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

out that he already had her heart. That he'd had it for a long time now, maybe even before that first night, when she'd had to drive him home from Drake's. That he would always have it, because he was the only man she'd ever come close to caring about. The only man she had ever wished she could touch. The only man she regretted knowing would never be a part of her life.

She still wasn't sure why she had told him everything she had about her past. For some reason, it had just seemed important that he know. She had no idea why. Really, it wasn't like her history was any of his business. And there was certainly nothing between them that warranted this kind of total, unvarnished honesty. But she had wanted him to know. Maybe because she was tired of him seeing her as Mulholland of Sunnybrook Farm. Or maybe because she was tired of seeing herself that way. Whatever. As difficult and uncomfortable as it had been to revisit all that, she felt strangely good for doing it. Cleaner, somehow. Less tarnished. More human.

And now he told her he wanted her heart. And, oh, how she wished she could give it to him. Totally, freely, without shadows, without pain. She gazed at his outstretched hand, steady, strong, and inviting. Maybe, she thought, just maybe…

Before she even realized what she was thinking of doing, Edie found herself lifting her own hand and extending it slowly toward him. Lucas fixed his gaze on the motion, but he didn't move in any way. He didn't reach for her, didn't take a step forward, didn't so much as shift his weight in her direction. So, feeling a little more confident, Edie opened her palm and held it out a bit farther. Her fingers trembled, but she didn't pull back, only focused all her concentration on what she was trying to do, what she wanted to do. She forced her feet to join in the overture, shuffling them forward, but still Lucas remained pinned to the spot. When she glanced up at his face, she found him gazing not at her hand anymore, but at her face, her eyes, her mouth. Another step forward brought her body within inches of his, yet still he made no move to intercept her.

So Edie lifted her hand a bit more, not toward his hand, but toward his face, toward his mouth. Very, very carefully, she moved her fingers to his lips. For a moment, she couldn't quite bring herself to make that final contact, couldn't quite cover that last, infinitesimal bit of space. Lucas's lips parted fractionally, his warm breath dancing over her fingers, stirring a desire deep inside her unlike anything she'd felt before.

"Touch me, Edie," he said softly, and the words seemed to wrap themselves around her fingertips, drawing them closer, closer, closer still.

And then suddenly she was touching him, brushing those same fingertips over the velvety warmth of his mouth, grazing first his lower lip and then his upper lip, over and over and over again, because she'd never felt anything so soft, so warm, so vital in her life. His eyes fluttered closed as her caresses multiplied, and he sighed softly, the sound nuzzling her palm and purling through her body like a languid summer breeze.

Oh… Oh, that felt so good …

Her heart hammering hard in her chest, Edie dragged her fingers slowly, gently, from his smooth lower lip to his rough jaw, over the hollow of his cheek, along the high ridge of his cheekbone. Gingerly, she threaded her fingers through the silky hair at his temple, skimmed them across his forehead, over his eyebrow, then traced the elegant line of his nose. But always her fingers returned to his mouth, as if captivated by that feature more than any other.

And Lucas, dear Lucas, stood motionless through it all, save the quick rise and fall of his chest as his respiration grew almost frantic. He let Edie move at her own pace, in her own time, to whatever she wanted to explore next. And Edie realized quickly that she did indeed want to explore more. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Maybe not even next week. But she did want to know more of Lucas. She wanted to know all of him. She just hoped he could be patient with her. She hoped he would think she was worth the wait.

"I'll wait as long as it takes, Edie," he said softly, clearly reading her thoughts from her expression. "We'll do this your way. However you want. For however long it takes. Just promise me you'll give it a chance."

She nodded as she ran a finger gently over his chin, then down the strong column of his throat. "I promise, Lucas," she told him softly. "I promise."

* * *

By the time Lucas left Edie's apartment, he was feeling bewitched, bothered and bewildered, dazed, dazzled and delighted. Not just because of the way she'd touched him, but because of the way she'd opened up to him, too. Because of the way he'd opened up to her. They'd talked for a long time—he sitting on the futon, she perched in the rocker—about everything they had in common and everything they didn't, everything they wanted for the future and everything they didn't.

Then, just before they'd said good-bye, Edie had let Lucas touch her, too. And as he'd slowly, carefully, skimmed his thumb over her warm palm, as he'd felt her pulse beneath his fingertips leap and dance, he'd been stunned to discover that he would wait forever for Edie Mulholland, if that was how long it took. Judging by the look on her face when he'd told her good night, however, it wasn't going to take forever.

He smiled as he exited her building and headed to his car, parked across the street. And it was only by sheer accident that he glanced toward the corner and saw a figure lurking in the shadows. In the