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

wonderful night together, and yes, the future for them looked very bright. But what if, when he learned the truth, Adam became angry? Angry about the deception, angry that it was Dorsey who had penned a book he reviled? What if he became angry enough to forget what they had just shared? Angry enough to expose her as Lauren? Angry enough to disrupt her life even more than it had already been disrupted?

In spite of everything, she honestly didn't know him all that well. What the two of them had discovered together was still so new, so fragile, so uncertain. She wanted to believe he would never do anything to hurt her. But she wasn't sure she could make that leap of faith. Not yet.

"Adam, I—"

Dorsey never found out what she was going to tell him, because the hand he had dropped to the mattress moved to the sheet she'd wrapped loosely around herself. With a gentle tug, he freed it from her shoulder, baring one breast. Then, without hesitation, he opened his hand over her naked flesh and palmed her with easy possession. The sensation that shot through her was a keen mixture of heat and cold, of desire and foreboding, of wishing and warning. But the former quickly overrode the latter in every case, and Dorsey lifted a hand to run her fingers through his hair.

He was so handsome. So tender. So wonderful. And she simply did not want to do anything that would jeopardize the tentative feelings that seemed to have come out of nowhere last night. Surely, later they could talk, and she would find some way to make sense of it all. Surely, later she would find some way to explain. Surely later—

"I want you again," he said softly.

But he did nothing to alter his leisurely posture. He only watched her face intently as he rubbed his open hand back and forth over her breast, rousing in her fire and heat and need. Dorsey curled her fingers around his nape and lay back on the bed, pulling him down with her until his mouth hovered just above her own. Then, with one more gentle nudge, she caught his lips with hers, nuzzling them, nipping them, before running the tip of her tongue along the seam that parted them. He opened to her willingly, and she drove her tongue inside, tasting Adam and the promise of a languid Sunday morning.

For now, that was enough, she told herself. Because a languid Sunday morning with him was more than she had ever had with anyone else before. If what she suspected was happening between them was actually happening between them, there would be time for explanations later.

She only hoped there wouldn't be a time for regrets, too.

* * *

When Lauren Grable-Monroe took the stage at North-western at precisely three-thirty that afternoon, Adam was glad he had arrived early enough to snag himself a seat up close. Not just because the crush of people—mostly women … mostly college women … mostly rabid college women—behind him were so enthusiastic, and not because he might have had trouble hearing otherwise. But because she was dressed in va-va-voom red that really did bear seeing up close.

The short, slim skirt hugged legs encased in sheer black silk, and the shorter, slimmer jacket hung open over a scooped-neck, snug black top. Adam got the impression of dangerous curves and not much else, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost smell the elusive, erotic scent that must surely surround her.

She was an eyeful, that was for sure. Eye candy, he thought further, having heard the phrase from Lucas and finally understanding what it meant. Lauren Grable-Monroe, with her blond, blond hair and dark, dark eyes and red, red mouth—not to mention that do-me-baby body—was every man's dream. And once she was front and center onstage, Adam was glad he'd made the trip to Evanston . Because her front and center was just too nice to miss.

Of course, he hadn't been so glad earlier that day, when he'd had to leave the warmth of his bed and Mack to shower and change and return to the real world. He hadn't been lying to her when he'd told her it had felt good to wake up and find her in his bed that morning. Actually, that had been a lie, he backpedaled now. Because waking up beside Mack had felt infinitely more than good. It had felt extraordinary. Incredible. Amazingly right.

As consciousness had gradually dawned on him that morning, Adam had opened his eyes to the indolent, erotic sensations of soft, round breast cradled in one hand and soft, round bottom nestled against full erection. He'd been nearly overcome by the warm, rosy reality of having her in his bed, had wanted to enter her right then, that way, with their bodies spooned back to front as he moved in and out of her from behind.

Instead, he'd only lain there and held her, enjoying the peaceful, innocent feel of her in his arms. She really was very easy to hold. So easy, that he hadn't wanted to let her go. Ever. And that, more than anything else, had shaken Adam to his core. It was one thing to want a woman as much as he wanted Mack. It was another thing entirely for that wanting to go so deep and for that wanting to go on forever. Yet way down deep inside himself, he was beginning to think that he wanted her in just that way. Soul deep. For all time. And he couldn't for the life of him understand why.

Yes, she was a beautiful, intelligent, passionate woman. But there was certainly no shortage of those in Chicago . Why did Mack make him feel so different from how other women he had dated—other women he had bedded—had made him feel? There shouldn't be any more to his relationship with her than he'd had with anyone else. But there was. He couldn't quite put his