How to Trap a Tycoon(4)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Like right now, for instance.

With those incredible brown eyes.

And that impudent little grin.

And that dark hair that would never quite stay tamed, as if he ran his fingers through it in exasperation constantly, hair that Dorsey always found herself wanting to reach out and ruffle herself. Over and over and over again. Preferably while both of them were somewhere other than Drake’s. Somewhere alone. In the dark. Horizontal. And naked.

And then there was the way his jacket was always hanging on a nearby peg, and the way his vest was always unbuttoned, and the way his necktie was always askew, as if he only conformed to the suits because he had to, and if he had his choice, he’d much rather be wearing something else entirely—like maybe a sexy denim shirt and some tight Levi’s or something. Or some sexy silk pajama bottoms with no tops or something. Or nothing at all or something.

Um, where was she?

Oh, yeah. She was thinking about how she never had time to think about Adam Darien—she was far too busy with … stuff. Besides, doing things like thinking about him, and, oh … imagining what he looked like na**d would only make him that much harder to forget when the time came for Dorsey to leave her position here at Drake’s. And the time would definitely come. In just a few months, too. So Mr. Darien would always remain on the fringes of her thoughts. And he would never, ever be na**d when he was hanging around those fringes.

Well, okay, almost never.

Twisting the wedding band on her left hand, Dorsey covered the short distance between herself and the bar, trying to pretend that she didn’t feel his gaze consuming her, noting that, in addition to her regular customers who had shown up early this cloudy, fallish Friday afternoon—one of whom, she couldn’t quite help but note again was Mr. Darien—one of Edie’s regulars was still hanging around.

Edie Mulholland was the daily lunchtime bartender at Drake’s, and Straight-Shot-of-Stoli was the most regular of her regulars.

According to Edie, he came in every afternoon at two-thirty, and Dorsey had seen for herself how he stayed until a few minutes after she left for the day at four.

Had Dorsey been a more charitable woman, she would have assured herself that Straight-Shot-of-Stoli cared for Edie the way a man his age might care for one of his daughters. But even if he’d never made a pass at the other bartender, Dorsey was reasonably certain that Straight-Shot’s intentions toward Edie were anything but honorable.

He looked to be in his mid-forties, something that would make him more than two decades older than Edie. But Dorsey had to grudgingly admit that he was a very handsome man. His black hair held only a few negligent threads of gray, and his blue eyes suggested a wealth of intelligence and good humor. Beneath the pin-striped power suits he favored, his body was slim and firm and fit.

There was, unfortunately, one problem. Like Dorsey, he sported a wedding band on the third finger of his left hand. And she was fairly certain that his reason for doing so didn’t quite mirror her own. It was something that rather compromised any feelings—whether honorable or not—he might have had for young Edie.

That didn’t stop him, however, from visiting with the other bartender pretty much every day. Or from saying things like—

"Edie, you need someone to take care of you."

—as he was saying when Dorsey pushed up the hinged section of the bar and strode quickly behind it.

"I know, Mr. Davenport, I really do need a keeper," Edie said in response, just as she always did. And, as always, her voice was the picture of politeness when she said it.

Which was no surprise at all, because Edie Mulholland was, without question, the nicest, most courteous person on the planet. And had Edie’s remark about needing a keeper come from any other woman, Dorsey probably would have lost every bit of respect she had for her. Then she probably would have smacked her open hand against the other woman’s forehead and cried, "Snap out of it!" They had, after all, come a long way, baby. The last thing Dorsey’s gender needed was for some sweet, young thing like Edie Mulholland to hurl them all back into high heels and pearls. Or, worse, chastity belts and those funny little pointed hats with the scarves attached.

But Edie did need someone to take care of her. Because in addition to being the nicest, most courteous person on the planet, she was also the sweetest, the most generous—and the most trusting.

She was exactly the kind of person that predators—predators like, oh, say, Straight-Shot-of-Stoli—came after. And she wouldn’t know what hit her until it was too late.

"And believe me, I’m working on it," she added in an aside to Straight-Shot as she lifted a hand in greeting to Dorsey. "If all goes well, I’m going to find exactly the person I’m looking for. Soon."

"Edie, I’m sorry I’m late," Dorsey said as she slung her white apron over her head and reached behind herself to tie it. "I was at the library, and time just got away from me."

"That’s okay," the other woman said as she repeated Dorsey’s action in reverse—unfastening and tugging her apron over her head. "I can still make it before they close," she added as she fingered her delicate blond bangs to straighten them.

"I’ll come in a half-hour early on Monday, okay?"

Edie smiled, her blue eyes full of a genuine happiness at the simple pleasure of being alive.

Some people, Dorsey supposed, were just decent folks. And Edie Mulholland was their queen.

"Don’t worry about it," she said, reaching beneath the bar to collect her things—history and humanities textbooks for when the bar was empty, fashion magazines for when the regulars began to trickle in. Because smart women generally received lousy tips. "It’s no big deal," she added. "Honest."

"I’m still coming in early to relieve you on Monday."

"Fine," Edie said. "But have a nice weekend between now and then, okay?"

Yeah, right , Dorsey thought. With a barely begun dissertation that was due in six months waiting for her at home? With volumes of research to perform and analyze? With papers to grade and a midterm to create? Not likely.

Nevertheless, she assured Edie that she would do her best, and only then did the other bartender wad up her apron and throw it in the linen bin beneath the bar. Then Edie quickly began to pack up her own backpack. She was zipping it up when Dorsey realized she’d left a book behind, a lone paperback sitting on a shelf beneath the bar.

"You forgot one," she said, reaching out to grab it. She was handing it to Edie when she noted the title of the book and frowned. "Oh, Edie," she added, unable to mask the disappointment in her voice when she saw what it was. "Not you, too. I can’t believe you’re reading this stuff."