How to Trap a Tycoon(51)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

He grazed the back of his hand down the slender column of her throat, then turned it to dip his middle finger in the delicate hollow at its base. "Like tonight maybe," he suggested.

"To-tonight?" she asked huskily.

He nodded again. "I have to be in Evanston this afternoon, but I should be done there by six. I could swing by your place on my way home and pick you up. We could grab a bite to eat, maybe go hear some nice jazz, and then come back here. What do you say?"

Frankly, Dorsey couldn’t say anything. Because she’d heard little past the word, " Evanston ." Although tiny bonfires had exploded inside her every time, everywhere, Adam touched her, a cold, brittle weight now wedged itself tight somewhere between her stomach and her heart. And she couldn’t quite make herself breathe around it.

"You, uh … you’re going to Evanston this afternoon?" she asked, amazed that she’d managed to form the question, so numb was she feeling. "What for?"

He dropped his hand to the mattress, and Dorsey felt both gratitude and regret for his retreat. "Lauren Grable-Monroe is speaking at Northwestern today," he muttered distastefully. "And since I’ve had no choice but to submit to the American public’s demands and include a piece on her in Man’s Life, I figure the least I can do is try to wrangle an interview with the woman."

Telling herself not to sound too interested, but helpless not to pursue the matter, Dorsey asked him, "Why don’t you just call her publisher and set something up?"

He didn’t seem to think the question odd, because he answered quite readily, "I was going to do that, but there’s just something about ambushing the woman that appeals to my baser instincts. So I thought I’d catch her by surprise after her lecture this afternoon."

Oh, no you won’t , Dorsey thought. You’ve just blown your advantage. She is on to you, mister. Bigtime.

And she tried to forget how he had been on her—in her—only hours ago. Unfortunately, memories of last night came roaring up to overwhelm her, and Dorsey realized that, regardless of where he was in the world, Adam would always be inside her. Even if she lived to be one hundred years old, she would never forget a moment of what they had shared last night. Especially since it was looking unlikely that they would ever have a chance to repeat it.

Because she had forgotten that there was a woman standing between them. Namely, Lauren Grable-Monroe.

Now what? she wondered as a cool lump of dread settled inside her. What on earth was she supposed to do? She’d just spent the most glorious night of her life with a man who might very well prove to be someone special, and Lauren Grable-Monroe was about to step right between them and shove them apart. She had to tell him the truth, she thought. She couldn’t keep carrying on with the charade. Not where Adam was concerned. How could she keep lying to him after what they had shared last night?

But what if he blew her cover? she asked herself. Yes, the two of them had just shared a 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 na**d 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.