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

"Bring it with you," he told her.

"I also need to sleep," she added pointedly.

"What?" he asked. "You can't do that in my bed?"

She arched an eyebrow in silent but meaningful comment.

He chuckled low. "Okay, okay. So we haven't done much sleeping in my bed. Look, Mack…" He lifted his shoulders and let them drop as he searched for the right words to say. "I just want to be with you," he finally told her. "I haven't seen much of you this week, and I want to spend time with you, doing whatever. I can catch up on some things from the office while you do your reading, and I can sleep when you sleep. We don't have to … you know. I mean, don't get me wrong," he hastened to clarify. "I'd really like to … you know. A lot." He shrugged again, philosophically this time. "But if you're tired, then we'll just … be together. Alone. It could be nice.

She eyed him with frank speculation for a moment, her gaze impassive, her expression inscrutable. Then, finally, slowly, she smiled. "Yeah," she agreed, "it would be nice. I'll be done here in about fifteen minutes. I'll meet you downstairs by the elevators. Let's just buzz by my place first, so I can pack a few things, okay?"

* * *

It had been a glorious weekend, Dorsey had to admit a week following the invitation. Because she and Adam had done absolutely nothing, had simply basked in each other's company for two full days and three full nights. Well, okay, so that wasn't entirely true. They had actually done a couple of things. She had completed her reading, and he had caught up on some work he brought home from the Man's Life offices. And, surprisingly enough, they had, in fact, slept. But in between those times, they'd relaxed. They'd enjoyed themselves. They'd had fun just being together.

Oh, all right. And they'd made wild monkey love, too. Every night. And every morning. And once in the afternoon. How could they resist? It had been the triple-fudge icing on the double-chocolate cake. All in all, the weekend had been very … uh … fulfilling. Definitely time well spent.

Even Monday morning had been surprisingly enjoyable. When Adam's alarm had erupted at five-forty-five, they'd woken in each other's arms, then smiled and hit the snooze button to snuggle for ten minutes more—and, my, but the snuggling one could manage in only ten minutes was quite impressive. When the alarm had sounded again, though, they'd separated and rolled out of bed with identical groans of disappointment, and each had headed for a different bathroom—had they headed for the same one, they never would have made it to work on time. After showering, dressing, and downing a hasty couple of cups of coffee, they'd ridden hand in hand in the elevator to the parking garage in the basement, and, hand in hand, Adam had driven Dorsey to school. It had all been so wonderfully domestic, so utterly couplesome, so totally in keeping with a budding relationship.

Except for Dorsey's deceit and dishonesty when it came to telling Adam the truth about Lauren Grable-Monroe. But, hey, other than that, everything was just peachy.

But she had tried to tell him the truth, really she had. A dozen times she had opened her mouth to say, "Adam, we need to talk" or "Adam, there's something you should know" or "Adam, I've been keeping a secret and it's time you knew the truth."

But each one of those times, she had chickened out, or he had initiated some seductive action that blew her concentration completely. And every time she'd failed to tell him the truth, it had only made it that much harder to try again.

When they parted ways Monday morning, it had only gotten worse. Because the last thing Adam had asked Dorsey to do before kissing her good-bye near her classroom at Severn was to—gulp—meet his mother. Actually, he hadn't quite phrased it that way, but what he'd invited her to do would require meeting both the elder Dariens. They were hosting a holiday open house the following weekend at their Gold Coast estate to herald the arrival of December, and Adam wanted Dorsey to attend it with him.

So now here she stood in the entry hall of his parents' house, a dwelling seemingly larger—and doubtless richer in bounty—than some sovereign nations, immersed in what had formed and molded Adam from day one. As her gaze drifted about the massive, tastefully ornate interior, she could scarcely believe this was the environment in which he had been raised, the environment to which he belonged. The place was like a palace, huge and opulent and classically decorated. The colors were unapologetically bold, the furnishings rich and luxurious and traditional—much like the family, she couldn't help but think. The place just screamed good breeding, good manners, good taste.

According to Adam, five generations of Dariens had lived here, loved here, died here. And Dorsey wouldn't be a bit surprised if many of them still walked these hallowed halls. Because as beautiful and luxurious as the house and its furnishings were, there was a definite creep factor at work, one that made her stomach pitch and roll.

Or maybe that was just a result of her own discomfort, she thought, a result of her own feelings of not belonging here. Wearing her mother's black velvet opera coat, dressed in her mother's strapless, emerald-green cocktail dress, in her mother's pearl choker and her mother's pearl drop earrings, Dorsey felt like… She felt like … like… Well, she felt like her mother.

Oh, fine . As if she wasn't already troubled enough.

Ever since she was old enough to understand what her mother did for a living, Dorsey had struggled to be as different from Carlotta as she could be. It wasn't because she disapproved of her mother or her mother's way of life, that had caused the reaction, however. Although she had never understood Carlotta's choices, Dorsey had never passed