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

She said nothing in response to that, and Lucas didn't push. He was still thinking about how she had touched him—okay, slapped him … details, details, sheesh—earlier in the evening, and he was still wondering how to go about broaching that particular subject with her. Because he did indeed intend to broach that particular subject with her. And he would do it before this night was through. He just hadn't quite decided yet how he was going to tiptoe delicately around it.

"So, Edie, about that little slap you gave me earlier this evening," he began. Okay, so forget the tiptoeing. Steamrollering had always worked much better for him, anyway. "Did you enjoy that as much as I did?"

He glanced over at her again, and this time he found her smiling. Still looking beat, frustrated, and confused, but smiling. It wasn't a big smile, but it wasn't bad. It was something they could work on.

"I enjoyed it more than you could possibly know," she told him.

He smiled back. "I thought so."

"But probably not in the same way you did," she qualified.

"Oh, I don't know about that," he told her. "How does the saying go? A little S and M now and then is relished by the wisest men."

She hesitated only slightly before revealing, "I've never heard that saying."

He feigned surprise. "No? Well, I sure have."

"And it wasn't S and M," she corrected him.

"Wasn't it?"

"No, it was F and R."

"F and R?"

"Fun and rewarding."

He threw her a lascivious grin. "So then we did enjoy it in the same way."

She expelled a few halfhearted chuckles. "You are the strangest man," she said.

Her comment stung just enough that Lucas couldn't quite stop himself from remarking, "Oh, and that's something coming from a woman who can slap a man without compunction but can't tolerate having his hand curled innocently over hers."

Once again, he felt Edie stiffen in the seat beside him. "That's none of your business, Lucas."

"Maybe not," he retorted. "But it sure as hell makes it difficult to get to know you better."

"Then don't try to get to know me better."

He kept his gaze trained on the road ahead as he said, "See, now that's going to be something of a problem."

"Why?"

"Because, Edie, I'd really like to get to know you better."

She said nothing in response to his assertion, and from the corner of his eye, Lucas saw her turn her head to look out the window at the quickly passing night beyond. "You'll get over it," she said softly.

"Maybe," he conceded. "But maybe I don't want to get over it."

"You'll get over it," she repeated, more softly than before.

He wanted to tell her that was unlikely, seeing as how he had no intention of even trying to get over her. But the words never formed in his mouth—or his brain, for that matter—which was actually just as well, because they'd arrived at her apartment building. Which was actually not so well, after all, because before the car had even come to a complete halt, Edie was scrambling out of it to rush up the walkway toward the big, rectangular, utterly nondescript brick building.

"Edie, wait!" Lucas called after her.

But the exclamation got lost under the sound of a slammed passenger side door.

"Dammit," he muttered as he reached for his own door.

He didn't catch up with her until he hit the second floor of the building and saw her jamming her key into her front lock. Quickly, Lucas strode forward and, without thinking, moved behind her and thrust his hand against the door. It landed spread open wide with a loud thump, and although his body never made contact with hers, at his abrupt appearance, Edie leaped backward. The front door halted her, but that didn't prevent her from crowding herself back against it. And it didn't stop her from looking terrified.

It didn't stop her from being terrified.

Because, clearly, she was terrified, Lucas noted. Her lips were parted fractionally, her chest was rising and falling with her rapid respiration, and her eyes were wide with apprehension.

"Don't hurt me," she said softly. "Please."

Lucas's own heart began to pound fiercely then at the evidence of what lay before him. Evidence of what he had suspected since that night he'd had too much to drink at Drake's. Somebody—who knew who, who knew why, who knew how long ago—had obviously mistreated Edie Mulholland and mistreated her badly. It didn't bear thinking about, but he knew that, at some point, he'd have to think about it. At the moment, however, he could only try and see clear of the red haze of rage that clouded his vision and do his best to calm her down.

"Edie, I would never hurt you," he said softly. More than anything in the world, he wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms, but he knew that was the last thing she would tolerate. "You have to know that. I would never—I could never—hurt you."

"Just let me go inside," she said. "And then go away. Please, Lucas. Just leave me alone."

As much as he hated to retreat from her when she was like this, he knew she was too frightened for him to try reasoning with her. So he took a giant step back and held both hands up before him, palms out, in a gesture of surrender, of supplication. For a moment, she didn't move at all, only eyed him warily, as if she couldn't believe he'd done what she told him to do, as if she still expected him to pounce. Then, very slowly, she turned to the door again and twisted her key in the lock.

"Edie, let's talk about this," he said as she began to push the door open. "Let's not let the night end this way."

She said nothing as she ducked inside her apartment, but she didn't immediately slam the door and lock it, as Lucas would have guessed she would. Instead, she hesitated, standing framed by the doorway and