Legal Attraction

by Lisa Childs

  “I don’t know if I’m famous or infamous now,” she said. And it was clear that she blamed him for that. “But I should be getting used to cameras always being on me.”

  There had been some paparazzi staked out in front of her building. But he suspected she was aware of that. It was probably why she was home on a Friday night. Of course, it was early yet. Maybe she intended to go out after dark.

  “Yes, you should,” he said. “I think you’re going to have more than fifteen minutes of fame.” He had already discovered she was more than a gorgeous face and perfect body. She was smart and strong, too.

  She shrugged off his assurance. “The next scandal will come along, and the media will forget all about me.”

  He shook his head. “Not a chance.”

  Still staring at him, she sighed. “Not if I keep hanging out with you,” she agreed.

  “You think I’m going to embroil you in another scandal?” he asked.

  “Just spending time with you is a scandal,” she said. “You’re the man who represented my ex in court, the man who destroyed me.”

  He leaned back a little and was able to reach through the dining room archway into the living room. Her place was small, but she’d lost the penthouse in the divorce—thanks to him. He picked up the magazine he’d seen on an end table and held up the cover with her face emblazoned across it. “You don’t look destroyed.”

  With all her recent success, she should be able to afford a bigger place than the one she’d lost.

  “I’m resilient,” she said.

  “Yes, you are.” He could relate. He’d survived a lot so far in his life. He could even survive this—whatever this thing was with her.

  A dare. The guys had dared him to get her to withdraw the complaint. He could get her to do that. He emptied the wine bottle into her glass.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” she asked.

  “On one bottle of wine?” he asked, and lifting his own glass, added, “One that I’m sharing with you?”

  “Maybe you think I’m a lightweight.”

  Now he studied her face. She had that twinkle in her eyes again. “I bet you could drink me under the table.”

  “We could have a contest,” she suggested.

  “Now who’s trying to get who drunk?” he asked. He didn’t want to be drunk. He had enough trouble maintaining control around her when he was sober. He pushed his glass away from him.

  And she made a clucking-chicken noise at him.

  He laughed. The woman was one surprise after another, the biggest being that she kept letting him get close to her. Could she feel the same attraction for him that he felt for her?

  “I am a little scared,” he admitted, and he wasn’t just teasing now. “Of you.”

  She grinned. “You believe your own smear campaign? You really think I’m a man-eater?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am still hungry,” she said. But she’d already pushed her food aside. Now she shoved back her chair. Instead of standing up, though, she dropped to her knees and disappeared beneath the table.

  Then he felt her hands on his thighs, her palms sliding up them to reach for his zipper. He pushed back his chair now. But he couldn’t quite stand, not with his legs beginning to shake slightly.

  His cock shook, too, pulsating with the desire coursing through him. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice gruff.

  “Testing control...”

  He didn’t need to ask whose this time. He knew. His. He was in trouble. Big trouble. But there was no way he could hang onto control with her touching him. Yet he was powerless to stop her. She unclasped his belt and parted the fly of his jeans before pushing down his silk boxers to free his cock. It nearly jumped into her hands. And a giggle slipped through her lips.

  “A little eager,” she mused.

  He’d been wanting this, imagining this, dying for this...the moment when she would close her full lips around his shaft...

  She took her time. First she slid her hand up and down the length of him, pumping him into madness. Then she leaned forward and flicked her tongue over the head.

  Ronan nearly lost his head, a groan tearing from his throat as he leaned back. He could feel the cords in his neck straining as the muscles in his stomach knotted. Tension wound tightly inside him. Then her tongue slid down the length of him, right to his balls.

  He groaned again and murmured, “What are you doing to me?”

  Torture, he suspected, and he couldn’t deny that he had it coming. He wanted her so badly, wanted her to close her lips around him and take him deep in her mouth so badly that he would give her whatever she wanted from him.

  This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, though. He was supposed to be seducing her. Instead, he had been seduced into total compliance.

  * * *

  This was her chance. Muriel knew it. His big, muscular body was nearly trembling with the passion overwhelming him. He was close to losing control.

  If she pulled back now...

  If she stopped...

  She might be able to make him beg for more. And she might be able to trade her sexual favors for the truth. But would she ever be able to believe what he told her?

  At the moment, she didn’t care about the truth, though. She only cared about the heat and the passion coursing through her. She wanted him. She wanted to taste his cock and his orgasm. She wanted to drive him as out of his mind as he’d driven her in the elevator a week ago.

  So she closed her lips around him and sucked. He arched up from the chair and groaned. Then his fingers clutched in her hair, tangling but not pulling. He wasn’t pulling her away. He was holding her close.

  He needed the release. She could feel the tension in his body. He fairly vibrated with it. And his cock moved in her mouth; she could feel his pulse pounding madly in his engorged flesh. Hers matched the crazy rhythm of his. She was so excited, so stimulated just from giving him pleasure. Her pulse pounded in her clit and her nipples were taut, pushing through the thin lace of bra and the tank top she wore.

  She moaned and sucked his cock deeper, to the back of her throat. Then she slid her lips up and down and around, teasing him to madness.

  His fingers clutched her hair more tightly. But she felt no pain, only more excitement. Teasing him was teasing her. She had never wanted anyone the way she wanted him. He was so damn gorgeous—so big.

  She stroked her hand up and down the rest of the length of his erection.

  And finally he came, yelling her name as his big body tensed and shuddered. She drank him the way she had the wine, savoring every drop. His taste was rich and complex—just like the man.

  He panted for breath, his head back, his body limp until she eased away. Then he moved quickly, reaching for her. He lifted her up in his arms and swung her around as he checked out the place.

  “Is this a studio?” he asked. He must have been looking for the bed.

  She pointed to a door. “One bedroom...” It was a small room. The bed nearly filled the entire space, which was good because he got to it quickly and lowered her to the mattress that was covered with fuzzy white pillows and silky white sheets. She’d wanted to feel as if she was sleeping on a cloud when she went to bed.

  He stepped back. And she wondered for a fleeting, anxious moment if he was just going to leave her there. After all, he’d had his release, and he was known for being a ruthless man. But never a selfish lover...

  Finally he moved, shoving down his jeans and boxers. Then he kicked off his shoes and lifted his shirt over his head. His washboard abs and muscular chest rippled with the action.

  And a moan slipped through her lips. “You could be a model,” she mused. He was that good-looking.

  He laughed as if she’d told him an absurdly funny joke.

  But she was serious.

 
“No, you really could,” she insisted.

  “I watched your shoot,” he reminded her, as if she would ever forget his gaze on her while she’d been photographed in all those different lingerie outfits. “I couldn’t sit still that long. I couldn’t hold the poses, couldn’t handle the heat of all those lights, and most of all, I couldn’t follow the photographer’s orders.”

  “No, you couldn’t,” she agreed. Modeling was much more grueling work than most people realized. She was oddly pleased that he knew and respected how hard it was. Not that she wanted his respect or anything.

  Especially after the way he’d treated her in court.

  But she did want him. She wanted him inside her, filling her, like he had in the elevator. He was already starting to recover, his dick beginning to swell and rise again as he stared down at her lying on the pillows.

  She lifted her hips and wriggled out of her yoga pants, kicking them off to join his clothes on the floor. Then she lifted her tank top over her head and showed off her latest outfit from Bette’s Beguiling Bows.

  It was green. Bette had designed it to match Muriel’s eyes. And she’d given her the first prototype of it as congratulations after that magazine named her The World’s Most Beautiful Woman. This bra had the cups laced together with the bow at the top of them. So she had to take her time, untying that bow before pulling the ribbon loose.

  “You didn’t model that,” he said, whistling with appreciation.

  “Bette just made it for me to celebrate that magazine title,” she said.

  “It’s better than flowers,” he said with a gruff sigh as he stared at her.

  She took her time undoing the lacing, stroking her fingers over her cleavage as she pulled the ribbon free. Even before she pulled off the bra, Ronan was completely hard again.

  The panties were designed the same way, laced up to a bow on each hip. Before she could even undo the first bow of the panties, Ronan joined her on the bed. He lowered his body onto hers, but he kept most of his weight off her as he braced himself on one elbow. Then he leaned down and covered her mouth with his. He kissed her gently at first, which was such a surprise that she gasped, her breath shuddering wistfully out between her lips.

  Then he deepened the kiss, moving his tongue inside her mouth. He teased hers with the tip of it.

  She nipped at it with her teeth, gently biting, and he groaned. Then his hands moved over her, his palms sliding over her shoulders and arms before moving to her breasts. Finally he touched them, and she arched off the mattress, pushing her breasts into his palms. He squeezed gently, massaging the swollen flesh, before focusing on her nipples. He rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers, teasing them to even higher points.

  Heat and wetness surged between her legs as her mound swelled and throbbed. She writhed beneath him, needing more, needing him. She was now as desperate as he had been moments before and he had barely touched her yet.

  “Ronan...” She murmured his name, not caring how much like a plea it sounded. But she didn’t want to be the only desperate one, so she touched him again, stroking her fingers over his chest, down his washboard abs to his shaft. She wrapped her fingers around it.

  But he pulled back and moved down her body, his hanging half off the mattress while he pressed kisses to her shoulders and her collarbone and finally her breasts. He closed his lips around one taut nipple and continued to rub the other between his thumb and fingers.

  She arched her body up and moaned.

  “You are so damn responsive,” he said, his voice gruff with his own passion. “You’re probably already wet for me.”

  Instead of fighting with the bows, he just pushed the panties down her legs. And he moved his hand over her mound. His fingers slipped easily inside her, and he groaned. “Very wet...”

  Then he shifted farther down her body and made her wetter as he flicked his tongue over her clit. He teased her to madness. She clutched the bed and then his hair and screamed his name as the tension broke with a shattering orgasm.

  Her body shuddered.

  She clawed at his shoulders and his back, trying to drag him up her body. “I need you,” she said. “I need you inside me.” She didn’t care that she sounded exactly as she’d been portrayed—like a sex addict—a man-eater. He was the only man she wanted to eat at the moment.

  He groaned again. But then he pulled away.

  And she nearly screamed in frustration...until she heard foil tear. Then he was back on top of her, pushing inside. He was so big. She lifted her legs. And he pushed them higher, over his shoulders. Fortunately, Muriel was flexible. She pushed her legs against her breasts, teasing her already sensitive nipples. Ronan pumped hard—thrusting in and out of her. But Muriel matched his rhythm, arching up and pushing against him.

  She was so close...

  So close to release, but before she could find it, he pulled out. Then he was rolling her over, moving her around as easily as if she was a doll. Despite being a model, Muriel was no lightweight. Her ex hadn’t even been able to carry her over the threshold on their honeymoon. Ronan would have no such problem. Not that he would ever carry her over a threshold.

  But he lifted her easily and positioned her with her back to him, her bottom up, and he found her again, sliding inside her. His hand moved over her mound, teasing her clit. He reached farther up her body and teased the nipples of her swaying breasts. And he drove his cock deep inside her.

  Muriel rocked her hips back against him, meeting his thrusts as the tension built unbearably. As he touched her and thrust, she shattered as an orgasm overwhelmed her. She shuddered as her muscles clenched before relaxing; she was satiated with pleasure.

  Ronan drove deep once more before tensing and uttering a deep groan. His hand on her breast squeezed, exciting her all over again. Despite the powerful orgasm he’d just given her, she could have gone again. And again and again...

  Was she addicted to sex—with Ronan Hall?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  RONAN’S HANDS WERE SHAKING. Hell, his whole body was shaking. But he forced his fingers to clench into a fist, and he pounded on the door. There was a bell. He could have used it, but he suspected his hand was shaking too much for his finger to find the small button.

  He’d had no problem finding every one of Muriel’s buttons. And he’d pushed them. Just like she’d pushed his. They’d driven each other wild. Maybe that was why he was here.

  He was crazy. He had to have been crazy to leave The World’s Most Beautiful Woman lying naked in her bed. But he’d had the feeling—that urge that he’d had when he was a kid and he’d been overwhelmed with his parents’ fighting—the feeling that compelled him to flee.

  So he’d fled.

  He hadn’t gone far, though, just a few floors up to another apartment in the same building. He lifted his hand to knock again just as the door finally opened. He was taken aback for a moment by the face that stared at him. While it was familiar, it wasn’t the one he’d expected to see, although he should have known Simon would be with Bette Monroe if she was home. He suspected his friend spent every free moment with his former assistant. Simon’s shirt was off and his blond hair was mussed, so it wasn’t difficult to imagine what they’d been doing.

  The same thing he’d been doing with Muriel...

  Simon looked more shocked to see him, his blue eyes narrow and his brow furrowed with confusion. “What the hell are you doing here? Did you get lost?”

  Despite feeling a little lost—the way he had when he’d run away all those years ago—Ronan shook his head.

  Just as Simon had back then, he took Ronan in. He opened the door to Bette’s apartment and led the way down a short hall to a good-sized living room. The apartment was bigger than Muriel’s and nicer, with highly polished hardwood floors and dark trim. Maybe designers actually earned more than models.

  Or maybe Muriel hadn’
t been able to afford anything bigger after paying out the divorce settlement Ronan had gotten for her ex...

  He flinched as guilt stabbed him. Of course that didn’t matter anymore. With all her recent accolades, she had to be back on top now.

  On top...

  Why the hell hadn’t he tried that position with her? But then she would have been able to set the pace and drive him even more out of his mind than she already had. When she’d gone down on him, he’d nearly lost consciousness, the pleasure overwhelming him.

  Simon turned back toward him and asked, “What are you doing here? I thought you were going to try to seduce the truth out of Muriel tonight.”

  “What?” Bette exclaimed as she walked up behind her boyfriend. She was pulling the belt tight on a silk robe that was probably all she wore. “That’s horrible!”

  Ronan wasn’t about to remind her that was what Simon had done with her. He had already caused enough trouble between them.

  But apparently Bette hadn’t forgotten because she slapped Simon’s shoulder and said, “It was bad enough when you tried that with me.”

  “It was bad?” he asked, as he turned toward her and arched one of his blond brows.

  She uttered a wistful sigh, and her mouth curved into a naughty smile. “Very bad...”

  Simon stepped closer to his girlfriend and wound his arm around her small waist, drawing her against his side. His hand smoothed over her hip, and his gaze dipped toward where the neck of her robe began to gape over her full breasts.

  Ronan snapped his fingers. “Hey, I’m still here!” He didn’t mind being part of a threesome—if the other two were women. That was the only way he didn’t mind sharing. But somehow he didn’t think that would be the case with Muriel. He wouldn’t like sharing her with anyone.

  But if her reputation was to be believed, she wasn’t seeing only him. There had been all those flowers in her apartment, too, and only people she knew would have known where to send them. According to her ex, one man had never been enough to satisfy her. Of course, that one man hadn’t been Ronan.

  He could satisfy her. At least, he thought he had.