How to Trap a Tycoon(25)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Fire flashed in his belly when he tasted her for the first time and he savored the mingling essences of wine and woman. Wanting more, he stepped forward and closed what little distance still lay between them. The hand he’d caught in her hair framed her face just as easily, and he tipped her head back some, so that he could plunder her mouth at will. At the same time, he slipped his other hand around her waist, splaying it open at the small of her back to push her gently forward into his embrace.

For just the briefest of moments, she stiffened, doubling her fists loosely against his chest. But she made no effort to push him away. And then, without warning, she melted into him, curving one hand over his shoulder, threading the fingers of her other slowly through his hair. Tightening his arm around her waist, Adam pulled her upward, closer to himself. He buried his face in the delicate curve where her neck joined her shoulder, nuzzling the soft, fragrant skin he encountered there. She sighed, murmuring a feather-light sound of contentment, then tilted her head back even more. When she did, he felt the ends of her hair brush over the hand he held at her back, a sensation that was surprisingly arousing.

She smelled incredible, a heavy, heady, intoxicating scent that seemed both perfectly suitable and entirely inappropriate for her. It tempted him, lulled him, drew him closer still. Nosing aside the wide neck of her sweater, he pressed his lips to her throat, dragging light, open-mouthed kisses up and down the slender column before running the tip of his tongue along her collarbone.

She murmured another low, provocative sound and crowded her body closer to his, and his heart hammered wildly at the gentle thrust and fluid motion of her soft br**sts against his chest. The hand he had pressed to her back fell to the curve of her bottom, and he pushed her forward, upward, rubbing her belly languidly against the swollen, heavy hardness that swelled urgently against his trousers.

A torrent of desire flooded him as their bodies met, and a ballast of need rocked him. And for one very brief, very scary moment, Adam thought he might never recover.

Too far, too soon , he thought. Way, way, too far. Way, way, too soon.

Somehow, he rallied his resources to retreat, but not by much. He nuzzled her neck again, more slowly, less urgently this time, then looped his arms loosely around her waist and tucked her head beneath his chin. Mack clung to him and buried her face in his shoulder, breathing erratically, her entire body trembling. Somehow, he sensed she was reluctant to look at him. And he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.

For one long moment, Adam only held her in silence, wondering what the hell had just happened. Gradually, he managed to will his own heart rate to settle, and slowly, he goaded his libido into submission. Eventually, Mack lifted her head from his shoulder, but she didn’t pull herself away. Nor did she look up to meet his gaze. Instead, she focused her attention on his chest, and idly—nervously—fingered the lapels of his jacket.

But she didn’t say a word.

So Adam spoke instead. Sort of. "You’re, um…" Finding that particular effort a bit difficult to manage, he cleared his throat and tried again. "This is just a shot in the dark, but… You’re not … married, are you?"

Mack expelled a single humorless chuckle, then glanced up at him for the merest of moments before looking away again. Nevertheless, it was time enough for him to see that she was a little dazed and a lot confused. Maybe even as confused as he was himself.

"Gosh, figured that out all by yourself, did you?" she replied quietly. She shook her head slowly. "No, I’m not married," she added. "I wear a wedding ring at Drake’s to keep the members from hitting on me, that’s all."

He nodded, even though he wasn’t sure he understood or approved of the deception. "Ever been married?" he asked further.

She gazed out at the dark street and shook her head again. "No."

"There’s no Dave the bulldozer operator?"

"No."

"No one at all?"

This time she hesitated before replying. And she continued to avoid his gaze.

So Adam clarified his question. "No one special who fills your head during the day and your bed at night?"

She squeezed her eyes shut tight for a moment, then opened them again. Very, very slowly, she looked up to meet his gaze. "There’s no one in my bed at night, no."

Suggesting that there was someone who filled her head during the day, Adam concluded. Somehow, though, he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask her who that might be.

"You doing anything tomorrow night?" he asked her impulsively.

She hesitated before answering, but she didn’t look away. "I have to work."

He nodded. "Right. I forgot." Hoping he didn’t sound too desperate, but worried that he did—desperate was, after all, exactly what he was feeling—he asked, "Can you get someone else to take your shift?"

With clear reluctance, she told him, "No. I can’t. I’ve already asked Lindy for too many nights off lately. I don’t think she’s going to tolerate too many more."

Adam wanted to ask her about all those missed shifts, was curious as to just why there had been so many of them lately. But the question that came out of his mouth instead was, "When’s your next night off? I want to see you again."

For a long moment, she only gazed up at him in silence, her dark brows arrowed downward in very clear concern. Adam couldn’t imagine what she had to feel worried about. In spite of all the uncertainty tying him up in knots, he hadn’t felt this good himself for a long, long time.

"I’ll be off Thursday," she told him. "But I, um … I’m busy. I can’t see you. I’m sorry."

"How about this weekend, then?"

She shook her head again, harder this time. "I can’t. I have to … I have something I have to do."

A knot of anxiety closed tighter inside him at her response. After the way they’d just responded to each other, he’d begun to think that maybe the two of them… Well. He wasn’t sure what to think the two of them might do. But he had been thinking in terms of the two of them. And that was more than a little unsettling.

"Is it because of your job at Drake’s?" he asked. "Because Lindy would fire you if she found out you and I were going out? Because if that’s the reason, Mack, she’ll never have to know. Or if that makes you uncomfortable, then I can talk to her, and maybe—"

"It’s not that," she interrupted him.

"Then what?"

A slash of disappointment darkened her features. "I just have things to do, okay?"

Things to do , he echoed to himself. He couldn’t recall ever being brushed off quite so vaguely. Things to do. Yeah, that was pretty clear.