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

rumpled, and his eyes were lit with warm affection. He had the fat Sunday edition of the Tribune tucked under one arm, and she couldn't help thinking that he meant to spend the entire morning sharing his bounty with her right here in his bed. The mahogany sleigh bed that was surrounded by all manner of luxurious furniture and accessories, from the matching wardrobe and armoire to the richly patterned Oriental rugs scattered about beneath. The walls were painted a deep forest-green, adorned here and there by oil-on-canvas renditions of the English countryside.

The effect, on the whole, was one of enormous wealth and lush hedonism. And as Dorsey watched Adam draw nearer, carrying his sumptuous feast, surrounded by his luxurious belongings, one thought—and one thought alone—circled through her head: Oh, I could get used to this. I could get used to this very easily.

Suddenly, the idea of trapping herself a tycoon wasn't nearly as unappealing as she'd once considered it to be. In fact, suddenly, Dorsey was questioning every conviction she'd ever had. Because she was also beginning to think that it might not be so bad relying on someone else for a change. It might not be so bad being taken care of once in a while. And it might not be so bad to be shackled to another human being for all eternity. Because if this was how it felt… If she could experience these wonderful sensations every morning when she awoke… If it meant having Adam Darien all sleepy-eyed and rumpled in her bed…

Well. Maybe Lauren Grable-Monroe was onto something after all.

Dorsey smiled sleepily and stifled a yawn and tried not to dwell on the fact that nothing had ever felt so utterly right in her entire life than this particular moment did. "Good morning," she murmured as she pushed herself up from the mattress. As unobtrusively as she could, she wrapped herself in gold satin as she went.

Funny that she would feel modest after some of the things the two of them had done to and with each other over the last several hours. She certainly hadn't been shy during the night, she recalled now, the heat of her memories warming her entire body. Of course, neither had Adam. Then again, she thought further, when she noted the way his pajama bottoms were tied so haphazardly—and so low—on his hips, he didn't seem to be feeling particularly modest himself at the moment. On the contrary, if that sly little smile playing about his lips was any indication, he had every intention of—

Oh, my . She might never leave this bed again.

"Good morning yourself," he replied, his voice a rich rumble of contentment as he set the breakfast tray on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed. "I thought you were going to sleep the whole day away."

A momentary panic shook Dorsey as she searched frantically for a clock and found none.

"It's not even nine-thirty," Adam told her, chuckling. "What's wrong? You got a hot date somewhere I should know about?"

Although he seemed to be striving for levity, something in his voice held an undertone of uncertainty, as if he feared she might very well have another romantic obligation this morning. Goodness, could he possibly be feeling jealous? Feeling possessive? she wondered as a curl of something warm and fuzzy slowly unwound inside her. And why did the prospect of such a possibility make her feel so wonderfully delicious? The absolutely last thing on earth she wanted was to be possessed by a man. Wasn't it? Of course it was. Then again, she was feeling a bit possessive about Adam this morning, too.

Oh, dear. This was certain to wreak havoc on her dissertation.

"I have to be someplace this afternoon," she told him, nudging the thoughts aside for now and forcing herself to relax. "But not until three." Impulsively, she added, "I'm yours until then."

The smile he bestowed upon her in return was one of the greatest prizes Dorsey had ever won. Without further comment, he poured her a cup of coffee and brought it around to her side of the bed, setting it on the nightstand within easy reach. She mumbled her thanks but didn't pick it up right away. She was having too much fun feeling sleepy and disoriented and wanton, and she didn't want her wits about her just yet.

Adam, too, neglected the cup he had poured for himself, leaving it on the tray near where he had tossed the newspaper. "I should warn you," he told her without preamble, "that although I'm not a churchgoing man, I do have a rigid Sunday morning ritual that I religiously observe."

"Oh?" she asked innocently.

"I stay in bed until noon , reading every last word of the Tribune."

She smiled. "Even Broom Hilda?"

"Yep."

"Wow. That's impressive. And you don't mind if I'm here to intrude?" she asked. "I won't be a distraction to you?"

"Oh, I'm counting on it," he assured her. Ignoring the newspaper, he climbed into bed and prowled like a predator toward her, then seated himself, cross-legged upon the mattress, before her. For a moment, he said nothing, only studied her with much interest, as if he were trying to decide exactly what to say. Then, suddenly, he grinned. A slow, sexy, dangerous little grin that ignited a spark of heat deep inside her.

And in a low, level voice, he said, "Should I tell you how good it felt to wake up this morning and find you in my bed?"

Dorsey's lips parted softly in surprise that he would reveal such a thing so freely. No, don't, she thought. Don't tell me anything that will make me care for you more than I do already.

"Should I tell you how sweet you smell and how soft you are?" he added.

No, don't. Please don't.

"Should I tell you how easy you are to hold? How long it's been since I've wanted a woman as much as I want you?"

No, don't…

"Should I tell you how incredible last night was?"

Oh,