubted she was flirting with him. Was she blinking back tears?

He felt a twinge of something. Sympathy? No. He had none for women like her. The only thing he should feel for her was suspicion and caution. He had no doubt she would try to play him—just like she had her ex-husband when she’d had him sign that ridiculous prenup agreement before marrying him. The only way around it had been to prove who and what Muriel Sanz really was.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened again. She jabbed the button to close them. “How can you sleep at night?” she asked him.

Not very well lately because he thought of her all the time, even when he was with another woman. He imagined Muriel’s beautiful face, her sexy-as-sin body...

How could he be so attracted to a woman like her? What the hell was wrong with his dick?

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said. “You’re the master manipulator. Is that how you convinced Bette to give you the stationery with the Street Legal letterhead?”

He had started to believe that his partner’s former assistant had had no part in Muriel’s sick plot. Bette Monroe had seemed stunned when he’d confronted her about her friend filing the complaint with the bar association.

“I told you,” she said, slowly, as if he was too dense to understand, “that Bette did not give me anything.”

“So you took it from her without her knowledge?” It would have been easy enough to do had she ever visited the offices of Street Legal. But he’d checked, and she hadn’t. Maybe Bette had brought some stationery home with her, though. He needed to ask her.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened again. She jabbed the button to close them. “I did not take a damn thing.”

He snorted again. “I’ll see if Bette remembers anything.” He had already interrogated her once, and of course she had denied helping her friend. But maybe she would remember Muriel going through her purse or taking something from her apartment. Would she admit it to him, though? Or would she continue to protect her friend?

“You and that sleazebag managing partner of yours have already treated Bette like crap,” Muriel said. “You are not going to hurt her anymore.” Now she jabbed the stop button, and the elevator jerked to a shuddering halt between floors.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked as an alarm began to ring, echoing throughout the small car. His head started to pound, nearly as hard as his heart had been since the moment he caught sight of her crossing the lobby like she was gliding down a fashion-show runaway.

Ronan was not crazy about confined spaces—especially being confined with her. He punched the button to restart the elevator.

It lurched up, then began to drop—the car and his stomach. He’d been worried about losing his law license, but apparently that wasn’t all that Muriel Sanz might cost him. He’d be lucky if he survived this elevator ride with her.

* * *

A scream tore from Muriel’s throat as her feet left the floor. The elevator was falling faster than she was, plummeting down the shaft. Then the car jerked so abruptly to a stop that she tumbled forward, falling hard. But she didn’t hit the terrazzo floor of the elevator car. Instead she hit a heavily muscled body that had fallen before she had.

Ronan Hall lay sprawled across the car, his legs stretched across the floor while his back and shoulders had slammed against one of the smoked glass and brass walls. Maybe his head had hit the wall, as well, since his eyes were closed.

Was he unconscious?

From where she’d landed against his chest, she stared up at his handsome face. His features could have been carved from granite; he was that chiseled—his jaw square, his cheekbones as sharp as his nose. His lashes were long and thick and black against his cheeks. They didn’t so much as flicker.

Despite herself and all the many thousands of reasons she had to hate his guts, concern filled her, and she asked, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice low and gruff. “Did we stop falling yet?”

She was afraid to move, just in case they hadn’t. That fear was the only reason she lay atop him, her legs tangled with his. Or else she would have scrambled off his body. But she didn’t dare in case the elevator began to fall again.

She sucked in a breath and held it, and his scent filled her nostrils and her head. He smelled so damn good—not like expensive cologne that her ex had always worn. No. Ronan smelled like soap and...

A scent that was his alone.

Not only was he handsome as hell but he had to smell good, too? It wasn’t fair, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. Life had not been very fair to Muriel lately.

She was too positive to let that keep her down, though. She would not stay down now, either, once she was certain the elevator wasn’t going to drop all the way to the bottom of the shaft and crumple like an aluminum can under a car tire.

“Are you okay?” Ronan’s voice, even deeper with concern, asked the question now.

She glanced up at his face to find his eyes open as he studied her. She shrugged, then gasped as the car creaked. Ronan’s strong arms slid around her, holding her still—or maybe she had already tensed because he’d touched her. Either way, she was frozen with fear—of falling and of how he was making her feel.

“Don’t move,” he said, his voice dropping so low that it was a deep rumble in his chest.

She had no intention of moving, but she couldn’t control the frantic beating of her heart. It was pounding so hard that she felt her whole body shaking with the force of it. Hers wasn’t the only one. His heart hammered in time with hers. Her breasts were crushed against his muscular chest.

“Can I breathe?” she asked, her lungs aching as she tried to control the panic making her want to pant for air.

“I don’t know if we should...” he murmured, but his breath stirred her hair as he whispered the words.

A strand tangled in her lashes, but she didn’t dare reach up for it. But that meant her hands stayed where they were, and she only just realized exactly where they were and what she was touching. Instinctively she’d extended them to break her fall, and since she’d fallen on him, her hands were on him. One was against his biceps while the other was braced on his thigh. Both muscles rippled beneath her touch, as if he’d just realized where she was touching him, too.

And his body, which had already been taut with tension, grew harder yet. Against her abdomen, she felt his erection straining the fly of his dress pants.

He must have come right from the office to see Bette, since he was still wearing a suit. In the pictures she’d seen of him in his downtime, he’d had on jeans and a T-shirt. Not that she’d seen that many pictures of him in his downtime. If he and his partners in the Street Legal law practice hadn’t been as notorious as they were in Manhattan, he probably wouldn’t have been photographed at all. But he and the others were infamous for being ruthless litigators and lovers. When they were photographed outside the courtroom, they were usually with a famous female—an actress or model or fashion designer...

She tried to shift her hips, so her mound wouldn’t press so tightly against his cock. But he groaned. And one of his arms slid around her back as his hand grasped her hip.

Through gritted teeth, he warned her, “Do. Not. Move.”

The elevator had stopped dropping. It had even stopped making those ominous creaking noises. “I don’t think it’s going to fall,” she said.

“I’m not worried about the elevator,” he replied.

“Then why are we lying on the floor afraid to move?” she asked.

He groaned again and his fingers tightened their hold. But she doubted that he was in any real pain—because his mouth curved into a slight, naughty grin. “Maybe I was just enjoying you throwing yourself at me.”

She sucked in a breath of shock and wriggled, trying to move off him. But his hands held her too tightly, and all she managed was to grind her hips against his groin. And to rock the elevator again.

The cables creaked. But they held. The car was not going to tumble any farther down the shaft. She was not worried about dying anymore. Instead, she was worried about her reaction to Ronan Hall.

Instead of slowing down, her heart was beating even faster. Her skin was tingling and hot everywhere her body was in contact with his—which was pretty much everywhere. He was so muscular, so tall and broad.

And when she’d sucked in that breath, she’d inhaled his scent again; it filled her head. The way he would fill her...

His erection was so long and hard. Heat rushed straight to hrt core, making her hot and wet. For him?

No. It wasn’t possible. She could not be attracted to the man who had destroyed her reputation, and nearly her career and her life, as well.

“Let me go!” she demanded.

“Where are you going?” he asked. “We’re stuck in an elevator. So we might as well make the most of this opportunity.” The hand not clutching her hip slid up her back to her head, which he held in his palm while he pressed his mouth to hers.

As their lips connected, Muriel felt a jolt she wanted to attribute to shock. But she knew it was something else—something that had her nipples tightening and heat streaking to her core: lust.

He kissed her tentatively, at first, just skimming his lips across hers. Then she gasped at another jolt of desire, and he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue inside her mouth. His kiss was hot, passionate and wild.

And that was how it made Muriel feel: hot, passionate and wild. She didn’t want to desire this man, of all men. But he was so damn good-looking—not to mention muscular and skilled.

He was a master kisser—so good that he nearly made her come with just a kiss. But then he began to touch her, too, moving his hand from her hip up her side to cup a breast.

She sucked in a breath, which pushed her breast against his palm.

He gently squeezed, and her breath hissed out between their melded lips. And he groaned in response. He pulled back slightly and moved his hand to the buttons on her sweater, easily flicking them open.

She wore a camisole beneath the sweater. But it was one of her friend’s designs, so it was super sexy with bows holding it up at the shoulders. Once he’d pushed the sweater from her shoulders, he reached for one of those bows.

If he pulled it loose, the camisole would slip down, would reveal her breast for him to see and touch...

She wanted his hands on her. She wanted him.

But she couldn’t. Not really. Not after what he’d done to her—to her reputation, to her savings and to her sense of self-worth.

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 pounding, 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 addicted 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...”

And both men groaned again.

Lawrence muttered, “Now I understand why her ex...”

“What?” Ronan asked when the guy trailed off. “Why he what?” Divorced her or married her?

The photographer just shook his head. “You can stay,” he told Ronan. “But don’t distract me.”

“What about me?” Muriel asked.

“He’s a good distraction for you,” Lawrence said.

Could he be? Could Ronan distract her enough that she would withdraw her complaint to the bar association?

He had to try, at least. That was why he was here. That and the fact that thoughts of her and that damn kiss had been keeping him awake.

He wanted more than a kiss.

* * *

He was not a good distraction for her. But as Muriel peered over Lawrence’s shoulder at the computer monitor at the thumbnails of all the photos the photographer had taken, she couldn’t deny that Ronan had certainly inspired her. This was by far the best shoot she’d ever had and she had been modeling since she was fourteen years old—more than a decade.

“If you’re not going to take that man out for a drink, I will,” Lawrence said. “He got you to the money shots, baby!” He turned around and kissed her lips. “You have never looked more gorgeous!”

Muriel chuckled at the photographer’s enthusiasm. “I’m sure he’s already gone.”

She couldn’t imagine why he had showed up to begin with...unless he was after the same thing she was.

The truth...

He probably wanted to know how she’d gotten her hands on the memos she’d turned over to the bar association. At least he must have finally accepted that Bette hadn’t given them to her. That was good. She never would have used them had she known the problems it would cause for her friend.

“I’m still here,” a deep voice murmured.

That was not good.

She glanced up to find his long, muscular body leaning against the doorjamb of Lawrence’s office. He was wearing a suit; he must have come either straight from the office or from court. Who else’s life was he ruining?

She was afraid it might be hers again if she dared to try her plan to seduce him into a confession. Could she take the chance?

“I can leave,” he offered, “if I’m interrupting...”

“You interrupted the shoot,” she said. “And you didn’t offer to leave then.” Hours ago. He had stayed through changes in wardrobe, hair, makeup and backdrops.

Why had he stayed so long?

“He improved the shoot,” Lawrence said. “Your best work ever...” He turned back to the computer monitor with all the frames and murmured, “Maybe mine, too.”

A little thrill chased through Muriel, but she worried it had less to do with the praise than with how Ronan was looking at her, with how he’d been looking at her the past couple of hours. With every wardrobe change, his eyes had gotten darker and his body even more tense. Despite the way he was leaning now, she could feel that tension; it fairly radiated from him.

So that she felt it, too—coiling low in her body, pulsing in her clit. She couldn’t remember ever wanting a man more, which was crazy. She had been in love before and hadn’t felt this powerful attraction. But this man—this man she hated—she wanted more than any other.

Maybe she had lost her damn mind. That was the excuse she was going to use for what she was about to do. “So, how about it?” she asked as she walked toward the doorway. “Do you want to go for a drink?”

His dark eyes narrowed as if he was as suspicious of her offer as she was of his showing up at the photo shoot. Now a little chill moved through Muriel, raising goose bumps on her skin despite her having changed into street clothes of jeans and a sweater. She hadn’t felt a chill like this when he’d been staring at her, when she’d been wearing nothing more than a bra and panties. Then she had felt hotter than hell. And it showed in those photos.

But wondering how he’d tracked her down unnerved her. How had he found her?

She hesitated as she neared the doorway where he stood. But then he stepped back into the hall. “I didn’t come here just to watch,” he said. “That’s not my thing...”

She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. Was it just that everything he said sounded like sexual innuendo or was he actually implying that there was something between her and Lawrence?

Of course, he had seen Lawrence kiss her. But Lawrence kissed everyone. Everyone.

“Good night,” she called back to the photographer. He barely glanced up from the computer monitor to wave.

As she walked down the hall of the old warehouse, she turned to Ronan and asked, “Why did you come here? And how did you find me?”

“I have my sources,” he said.

And that chilled her blood even more. “I am well aware of that,” she said. “But I can’t believe they actually got it right this time.”

He stopped at the elevator and turned toward her, his dark eyes narrowed. “So all those witnesses were lying and you’re the only one telling the truth?”

“Yes,” she said. Her grandparents had raised her with values—one of which being that it was never okay to lie, not even little white ones. Too bad those witnesses hadn’t been raised the same way she had.

“Why would everyone else lie?” Ronan asked her.

“You tell me,” she challenged him. “Did you pay them?” He must have. What else could they have had to gain, except for some time in the horrible spotlight that the scandal had shone on her?

He chuckled. But he didn’t answer her question. He just turned and pressed the button for the elevator.

What would it take to get him to confess to somehow coercing those witnesses into lying? He was rich. So he didn’t need money. He had probably used his own to pay them off since Arte hadn’t had much money until he’d taken most of her savings—and the apartment and car—in the divorce. He didn’t even know how to drive.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open with a swoosh of noise and air. Muriel sucked in a breath at the thought of getting into another elevator with Ronan Hall.

He stepped back and waited for her to pass through the doors in front of him. “Come on,” he said. “As long as you don’t mess with the control panel this time, we’ll be fine.”

She hesitated. “We could take the stairs...” It would probably be safer—for a few reasons.

“We’re on the twelfth floor,” he reminded her. “Did you take the stairs up?”

“No.”

“So you don’t have a problem with using the elevator,” he said as if he was cross-examining her again, the way he had on the witness stand. “You just have a problem with taking the elevator with me.”

While his cross-examination had been ruthless, he hadn’t shaken her. But then, she’d had the resolve of the truth on her side. He didn’t have that, so maybe she could shake him. But she was not going to get a confession out of him unless she was alone with him. Dare she go through with her plan? Dare she be alone with him?

Because she knew what was going to happen...

The attraction between them was too strong—so strong that it could probably even overpower the anger and resentment and distrust between them.

She stepped into the elevator car. And when she automatically reached for the control panel, she pulled her hand back to her side. She was not going to risk getting stuck with him again.

He chuckled as he stepped inside with her. Then he reached for the panel. She didn’t see which button he pushed; she just assumed it was for the lobby. In the heart of the Garment District, the building’s tenants were mostly fashion designers along with a few photographers. There was no place to have a drink there.

Muriel really needed that drink. Hell, she needed more than a drink. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. And she was not the type of model who starved herself. She enjoyed food too much.

Fortunately, the fashion industry appreciated curves now over skin and bones. Or she wouldn’t have been able to get any work. Now she was sought after...

Professionally. Personally—not so much. Men weren’t eager to date the man-eater the media had painted her as being. She’d overheard people talking about how she was too intimidating to the opposite sex now.

Ronan Hall hadn’t appeared too intimidated the other night. And he must not have been or he wouldn’t have sought her out again.

The doors closed, shutting them into the stark car together. This elevator wasn’t nearly as fancy as the one in her building; it was all bare metal and wood, and it was bigger—big enough to carry crates of garments from one floor to the next.

She didn’t have to stand anywhere near Ronan. But it didn’t matter how far away she was from him; she could feel his presence. It was as if electricity arced between his body and hers.

Her skin tingled, and her blood heated, pumping hot and fast through her veins. “We should go somewhere with a kitchen,” she said. “I’m hungry, too.”

She felt a hollowness inside, but she wasn’t sure that it was one food could fill. Maybe only he could...

He reached for the panel again, jabbed a button and the elevator shuddered to a stop.

“I’m hungry, too,” he said as he reached for her. He wrapped his arm around her waist and reeled her in until her body pressed against his. He was so big, so broad, so tense.

His erection strained against his pants—and against her hips. Instinctively she arched and rubbed against him, and he groaned.

“And with every outfit you changed into, I got hungrier,” he said.

“You didn’t have to stay.” But she’d been glad that he was still there—every time she had stepped out of the dressing room after a wardrobe change. She’d wanted him to see what she was wearing; she’d wanted him to see her, and she’d wanted to see his reaction.

“I couldn’t leave,” he said, his voice gruffer now as if he was in pain.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I didn’t get what I came for...”

“And what did you come for?” she asked.

He lowered his head to hers and kissed her—deeply—hungrily. His lips moved over hers, nibbling and plucking at them until she gasped with pleasure.

“I came for you,” he said, his voice a gruff whisper. “I came for this...”

His hands moved over her, lifting her sweater up and over her head. He uttered a lustful sigh. “I was hoping you were still wearing this...”

It was the black bra with the bow in the middle. Bette was a genius designer. She somehow made the bras so that the one bow held the cups together and provided support. Muriel’s breasts swelled over the top of it.

“Why?” she asked, and she wasn’t faking the breathlessness in her voice. Her heart was racing so fast that she could barely draw any air into her lungs. But as she tried, her breasts swelled even more and nearly spilled over the top of the black bra.

Ronan reached for that bow, tugging on the ribbons, and the bra fell away, freeing her breasts. She panted for air now as excitement coursed through her. Her nipples tightened and ached for more than the touch of his gaze.

“That’s why,” he replied. “I’ve been dying to undo that bow.”

Muriel had been modeling lingerie and swimsuits for most of her career, so she had long ago gotten over any qualms she might have had about modesty. But there was something about the way that Ronan Hall was looking at her that made her feel more naked than she had ever felt before.

He wasn’t just looking at her body. It was as if he was trying to peer into her heart and soul. Maybe he was wondering if she had one.

She did. She doubted that he did, though. So what the hell was she doing getting half-naked in an elevator with the man who had nearly destroyed her?