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

"My father," she told Adam, "was one of my mother's benefactors. Many, many years ago," she added unnecessarily.

"You say that in the past tense," he noted.

She nodded. "That's because all of it is in the past."

"He's not a part of your mother's life anymore?"

"No."

"Not a part of your life?"

"No."

"Do you know who he is?"

Dorsey felt herself coloring and fought the heat back down. She had no reason to feel embarrassed, she told herself. She wasn't responsible for her illegitimacy. And these days, there was little stigma attached to such a birth. Had it only been that way when she was a child, too, things might have been a little easier.

"Yes," she told Adam. "I know who he is."

"And he knows about you?"

"Yes."

"Yet he's not a part of your life."

"No."

"Nor your mother's."

"No."

His interrogation having evidently concluded with that, Adam studied her in silence for a long moment, his focus never wavering, his posture never changing, his eyes fixed intently on her face. Dorsey, too, said nothing, waited to hear what his reaction would be before acting one way or another. Finally, just when she thought he would never speak again, he did respond, in a very, very soft voice.

But all he said was, "Ah-hah."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Ah-hah?" she echoed, just as quietly. "What does that mean?"

"It means, my dear Mack, that you're finally beginning to make sense to me."

Gee, that makes one of us, Dorsey thought. She decided not to ponder how his casually offered endearment punched the puree setting on her pulse rate. Best not to think about that right now, she told herself. So instead of pursuing his odd statement, she decided to answer the question he had asked her what seemed now like a lifetime ago.

"And that's why I chose to major in sociology," she told him. "Because, having grown up watching my mother's … social habits, I've always been fascinated by the dynamic between men and women. As much as I've spouted off about men ruling the world—and I do believe they rule it—it often seems to me that there's a pretty blurry line between who really controls whom."

Adam's features knitted in puzzlement once again. "Don't you mean who really controls what?" he asked.

Dorsey shook her head. "No. Men control the world. There's no question there. But so many men in positions of power have risked it all or lost it all or thrown it all away because of some indiscretion or obsession with a woman. It makes for a fascinating paradox," she said, warming to her subject. "If men control the world—which they do—and women control men—which they do—then doesn't that put women in the position of supreme power? And if it does, then why haven't women made the most of it? Why are we still second-class citizens?"

Adam gazed at her blandly now. "That's an easy one, Mack."

She gazed blandly back at him. "Then tell me the answer."

"Because women don't control men," he said simply. "Your whole hypothesis is skewed."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is. You yourself just said that your own mother has only survived in this world by depending on men. She didn't control them. They controlled her."

"I'm not necessarily arguing with you," Dorsey said. "But think about it. Who really controls whom in a relationship like that? It's generally men who are in the highest positions of power who indulge in this kind of relationship. Yes, the man provides the woman with compensation for her companionship. But he wouldn't be involved in that relationship with her—often an extramarital one, I might add—if the woman didn't have some kind of power over him, some kind of control. Something that he needs and can only get from her."

Adam sat up straighter, his interest clearly more than piqued. "You're a Ph.D. candidate, and you can't figure that one out?" he asked her, smiling in a way that made her insides go slack with heat.

"No, I can't," she told him frankly. "Not really. Not sufficiently. Even after writing my master's thesis on the topic, I'm not satisfied with the conclusions that I drew."

He shook his head in clear disappointment. "All that research, and you still don't see the most obvious thing in the world," he said. His smile grew broader, and somehow she got the feeling that he was laughing at her. "I think you need a study partner."

"No, I don't," she countered, battling a sudden rush of heat and wanting that came out of nowhere and threatened to run rampant through her body. "I have all the sources and resources that I need right at my fingertips."

"Mm," he replied. "Wish I had all your sources and resources—among other things—at my fingertips. And other places, too," he added before she could stop him.

"Adam…" she began, striving for another warning that never quite materialized.

Without further comment, but with much purpose, he pushed himself out of the corner of the sofa where he had been so adorably slumped. Then, little by little, he made his way down to the other end, where Dorsey was sitting. She had thought it would be a long trip, considering the size of the furniture in question. Somehow, though, it took him no time at all to cover the distance.

And when it finally occurred to her what he had on his mind, when she finally realized his desire—nay, his intent—she shifted her position, prepared to excuse herself from what she could clearly see coming, what she was in no way prepared to pursue. But just as she stood, he snaked out his hand and deftly wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Then, very gently, he tugged once to pull her back down. Dorsey had no choice but to fall back to the sofa beside him, landing in his arms, just, she was sure, as he had planned.

"You want to know who controls whom in a relationship like that?" he asked, fairly purring the words into her ear. "Well, now, Mack, why don't we just