How to Trap a Tycoon(57)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

But what he felt for Mack was unlike anything he had ever felt for anyone else, so who knew? Maybe he was falling in love with her. Falling in love … love…

Okay, that wasn’t so bad. If he was falling in love with Mack, so what? That wasn’t that scary. Was it? Nor was it necessarily surprising. The two of them had started off as friends—albeit friends who were physically attracted to each other—and then, once they’d both realized and accepted the fact that there was nothing to keep them apart sexually, they’d taken that next logical step to become lovers.

And boy, what lovers they’d become. There had been a dimension and an intensity to their lovemaking the weekend before that Adam had never experienced with another woman. And he could only conclude that it had come about because he and Mack had cemented a relationship as friends and confidantes first. Friendship, after all, was founded on trust. And he’d never had trust with a woman before—not really.

He’d never felt comfortable enough with one to share the kinds of things he’d shared with Mack back when he thought she was married and therefore unattainable. Even when he’d been married, he’d kept a part of himself distant, even separate, from his wife. He just hadn’t felt like he could be himself with her completely. He hadn’t trusted her the way he trusted Mack.

With Mack, though, from day one, he’d felt totally and utterly at ease. Whether that was because he had thought her married and unattainable or because his first exposure to her had been as a bartender—and therefore as someone with whom a man just naturally shared things—he couldn’t rightfully say. But something about Mack had appealed to him—had welcomed him—from the moment they met. Trying to understand that, he supposed, would be pointless.

Reasons weren’t important. It didn’t matter how his feelings had come about. They were there, and they showed no sign of going away anytime soon. What was important was that he cared for Mack deeply. He couldn’t imagine not seeing her on a day-to-day basis. He wanted to bring her more fully into his life. He felt better when he was with her than when he was without her. Simply put, he liked having her around.

He just wished he could get her to come around more often.

"More coffee?" he heard her ask then, rousing him from his ruminations.

He glanced up to find himself gazing into bottomless green eyes that looked very, very tired. In fact, he thought, the rest of her seemed to be pretty worn down, too. She really was stretching herself too thin between Severn and Drake’s. And he really did wish he knew why.

"Come home with me tonight," he said softly, impulsively. "Spend the weekend with me."

Her mouth dropped open in surprise at his public invitation. Quickly, discreetly, she glanced first left and then right, to make sure no one had heard what he had said. But the bar was deserted, and Lindy had departed with the register receipts some time ago, so there was no one around who might overhear. Nevertheless, it was with no small amount of caution that Mack turned her attention back to him.

"Adam, I wish I could, but I can’t," she said softly.

"Why not?"

She seemed to think hard about that, as if trying to come up with an adequate excuse, one that he might possibly believe. Right. As if. There was absolutely nothing to keep her from accepting his invitation—all right, all right, from obeying his command. Whatever. Nothing except her own fear and uncertainty. Which, he conceded, if they were anything like his own fear and uncertainty, might be formidable foes.

She sighed heavily. "I just can’t," she said. "I have a lot of reading to do."

"Bring it with you," he told her.

"I also need to sleep," she added pointedly.

"What?" he asked. "You can’t do that in my bed?"

She arched an eyebrow in silent but meaningful comment.

He chuckled low. "Okay, okay. So we haven’t done much sleeping in my bed. Look, Mack…" He lifted his shoulders and let them drop as he searched for the right words to say. "I just want to be with you," he finally told her. "I haven’t seen much of you this week, and I want to spend time with you, doing whatever. I can catch up on some things from the office while you do your reading, and I can sleep when you sleep. We don’t have to … you know. I mean, don’t get me wrong," he hastened to clarify. "I’d really like to … you know. A lot." He shrugged again, philosophically this time. "But if you’re tired, then we’ll just … be together. Alone. It could be nice.

She eyed him with frank speculation for a moment, her gaze impassive, her expression inscrutable. Then, finally, slowly, she smiled. "Yeah," she agreed, "it would be nice. I’ll be done here in about fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you downstairs by the elevators. Let’s just buzz by my place first, so I can pack a few things, okay?"

* * *

It had been a glorious weekend, Dorsey had to admit a week following the invitation. Because she and Adam had done absolutely nothing, had simply basked in each other’s company for two full days and three full nights. Well, okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. They had actually done a couple of things. She had completed her reading, and he had caught up on some work he brought home from the Man’s Life offices. And, surprisingly enough, they had, in fact, slept. But in between those times, they’d relaxed. They’d enjoyed themselves. They’d had fun just being together.

Oh, all right. And they’d made wild monkey love, too. Every night. And every morning. And once in the afternoon. How could they resist? It had been the triple-fudge icing on the double-chocolate cake. All in all, the weekend had been very … uh … fulfilling. Definitely time well spent.

Even Monday morning had been surprisingly enjoyable. When Adam’s alarm had erupted at five-forty-five, they’d woken in each other’s arms, then smiled and hit the snooze button to snuggle for ten minutes more—and, my, but the snuggling one could manage in only ten minutes was quite impressive. When the alarm had sounded again, though, they’d separated and rolled out of bed with identical groans of disappointment, and each had headed for a different bathroom—had they headed for the same one, they never would have made it to work on time. After showering, dressing, and downing a hasty couple of cups of coffee, they’d ridden hand in hand in the elevator to the parking garage in the basement, and, hand in hand, Adam had driven Dorsey to school. It had all been so wonderfully domestic, so utterly couplesome, so totally in keeping with a budding relationship.

Except for Dorsey’s deceit and dishonesty when it came to telling Adam the truth about Lauren Grable-Monroe. But, hey, other than that, everything was just peachy.