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

He seemed to sense her distress, because his smile fell some as he asked further, "Or would telling you all that be revealing too much, too soon?"

Dorsey's languid pulse had begun to vibrate like a kettledrum with every soft, seductive word he spoke. Surely he wasn't serious about all that, she thought. Surely he was only saying these things to her now because he was still under the influence of the warm, rosy afterglow that came on the heels of lovemaking. Surely he wasn't telling her what he seemed to be telling her. Surely last night had been no more important to him than any of his other sexual conquests had been.

Then again, he was looking a little conquered himself at the moment, she thought. She never would have guessed that Adam Darien was the kind of man who would bring a woman breakfast and roses in bed.

She swallowed hard. "Uh, no," she said with some difficulty. "Um, that's, uh … that's fine. You can say that."

His smile returned, confident, affectionate, and very, very sexy. "Then should I tell you how often I'd like to wake up that same way?" he asked further. "Or would it scare you off if you knew just how badly I want you?"

Had she thought her pulse was rapid before? Heavens, she'd had no idea her blood could rush so fiercely through her body without making her unconscious. Then again, she was beginning to feel a little dizzy.

"I, uh…" she stammered, "I—I don't know. Would it?"

His smile turned a little sad as he considered his answer. "Yeah," he finally said softly. "It probably would. So I don't think I'll tell you that part. Not yet, anyway."

She felt strangely disappointed that he didn't, then told herself not to be. If his intentions would scare her, then she didn't need to hear them. She was much too frightened of what lay ahead as it was.

Adam seemed to sense her misgivings, because he stretched out alongside her, propping himself up on one elbow, cradling his head in his palm. For a moment, he only gazed at her, as if he were trying to imprint her appearance on some part of his brain so that he would never forget this moment. Then he lifted his other hand and twined a single auburn curl around his forefinger.

"I'm glad you stayed last night," he said simply.

She hesitated only briefly before assuring him, "I'm glad I did, too."

He unwound the curl from his finger and then brushed his bent knuckles lightly along her jawline. "We should do it again sometime," he told her.

Dorsey let out a shallow breath before asking, "Should we?"

He nodded, then skimmed his fingertips across her lower lip. "Mm-hm. Soon."

His tender touches, so seemingly innocent, so utterly arousing, made it impossible for her to think clearly. "I … okay," she capitulated easily.

He grazed the back of his hand down the slender column of her throat, then turned it to dip his middle finger in the delicate hollow at its base. "Like tonight maybe," he suggested.

"To-tonight?" she asked huskily.

He nodded again. "I have to be in Evanston this afternoon, but I should be done there by six. I could swing by your place on my way home and pick you up. We could grab a bite to eat, maybe go hear some nice jazz, and then come back here. What do you say?"

Frankly, Dorsey couldn't say anything. Because she'd heard little past the word, " Evanston ." Although tiny bonfires had exploded inside her every time, everywhere, Adam touched her, a cold, brittle weight now wedged itself tight somewhere between her stomach and her heart. And she couldn't quite make herself breathe around it.

"You, uh … you're going to Evanston this afternoon?" she asked, amazed that she'd managed to form the question, so numb was she feeling. "What for?"

He dropped his hand to the mattress, and Dorsey felt both gratitude and regret for his retreat. "Lauren Grable-Monroe is speaking at Northwestern today," he muttered distastefully. "And since I've had no choice but to submit to the American public's demands and include a piece on her in Man's Life, I figure the least I can do is try to wrangle an interview with the woman."

Telling herself not to sound too interested, but helpless not to pursue the matter, Dorsey asked him, "Why don't you just call her publisher and set something up?"

He didn't seem to think the question odd, because he answered quite readily, "I was going to do that, but there's just something about ambushing the woman that appeals to my baser instincts. So I thought I'd catch her by surprise after her lecture this afternoon."

Oh, no you won't , Dorsey thought. You've just blown your advantage. She is on to you, mister. Bigtime.

And she tried to forget how he had been on her—in her—only hours ago. Unfortunately, memories of last night came roaring up to overwhelm her, and Dorsey realized that, regardless of where he was in the world, Adam would always be inside her. Even if she lived to be one hundred years old, she would never forget a moment of what they had shared last night. Especially since it was looking unlikely that they would ever have a chance to repeat it.

Because she had forgotten that there was a woman standing between them. Namely, Lauren Grable-Monroe.

Now what? she wondered as a cool lump of dread settled inside her. What on earth was she supposed to do? She'd just spent the most glorious night of her life with a man who might very well prove to be someone special, and Lauren Grable-Monroe was about to step right between them and shove them apart. She had to tell him the truth, she thought. She couldn't keep carrying on with the charade. Not where Adam was concerned. How could she keep lying to him after what they had shared last night?

But what if he blew her cover? she asked herself. Yes, the two of them had just shared a