Slow Hands

“Women don’t always get their needs met by a man.”

“Then that man isn’t doing his job properly.”

Ex-model-turned-entrepreneur April Sinclair fully expects to be laughed out of yet another attorney’s office. But with her adult toy business on the line, April desperately needs Logan Fitzpatrick’s help. All she has to do is explain to the gorgeous lawyer—whose eyes hold a decidedly wicked gleam—that she’s being sued. By a celebrity. For a faulty vibrator. No, that’s not awkward at all...

April expects Logan to be shrewd, and even to be something of an arrogant prick. She’s not expecting just how this professional legal consultation has taken a very personal—bordering on sensually promising—air. The kind that makes April want to test her entire selection of adult toys with Logan, right here...and right now.

She thought she could keep control. She thought she could call the shots. But one touch from Logan’s sensual, slow and exquisitely thorough hands, and April is consumed by a craving for him that burns hotter with every encounter.

She knew Logan Fitzpatrick was dangerous—and capable of fulfilling her every desire. Now she’s falling for the one man who could destroy every part of her business...along with her heart.

Harlequin DARE publishes sexy romances featuring powerful alpha heroes and bold, fearless heroines exploring their deepest fantasies.

Four new Harlequin DARE titles are available each month, wherever ebooks are sold!

FAYE AVALON lives in southwest England with her super-ace husband and one beloved, ridiculously spoiled golden retriever. She worked as cabin crew, detoured into property development, public relations, court reporting and education, before finally finding her passion: writing steamy romantic fiction. Between writing, practicing yoga, trying to remember the difference between a plié and relevé in ballet class, and keeping the keyboard free of dog hair, Faye can be found checking out Pinterest for hero inspiration.

Visit her at fayeavalon.com.

Also by Faye Avalon

Rescue Me

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Slow Hands

Faye Avalon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09940-0

SLOW HANDS

© 2020 Faye Avalon

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 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.

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For Dad: my very first hero

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

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

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU’LL DEFINITELY BE needing a lawyer.’

April Sinclair’s initial relief at having finally confessed her predicament to her best friend turned sour as Lizzie’s mouth twitched.

‘For pity’s sake. It isn’t funny.’ April glanced around the crowded café, thankful that their conversation had seemingly failed to attract the attention of other patrons. ‘I’m starting to think I’m the only one taking this seriously.’

Lizzie battled to keep her face straight. ‘It is pretty funny.’

‘Sadly, most of the lawyers I’ve approached share your view. They either fall off their chair laughing or look at me as if I’m running a bordello.’ April drummed her fingers against her coffee cup. ‘Maybe I’d see the joke if my business wasn’t on the line.’

‘You should tell the woman to piss off and stop bothering you with her idiot claims. Stupid cow. She’d be better off asking herself why the only way she can get her prurient needs met is via a piece of plastic.’

‘Shh!’ April looked around again before lowering her voice. ‘Veronica won’t back down. I’ve tried reasoning with her, but she won’t budge. Why would she when she’s been waiting years to get back at me? I played right into her bloody hands.’

‘She won’t go through with it. She’s winding you up. Making you sweat.’

‘Well, mission accomplished, then.’

April knew that Veronica Lebeck was not only capable of going through with her threats, but that she’d absolutely relish making April squirm. Back in her modelling days April had experienced Veronica’s spiteful ways first-hand. Catwalk rivalry, the spreading of vicious rumours, garment tampering... And, of course, there had been the whole Richard thing. The woman was relentless when it came to her own interests, and she courted publicity as if it was going out of fashion.

‘Don’t lose sleep over it,’ Lizzie advised as she picked up her coffee. ‘Even if she does carry out her threat, your insurance will cover any costs.’

With a hard swallow, April looked her friend square in the eye. Showtime.

‘Well, see...that’s the thing. I don’t have any insurance. The policy hasn’t been renewed.’

Frothy latte midway to her lips, Lizzie froze. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’

Why the hell had she chosen to confess all to Lizzie in the middle of a crowded Covent Garden café? Her friend wasn’t known for her shy and retiring ways.

‘It got overlooked while I was dealing with my dad’s estate. And, before you say it, I know it was stupid and I’m an idiot.’

Eyes fierce, Lizzie put down her cup. ‘You’re neither. But I thought Rotten Richard was dealing with your business paperwork while you were up to your ears in funeral arrangements and sorting your dad’s affairs? Don’t tell me he screwed that up on top of everything else?’

April shrugged. She wasn’t planning on revisiting that time. She’d put her ex into a box and shoved him, and the whole pitiable episode, into the cobwebbed recesses of her mind. At least she’d thought so until Veronica’s threatened claim had required that she check out her insurance policy.

‘Bloody hell.’

Lizzie stared across the table at her, and the concern in her friend’s eyes made April’s stomach spin. When Lizzie was worried there really was something to be alarmed about.

‘You’re definitely going to need legal advice.’ She picked up her bag and dug for her mobile. ‘And I might just know where you can get it. Miles mentioned this guy who handled their CEO’s divorce case. A real hard-ass, by all accounts. High-profile. High success rate.’

That sounded like music to April’s ears, but since Lizzie’s current squeeze worked for an international pharmaceutical company, April couldn’t imagine a lawyer of such standing would be at all interested in giving advice about her predicament.

‘I’ve already contacted just about every lawyer in the book,’ she said as, undeterred, Lizzie tapped the keypad. ‘I really can’t see this one chomping at the bit to take me on.’

Lizzie waved that away as she brought the phone to her ear. ‘He gave Miles his card after he did him a favour. Let’s see if Miles can work his magic and get you an appointment.’ She turned her attention to the phone at her ear. ‘Oh, hi, sweetie. You know that lawyer you helped out...?’

Walking into the foyer of the eight-storey office building located on London’s Chancery Lane, April reminded herself that she was out of options. She’d checked out Logan Fitzpatrick on the internet and he was most definitely going to laugh her out of his office. Lizzie had said he was high-profile, but she’d failed to mention that he’d handled prestigious cases involving politicians and celebrities, his successes ensuring that he was now pretty much a celebrity himself.

Ignoring the nauseous roll of her stomach, April went through the security booth and over to Reception. She gave her name and was directed to the sixth floor. Stepping into the elevator, she pushed the relevant button and seconds later exited into a long hallway with polished black and white floor tiles and monochrome prints decorating the walls. The only colour came from the scattering of plants and potted palms strategically placed along the space.

A woman with spiky brown hair emphasising a pretty heart-shaped face came to meet her. She smiled and reached for April’s hand. ‘Ms Sinclair? Come this way.’

April followed her to the end of the hallway and into a huge waiting room containing two massive white leather sofas.

‘Mr Fitzpatrick is running a few minutes late. Can I offer you coffee while you wait?’

Hell, no. She was hyper enough already. ‘I’m fine. Thanks.’

‘Take a seat, then. I’m sure he won’t keep you waiting long.’

When the woman had left, April took the opportunity to look around. It was all very smart and sophisticated. Minimalist, almost. She shifted a couple of deep orange cushions and sank into the sumptuous leather. Absently, she selected a magazine from the glass coffee table and flicked through it. Seconds later she popped it back on the table. It was fruitless trying to concentrate when she felt so wired.

How had things gotten to this? When was the moment she’d screwed up so badly? She’d thought she had it all worked out. Leaving London to care for her father, creating an online business so she could work from home and be there if he needed her, building that business into something she was proud of...

The strange thing was that although she’d chosen it as a stopgap, until she could return to London and resume her modelling career, she’d soon realised that she loved her online venture. Since returning to London several months ago she’d worked hard to rebuild her business after Richard had almost destroyed it, and now it was going from strength to strength. She’d been able to diversify, had garnered some prestigious link-ups with fellow entrepreneurs, and was slowly building trust and recognition amongst her growing list of customers.

Now all that was in jeopardy because of one bloody oversight. Thanks to Richard. Not that she could blame him entirely. It was her own fault for allowing him control—and not just of her business, but of her, too. She’d trusted him, handed the reins of her life to him.

Maybe she could console herself that she’d had reason to do so at the time, but that was really no excuse. Not that it would ever happen again. She’d learned a huge and valuable lesson from the whole debacle.

The woman returned and held out a glass. ‘You look like you could use this,’ she said as April accepted the water. ‘Try not to worry. I’m sure he’ll help if he can.’

If he can.

That was the crucial question.

Since she hadn’t been required to divulge the nature of her business, beyond the fact that she was seeking advice on a potential litigation matter, April knew the woman wasn’t aware of the reason for her appointment. That was unless Veronica had decided to go ahead with her threat, had procured herself a lawyer, and word had got around. Like most professions, law was probably an intimate world, and lawyers’ dinner tables undoubtedly rife with humorous stories of client predicaments.

She could only imagine what kind of reaction her story would get were it shared amongst the legal profession. Not that she had anything to be embarrassed about. She ran a legitimate successful business. And she would do everything in her power to make sure that continued.

When a buzzer sounded, April was treated to another encouraging smile. ‘He’s free now. I’ll show you in.’

The woman took April’s glass and tapped lightly on the door. Without waiting for a response, she pushed it open and stepped back so April could enter a large corner office overlooking London’s impressive skyline.

One glance at the man leaning against the front of the battered walnut desk and April was tempted to grab for the water again. There was no mistaking this was the man she’d come to see. He owned the space, filled it, swamped it. Confidence seemed to ooze from every pore. Okay, she’d seen photos of him while doing an online search, but in the flesh Logan Fitzpatrick was formidable, and absolutely not what she’d been expecting.

Ruffled dark brown hair flirted with the open collar of a crisp white shirt—and the latter was the only lawyerly thing about his appearance. Dark jeans, a wide leather belt with a buckle that looked like some sort of Celtic knot, and battered leather boots. What looked like a full day’s worth of stubble barely disguised an impressively square jaw, and beneath the slash of thick dark eyebrows shrewd blue eyes appraised her as she stood in the doorway.

His gaze didn’t shift from hers as he thanked the woman, who popped April’s glass on his desk. April stared back, and would have swallowed, but her mouth was currently doing an impression of the Gobi Desert.

While he looked nothing like her idea of a lawyer, he was most definitely a man to lust over while indulging in some very inappropriate daydreams.

‘When you’ve finished looking your fill, maybe you’d like to come in all the way.’

Her instinct was to deny she’d been checking him out, and to challenge his undeniable ego, but there was no point annoying him from the get-go. If she could persuade him to help her, that very ego and formidable manner was exactly what she needed on her side.

With sensually masculine ease, he pushed away from the desk and held out his hand. It was big and rough, and a large gold watch circled his solid wrist. Heat curled in her belly as she stepped forward to accept his handshake. His palm connected with hers, warm and solid, and his fingers curled firmly around her hand.

Little tingles joined the heat—probably because the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled to just below his elbows, displaying tanned and muscled forearms with a light covering of dark hair. She was a sucker for muscular arms—all that strength and power—especially when one of them displayed an intriguing tattoo similar in design to the buckle on his belt.

Before she could start musing on the possible importance the symbol held for him, she released his hand.

‘You’re Mr Fitzpatrick?’

‘That’s what it says on the door.’

The velvet cadence of his deep voice should have softened his edges, but all it did was add to the already dangerous air about him.

‘Why don’t you sit down and hit me with the reason for your visit?’

‘Yes. Right.’ She felt she owed him an explanation for her staring. ‘You’re not like the photographs on your company website.’

He glanced down at himself, then met her gaze again, treating her to a sexy glint from those blue eyes. ‘Yeah, well. It’s dress-down Friday.’

‘No offence, it’s just the photos show you in a snappy suit.’

‘If it’s a fashion plate you’re after, try Models Inc. a few floors down. If it’s legal representation, take a seat. And no offence taken.’

No. He was too damned sure of himself for that. She really admired that kind of confidence, loved the self-assurance that came with knowing you were the best. And he was the best. Top of his game, able to take his pick of clients.

Before she could dwell on the implications of that, he walked around the desk, sat, and scooted forward. ‘Now we’ve established I’m who you came to see, give me the details.’

April felt a smidgen of relief that he was safely back behind his desk, but she wished he’d roll those bloody shirtsleeves down so she could stop staring at his forearms. And how was she supposed to explain her current predicament with those steely blue eyes fixed firmly on her?

Because you’ve got no choice.

Best to blurt it out, then. ‘I’m under threat of being sued. I need legal advice.’

‘Then you’ve come to the right place. Who’s suing you?’

‘An ex-colleague during my modelling days. Veronica Lebeck.’

He raised dark eyebrows. The mention of Veronica’s name tended to have that reaction, especially since she’d gained notoriety after appearing topless on a reality TV show.

‘What grounds?’

‘She’s claiming negligence. That a product she purchased from my company was unfit for purpose and caused her physical injury.’

‘Was the product faulty?’

‘I’ve sold hundreds before and it gets excellent reviews.’

‘Reviews don’t mean shit.’

Her instinct was to counter the patronising tone, but the words died on her lips. She could imagine him telling her where the door was and that she was most welcome to use it.

‘What’s the product?’

She angled her chin into the air. ‘A vibrator.’

His expression didn’t waver, but a glimmer of heat shot into his eyes. ‘A vibrator?’

Deliberately, she presented him with what Lizzie called her pissy business face. ‘I run an online store selling adult toys.’

His gaze stayed firm on hers, but his nostrils flared a little and she thought his lips twitched.

‘Ever had anything like this happen before?’

‘Never.’ She pulled her chin higher. She was a professional businesswoman selling bona fide merchandise. Damned if she’d apologise or be embarrassed about it. ‘Vibrators are my top-selling product.’

For the first time since she’d entered the office he released her from that intense gaze and scooted his chair nearer the desk and his laptop.

‘What’s your URL?’

She told him and he tapped it in.

In silence, April watched him peruse the site, his gaze skimming over the screen. His eyes moved fast, but she knew he didn’t miss a thing. The only sound in the room was the click of the mouse as he flipped through the pages, and an occasional tap at the keyboard. His long fingers adeptly negotiated each click, those muscles in his forearm flexing with the movement.

She was about to slide into a lusty daydream, imagining the kind of lethal damage he could do to a woman with that muscled strength, those supple fingers, when he pushed the laptop away and sat back in his chair.

‘Your disclaimer could do with some fleshing out. Liability insurance? Who are your underwriters?’

She inhaled deeply, breathed out slowly. ‘I currently don’t have any—insurance or underwriters.’

That unnerving gaze was back on her, his eyes slightly narrowed with a what-sort-of-idiot-woman-is-this? glint.

‘Why the hell not?’

April refused to react to his implication that she was lacking in the intelligence department. Now wasn’t the time to allow those particular demons to surface.

‘The policy renewal got overlooked. I’ve tried to take out insurance to start from now, but since I felt compelled to disclose the threat of potential litigation, nobody will accept me with that hanging over my head.’

He gave a slow, thoughtful nod. ‘Has Lebeck mentioned a figure?’

‘Yes.’ April’s stomach heaved. ‘One million.’

Logan Fitzpatrick’s face remained impassive for a moment, then he tipped his head back and laughed. A full-out laugh, crinkling his blue eyes and displaying teeth that were a perfect match for the white of his shirt.

Oh, but he was an attractive specimen of manhood—in a roguish sort of way. She might have put her love-life on hold after the whole Rotten Richard debacle, might have made a promise to herself to focus on building her business instead, but there was absolutely no harm in looking, was there?

‘What sort of damage did this thing do?’

April thought the question was rhetorical until he raised his eyebrows, waiting. ‘Some bruising, apparently. She said it gave her a kind of shock.’

He reached across his desk towards an ashtray which held a fat cigar. When he stuffed the cigar, unlit, between his teeth, April had the disconcerting impression that he’d done it to stop himself from laughing again.

Days of worry and pent-up irritation pushed to the fore. ‘Look, I just want to know. Does she have a case?’

‘Hard to say,’ he said around the cigar. ‘You said you once worked together. What kind of relationship did you have?’

April considered her response carefully. There was no point telling him anything that didn’t relate to the case. ‘Let’s just say we weren’t the best of friends. Some minor work-related disagreements, but nothing like this.’

Hot colour flooded into her cheeks—probably because of the way his teeth clenched around that bloody cigar. It was ridiculously sexy. Which was absurd. She had more to think about than some sexy lawyer who, like all the others she’d approached, obviously had no intention of taking her seriously, let alone helping her.

He took the cigar from his mouth and placed it back in the ashtray. As he leaned forward the movement highlighted the width of his shoulders, the size of his biceps as they strained against the crisp cotton of his shirt. It made her want to rip that shirt right off his shoulders and check out the view for real.