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

There was no way Dorsey could start something with Adam—or anyone else, for that matter—without Lauren getting involved in it, too. And even though Lauren's baser nature would probably relish the idea of a threesome, Dorsey just wasn't that kind of girl.

Of course, the night that she had kissed Adam, for those few moments that she lost herself in his arms, she sure had felt like that kind of girl. Not a day—not an hour—had passed since their embrace that she hadn't relived in her head those two searing, combustible kisses. He had felt so good, so exciting, to hold onto. It had been like corralling wild energy, unrestrained force. Like clasping a cyclone to her breast and pulling some of its limitless power and vast fury into herself.

In addition to arousing her sexually, powerfully, kissing Adam had made Dorsey feel strong, potent, infinite. That such a man would lose control over her, lose control with her, was a heady sensation indeed. She'd never felt anything like it before. Something told her she would never feel anything like it again. And the realization of that had just made her miss Adam all the more.

But she'd also missed their friendship. She'd missed their easy banter and mildly dangerous flirtations. She'd missed his low laughter and reluctant smiles. She'd missed his totally erroneous masculine assumptions and his laughably misguided chauvinist deductions. She'd even missed the pangs of wistful melancholy that invariably shot through her every time she had to stop herself from reaching out a hand to run her fingers through his hair.

She'd just missed him. Very much. And she couldn't stop thinking about those two kisses they had shared on her front porch. She couldn't erase the memory of how his hands had felt curling over her bottom, how his mouth had felt rubbing insistently against her throat. She recalled every sigh, every scent, every seductive sensation. And more than anything in the world, she wanted to experience it again. All of it. And more.

But she also wanted to recapture their familiar camaraderie. And she couldn't come up with a solution that would combine both a romantic and a friendly relationship with him. Certainly not while she was leading a triple life as Dorsey MacGuinness, sociology prof wannabe, Mack, the bartender, and Lauren Grable-Monroe, cultural icon. It was just too weird to think about it all right now. All things considered, she supposed it was just as well that she hadn't seen him for a week.

But she sure did miss him.

Then again, the week had passed in such a blur, she hadn't seen much of anything at all. Lauren Grable-Monroe, it seemed, was hitting the peak of her popularity. In one week she had signed books at a shopping mall in Schaumburg , had spoken to a group of sex therapists in Champaign , and had still fitted in an early-morning radio talk show in Chicago .

That last event, having occurred only yesterday morning, was still fresh in Dorsey's mind, and she was still feeling a bit uneven because of it. Whereas she had gone to the radio station thinking she'd be fielding the usual sorts of questions for Lauren—fun, frivolous queries about the book or the author's fictional personal life—some of the callers had been a bit less than enthusiastic in their responses. True, there had been the usual assortment of giggling schoolgirls cutting class, but there had also been disenchanted housewives shouting over squalling babies and frustrated men berating Lauren for ruining women everywhere. Dorsey had left feeling slightly smudged. As if the smooth, clean lines of Lauren Grable-Monroe's self-assurance had been soiled and stretched and damaged.

And now here Dorsey sat with barely ten minutes to go before the start of her shift at Drake's, trying to conjure enough energy to change from her teaching assistant clothes to her bartender clothes. In her backpack, she also carried Lauren Grable-Monroe's clothes, because she'd had an early-morning appointment with a writer for a local weekly, which had gone, if memory served, fairly well. But she hadn't had time to go home between Lauren's meeting and Dorsey's first class at Severn . She hadn't had time between Severn and Drake's, either. In fact, Dorsey could barely remember when she had last spent any amount of time at home. It seemed like a very long time ago…

She closed her eyes for just a moment—only long enough to rest them, honest—then was immediately jarred to awareness by a not so gentle shove to her shoulder. Snapping her eyes open again, she glanced up to find Lindy Aubrey standing over her, hands fisted on her hips, one eyebrow arched in silent query, clearly none too pleased to find her bartender here in the locker room. Which was odd, Dorsey thought, because for the first time in weeks, she was actually a few minutes early for her shift. You'd think Lindy would be happy about that, but—

"Do you know what time it is?" her employer asked.

"Ten till four," Dorsey replied.

Lindy shook her head. "Try five after."

Dorsey glanced down at her watch. Sure enough, she was five minutes late for her shift and not even dressed in her uniform yet. "But that's impossible," she said. "I got here fifteen minutes early."

"Then what have you been doing for the last twenty minutes?" her employer asked.

"I've been…" Sleeping, she realized. Good heavens, she'd actually fallen asleep sitting on the bench and had stayed that way for fifteen minutes. "I—I … I guess I … I just didn't realize … I mean I…"

Lindy crossed her arms over her midsection, looking all too menacing in her sleek black suit. "Dorsey, this has gone on long enough," she said. "For the past month, you've missed more shifts than you've worked. And my patience has just about come to an end."

"But I've always had someone covering my shifts for me," Dorsey pointed out. "I've never left you shorthanded."

"That's beside the point," Lindy said.