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

"You actually like that?" Lucas asked when he noted her interest.

She nodded and continued to gaze at it, not quite able to pull her attention away from it. "Yes, I do. I like it very much. It reminds me of a patch of violets after a summer rain. It's very soothing."

When she finally turned to look at Lucas, he had tilted his head to the side in a way that would have been comical had he not been genuinely trying to figure out the painting. Finally, he straightened again and shook his head. "I don't see it," he said. "It makes me think of a boxer whose face has just been beaten to a pulp."

She expelled a soft sound of derision and turned her attention back to the painting, feeling instantly soothed. "Naturally," she said softly. "Men always see something violent where they could find beauty instead."

This time when Lucas tipped his head sideways to ponder the nature of something, it was Edie whose nature he was pondering. She turned back to find him studying her with much interest, his eyes narrowed, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Strangely, she found herself wanting to nibble that lip herself, and it was with no small shock—and no small fear—that she acknowledged the reaction. Why on earth would she want to nibble anything on Lucas Conaway? As if she could ever get close enough to him without bolting in the first place.

"Why do you naturally assume a man will find something violent?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Because men are violent creatures, that's why."

"Not all men."

"Yes, all men."

He gaped. "Well, that's a sweeping sexist statement if ever there was one."

"It may be sweeping, but it's not sexist," she countered. "It's a statement of fact."

"You think I'm violent?" he asked frankly.

The question surprised her. Edie told herself it shouldn't. Naturally, being a man and therefore the object of her charge, he would challenge it. But it surprised her even more to find herself wanting to reply to the question in the negative. Lucas, for all his sarcasm and the hint of bitterness that surrounded him, didn't seem inherently violent. Yet he was clearly male. Too male. And therefore, he must, by nature, be violent. Right?

"Yes," she replied, even though she didn't quite believe herself. "I think you have the capacity to be violent."

"That's not what I asked you, Edie."

"Isn't it?"

He shook his head. "Everyone has the capacity to be violent, male or female. What I asked you is if you think I am violent."

"Well, not at the moment, no," she hedged.

"Have you ever seen me violent?"

This time she answered quite readily. "No."

"Yet you think me violent, just because I'm a man."

She hesitated, but ultimately replied, "Yes."

His expression remained impassive at her assertion, and Edie suddenly wanted to take back what she'd said, wanted to tell him that no, she was sure he was an exception, that she didn't for a moment think he had the potential to commit a violent act. But she couldn't quite convince herself of that.

She'd known a number of men in the past whom she had been confident would never raise a hand to her, and she'd been left bruised and bloodied as a result. Lucas, for all his polish and control, was essentially no different from any other man. He was as capable of violence—he was as violent, she amended reluctantly—as any of them.

"I see," he finally said. But he didn't elaborate. Nor did he press the subject further. And for that Edie was grateful.

He discarded his empty champagne flute on the tray of a passing waiter, then wrapped his fingers around the knot of his necktie and began to tug it free of his collar.

"Lucas, don't," Edie said, instinctively extending a hand to stop him. She caught herself just before her fingers would have closed over his, genuinely shocked that she had reacted in such a way. She never reached out to a man. And she certainly never touched one voluntarily. She couldn't imagine what had come over her to attempt it with Lucas. Hastily, she dropped her hand back to her side. "Don't loosen your tie," she told him. "You need to look perfect if you're going to attract a woman's eye here tonight."

He sighed irritably, but reluctantly fixed his tie. "Edie, we've been here for almost an hour," he pointed out as he completed the gesture, "and I don't think I've seen a woman's eye—or any other body part, for that matter—that I'd like to attract." But he threw her a considering look, as if his statement wasn't quite true and that there was, in fact, one woman whose body parts he would very much like to attract, but she found him violent, so there was little chance of that ever happening now, was there?

"You don't have to like it," she told him, assuring herself she did not sound—or feel—breathless. "As you said, it's just for a story. But you know, at the rate you're going with this tycoon trapping business, I think it might be time to break out one of those diaphanous gowns."

"Very funny."

His necktie—and the rest of him—once again looking dapper and sophisticated and dreamy and handsome and gorgeous and luscious and mouth-watering and… Oh, damn, Edie mused. She'd lost her train of thought.

"Just how did you manage to get us into this thing tonight, anyway?" Lucas asked then, diverting her attention once again.

She shrugged off the question. "A friend did me a favor, that's all."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Which friend?"

"Mr. Davenport from Drake's."

"What?"

Now it was Edie's turn to eye him suspiciously. He sounded absolutely furious about her admission. "Is there a problem with that?" she asked.

He gaped at her for a moment before hissing, "You're damned right there's a problem with that."

She gaped back at him. "Well, I'd like to know what it is."

He frowned. "The problem is that I don't trust that guy around you, and now you're telling me