How to Trap a Tycoon Elizabeth Bevarly (year 7 reading list txt) 📖

"What you need is a cup of hot coffee and a cold shower," she told him, assuring herself that was not affection she saw glittering in his eyes.

He smiled again, the fuzzy, dreamy little smile of a man who was much too inebriated for his—or her—own good. "Why, Edie," he murmured in that fuzzy, dreamy voice again, "you little vixen, you little minx, you little spitfire, you little tigress, you little … little…" His pale-blond brows arrowed downward in confusion for a moment. "Where was I? Oh, yeah. You little firebrand, you. If you want to take a shower with me, just come right out and say so."

Okay, time to call Lindy , Edie thought.

But he seemed to realize he'd gone too far. "I'm sorry," he told her. He leaned back a bit, lifting his hands lightly in surrender, seeming genuinely chastened. "You're right. I've had far too much to drink, and there's no way I can drive myself home. Here," he added further, reaching into his trouser pocket. "Here are my keys. You take them."

Before she could decline and before she realized what he intended to do, he reached across the bar and took her hand gently in his. Instinctively—because she simply could not tolerate the feel of a man's hands on her—Edie jerked her own hand back out of his grasp. He looked as startled by her reaction as Mr. Davenport had earlier that evening, and she felt as angry now at Lucas as she had then at the other man. Now, however, for some reason, she was less inclined to cover her feelings, and she glared at him openly if silently.

Dammit, why did men feel like they could just reach out and take whatever they wanted, without so much as asking first? she wondered, not for the first time in her life. And why did they have to take more than a person was willing to give?

"I'm sorry," Lucas said, clearly dumfounded by her sudden and vehement withdrawal. "I didn't mean … I mean, I know Lindy forbids… That is, I know I'm not supposed to touch you, but…"

"Then why did you?" Edie demanded.

He blinked once, his blue eyes reflecting his puzzlement at her reaction. "I was just … I was going to give you my keys, that's all."

Her heart still racing, Edie nodded once. "Fine," she told him. "Just set them on the bar then."

Without comment, Lucas did as she'd requested, and it was with no small effort that Edie hid her surprise. He didn't seem like the kind of man who would obey a woman's command without grumbling something snide in response. Hey, he didn't seem like the kind of man who would obey a woman's command, period. Even when he was slightly intoxicated, she was no match for him, and they both knew it. If he wanted to give her a hard time, he could do it very easily.

Yet he'd backed down. Quite willingly, too. Edie wasn't used to wielding such power over a man. Or any power over a man, for that matter. And she had no idea how to interpret his response. So for now, she decided not to think about it.

Gingerly, she reached for his keys, and she tried to forget that he had touched her the way he had. She tried to forget that his fingers had been warm and gentle and playful against her flesh, not cold and rough and demeaning. And she tried to forget that there had been something different in his eyes when he'd touched her, something that hadn't been there before. Something that had almost made her feel warm and gentle and playful inside. Confused by her reaction, she folded her fingers over his key ring and focused on the cold, ungiving metal instead.

"You sure you want me to have these?" she asked him. Not that she would give them back, she thought. He really was in no condition to drive.

"I trust you," he said.

Well, that made one of them, she thought.

"Where do you live?" she asked. "I'll call you a cab to take you home and give your keys to the driver so you can get inside once you're there."

He gazed at her for a long time without answering, long enough to make Edie wonder if maybe he was too far gone to understand anything so elaborate as a three-part direction. Honestly. He really hadn't had that much to drink. And he was a big man, six foot two, she guessed, and probably around a hundred and eighty pounds. Certainly she could see how the amount of liquor he'd consumed this evening would make him feel happy, but it wasn't such a huge serving that his brain would turn into hasty pudding.

"Mr. Conaway?" she prodded him. "Where do you live?"

His smile, the one that had been so seductive a moment ago, suddenly turned playful again. "I don't think I want to tell you where I live," he said.

Well, that would certainly complicate things, she thought. Aloud, however, she only remarked, "Why not?"

He tilted his head to one side, gazing at her in a way that was far too appealing. "Because then you'll have to take me home with you instead," he told her. "To your place."

Oh, I don't think so , she thought. She arched her brows imperiously. "I beg your pardon."

"Actually," he said more quietly, leaning in toward her, "I'd rather have you begging for my—"

"Mr. Conaway," she interrupted, irritated by such a blatant come-on. Until now, she'd kind of … sort of … almost … been having fun with their flirtatious exchange. But now Lucas had gone too far.

Why did men always do that? she wondered. Why couldn't they leave well enough alone? Then again, she supposed she should be relieved that Lucas's pushing had only been verbal. So far, anyway. You never could tell with men.

"I think you've overstepped the line now," she told him frankly. "Tell me where you live, and I'll call you a