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