How to Trap a Tycoon by Elizabeth Bevarly (thriller books to read txt) 📕

"Ah." Then, stepping aside to extend an arm toward the interior, he bade her, "Come on in."

Dorsey tried not to be too hurt by the fact that he seemed to not even remember what had happened the last time they were together. Hey, the least he could do was look a little melancholy, feel a little hungry, the way she did herself. But he appeared to have moved on to other things. Other women? she wondered before she could stop herself. And he seemed to have forgotten completely that scarcely a week ago he had been trying—and succeeding really well, she recalled a bit breathlessly—to cop a feel on her … front porch. Among other places.

Fine , she thought. She could be just as indifferent as he could. She'd just stroll right into his apartment and not notice him at all, not notice just how…

Wow . Okay, so she wouldn't be able to completely ignore her surroundings, she realized immediately. Because in addition to Adam looking just too, too yummy, dammit, his penthouse was the most sumptuous place she'd ever seen.

The far wall was all windows, offering a spectacular view of the Chicago skyline, spattered with lights and washed in the pinks and oranges of a setting sun. The furnishings were utterly masculine—dark woods and neutral leather, and the floors were covered by massive Oriental rugs with abstract designs. The mantelpiece of the dark mahogany fireplace was fairly obscured by antique models of ships, and it bisected floor to ceiling bookcases that boasted hundreds of leather-bound volumes. On the wall between them, above the fireplace, was a painting of what looked to be a turn-of-the-century harbor full of more boats.

The dining area lay near the windows, and Dorsey could just make out the entrance to the kitchen on one side. The cacophony of clanking dishes and clinking glass told her someone was in there preparing hors d'oeuvres. She knew she should be getting to work, herself, setting up the bar in preparation for his guests' arrival.

"Mack. You coming?"

She heard Adam call to her from the other side of the room and only then realized that she had been standing there by the front door, gaping at her surroundings while he had moved blindly on to other matters. Now she turned her glance in his direction and found him standing framed by an elegant archway on the other side of the room, still acting as if nothing had happened between them.

Judging by his response, she might very well have dreamed the entire episode. There was nothing in his expression, nothing in his voice, nothing in his posture, to suggest that the two of them had shared the intimacy they had. Maybe she really had dreamed the whole thing, she thought. Maybe the entire exchange had simply been a fantasy conjured by her overwrought brain. Maybe he really hadn't pulled her into his arms and kissed her senseless. Maybe he really didn't feel anything for her at all beyond a fond friendship. Maybe all of her dreams and hopes and memories were little more than smoke and sparkle.

"I thought we could set up the bar here in my library," he told her, tipping his head at the room on the other side. "It's fairly centrally located and large enough to accommodate a good number of people."

Dorsey barely heeded what he was saying, because she was too busy trying to make sense of her feelings. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? For him—and her, too—to forget about what had happened a week ago and return to the way things had been before. Adam seemed perfectly willing and capable of doing exactly that. So why couldn't Dorsey do likewise? It would be disastrous to wish for more with him, impossible for anything significant to come of it. Any relationship beyond friendship that might arise between them was doomed from the start. Even their friendship would probably suffer a fatal blow if Adam ever found out that Lauren Grable-Monroe was actually Dorsey "Mack" MacGuinness. Rank deception did tend to wreak havoc on a personal relationship, after all. Go figure.

She should be grateful for his indifference, she thought. And she should mimic it herself. So why did she want so badly to walk across the room right now and cover his mouth with hers and lose herself in another one of those potent, relentless embraces?

Probably, she thought, because he looked so very kissable right now, that was all. If she'd thought him handsome in the elegant atmosphere of Drake's—and certainly, she had thought him handsome at Drake's—then he was doubly so here in his own home. As skillfully arranged as everything was, there was a casualness about the place that mirrored what she had sensed was a part of his own personality. He seemed more at ease here, more comfortable. More confident. She wouldn't have thought such a thing was possible, but here in his home, Adam Darien was even more self-assured than she'd ever seen him, and somehow that made him sexier than he'd ever been before.

Her heart hummed in an irregular, hip-hop rhythm, but she managed to force her feet in his direction. He didn't move at all as he watched her approach, only stood framed in the arched doorway. As she drew nearer, and he didn't alter his position, she slowed her pace some and waited for him to step aside. Belatedly, however, she realized he wasn't going to step aside. And also belatedly, she realized it wasn't a particularly wide archway that framed him.

She hesitated.

He didn't alter his position.

She came to a halt.

He didn't alter his position.

She gestured toward the room on the other side and raised her eyebrows in silent query.

He smiled. But didn't alter his position.

"Um, do you mind?" she asked pointedly.

"Not at all. In fact, I'm rather looking forward to it," he said.

Her heart hammered harder. "Adam, move out of the way."

He feigned confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"You're standing in my way," she