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

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Dorsey told herself that the reason she didn't immediately withdraw from Adam was because she was too exhausted to make the effort. But when he brushed his fingertips lightly along her throat, when he stroked his thumb leisurely over her collarbone, when he dipped his head to nuzzle the sensitive skin beneath her ear, she realized that exhaustion had nothing to do with her capitulation. Because suddenly, Dorsey wasn't tired anymore. Suddenly, she experienced a renewed surge of energy that would allow her to do just about anything she wanted.

And she wanted. Oh, how she wanted.

She wanted Adam. Every hard, muscular, arrogant inch of him. She wanted him stretched out beside her, nestled on top of her, moving behind her. She wanted his hands roving hungrily over every part of her body, wanted to explore every part of his in return. And the moment Adam cupped a hand over her nape and bent his head to hers, the second he covered her mouth with his and plied her lips tenderly with his own, he shattered any objection Dorsey might have uttered.

Especially when the fingers that had strummed along her collarbone moved lower to free a few more of the buttons on her shirt. Instead of protesting—why on earth would she?—Dorsey lifted one hand to thread her fingers through Adam's silky hair, looping the other around his neck to hold him close. She returned his kisses with equal fire, equal passion, equal need. And with each brush of her mouth over his, with every sample of him she enjoyed, her desire for him multiplied, her hunger for him amplified, her need for him intensified.

He just tasted so good. And he felt so good. Everything in her life that had come before tonight seemed to fade to nothingness somehow. In that moment, Adam was everything to her. He overshadowed her past, filled her present, became her future. He dominated every thought, every feeling, every response she had. The totality of the experience should have overwhelmed her. Somehow, though, it all seemed to fit so perfectly. And Dorsey decided then to make the most of the evening. Of Adam. Of their time together. She simply would not think about how long that time might be.

When he pulled his mouth from hers, she reluctantly let him go. But he didn't want to go far. His face hovered just over hers, his brown eyes seeming darker than usual somehow, his lips curved into a tempting little smile. He smelled of smoky whiskey and sweet cigars, the twin vices only enhancing his already potent allure. In that moment, Dorsey knew she was done for. But she could think of no better way to go down.

"Is it just me?" he murmured softly as he lifted a hand to wrap an errant curl around his forefinger. "Or is this something we should have done a long time ago?"

She chuckled low. "It does seem rather silly that we've avoided it, doesn't it?"

"'Silly' doesn't quite seem the right word to me," he told her. "'Amazing' is more like it."

She spread her hand open over his rough jaw, raked her thumb lightly over his masculine mouth. "I just hope we're not making a terrible mistake."

He loosed the curl he had twined around his finger and placed that finger gently over her lips. "Don't," he said. "Don't ever once think that this is a mistake. It's not. No matter what happens, Mack, this, tonight, is not a mistake."

She opened her mouth to speak again, but he silenced her with a kiss. And then another. And another. And another. As he took her mouth again and again, he reached around to free the band that held what little of her braid remained in place. He pulled back as the dark auburn tresses tumbled free around her shoulders, then buried his fist in a particularly lush collection of curls. Gently, he tugged her forward, and Dorsey went without hesitation. Then he bent toward her to nuzzle her throat again, dragging his open mouth lightly up and down the side of her neck.

Too late, she realized his ministrations were meant to distract her while he freed a few more buttons on her shirt and tucked his hand casually inside it. Before she could object—not that she necessarily wanted to—he found the champagne-colored lace of her brassiere beneath and deftly began to explore. At first, he only grazed his thumb along the upper and lower lines of the garment, over the sensitive flesh of her upper torso and each elegant rib he encountered.

Little bonfires erupted everywhere his fingertips met flesh, and before she even realized she intended to speak, very, very, softly Dorsey murmured the word, "Please." Please what, she couldn't possibly have said. She only knew that what he was doing wasn't quite enough. She wanted more. She needed more. Of Adam and all that he promised.

Her soft, single-word petition was all the encouragement he needed. He dragged his lips back up along her throat, over her ear, her jaw, her chin, then finally covered her mouth with his. Dorsey answered his demand in kind, opening to receive him, to make herself fully accessible for his erotic plunder. And plunder her he did. He thrust his tongue full into her mouth, tasting her deeply, his slick passion nearly overwhelming her.

His big body pressed into hers, urging her backward, until Dorsey lay half on her back, her head cushioned in the palm of his hand. He positioned his own body sideways alongside and over hers, so that she lay between him and the back of the sofa. Strangely, Adam seemed larger lying down than he did standing up, and a small tremor of anticipation shook her as he crowded himself more insistently against her. The fingers that had been dancing along the lacy perimeter of her bra dipped lower, and he filled his hand with her, palming the tender peak of her breast with much affection. She heard the soft whisper