Page 61 of Legal Attraction
He opened his mouth to ask Simon if Muriel was seeing anyone, but before he could get the question out, the lights dimmed and the background music stopped playing. With a swish, the curtains opened to a woman standing behind a podium. Bette wore one of her own designs—a silk robe with bows—and for the first time, Ronan understood why his partner was so crazy about his former assistant.
She was gorgeous. But she wasn’t The World’s Most Beautiful Woman.
Bette was talking, but he couldn’t hear any of it. He couldn’t hear anything but his pulse pounding in his ears and his blood rushing through his veins—because Muriel had stepped onto the stage.
She looked gorgeous in a soft pink teddy with bows as the straps. Even her slippers, as she glided down the runway, had bows on them. He wanted her to see him. But anytime she looked away from the stage, so many bulbs flashed that she was probably blinded.
Did every fashion show get this much attention or were they here for Muriel?
He couldn’t blame them. That was why he was here. Sure, he’d claimed he was just supporting Bette. But he’d wanted to see Muriel again.
But seeing was never enough...
He wanted to kiss her and touch her and taste her. And most of all, he wanted to hold her, all night long—he wouldn’t run away.
He had to convince her to give him another chance. And as the bulbs continued to flash all around her, he realized exactly how he was going to do it. Yeah, he’d be humiliated if it failed. But another chance with Muriel far outweighed any risk of humiliation.
* * *
Spots danced in front of Muriel’s eyes. She was lucky she hadn’t fallen during the show. All those flashing bulbs had nearly blinded her. She wasn’t able to see well. But she’d been able to feel...his presence.
Ronan had attended the show.
Before giving tickets to Simon’s business partners, Bette had asked if it was okay with Muriel. She’d agreed, but only because she hadn’t thought Ronan would actually attend.
Had he been alone? Or had he brought a date? Someone he wanted to be seen with?
Of course, he’d explained why he’d never taken her out. But the press had let up on her; they could have taken their relationship public. But then, it had only ever been sex, and taking that public—more public than the elevator, the dressing room and the car—would have gotten them arrested.
Muriel stepped out of the dressing room where she’d changed from Bette’s Beguiling lingerie into a short black dress and boots. She’d promised Bette she would attend her party after the show. But if Ronan was there...
Bulbs flashed in her face again, and she flinched. Ronan was the least of her concerns at the moment. Along with the cameras, there were microphones—all shoved toward her face. How had they gotten backstage?
“What do you have to say about the latest news?” someone asked.
Muriel wasn’t sure what they meant, but she focused on what they should be focused on. “Bette’s brilliant,” she said. “Her designs are amazing. And she’s the one you should be interviewing.” Not her. She had had more than enough press to last her a lifetime.
“So you have nothing to say about the interview your ex gave?” a woman reporter asked.
She swallowed a groan. What had Arte done now? The man was seriously a pathetic fame whore. “I didn’t see his interview,” she said, “and I don’t care to.”
“So he’s right—nothing he says or does will compel you to give him another chance?”
“God, no.” She shuddered at the thought. What the hell kind of game was Arte playing now?
Did he think declarations of undying love for her would save his musical?
The last thing Muriel wanted to do was feed his need for fame. She shook her head. “You’re wasting your time. And so is he. Please focus on the real story and Bette’s beautiful designs.”
Taking her advice, the reporters put down the microphones and turned away with the cameras. As she did, the female reporter shook her head. “You’re a stronger woman than I am, then,” she murmured. “There’s no way in hell I would say no to Ronan Hall.”
Muriel reached out and grasped her arm, jerking the woman to a halt. She waited until the others had filed out of the hallway before asking, “What? What did you say about Ronan?”
“He’s the one who did all the talking,” the woman said. “About you.”
“He—he’s the ex you’re talking about?”
The woman nodded then laughed. “You thought I was talking about your ex-husband?”
