How to Trap a Tycoon(84)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

"What?" Dorsey asked, alarmed.

"Turned out she was just lining him up to do a little landscaping for her."

"Oh."

There was another long, taut moment of silence, then, "Why didn’t you tell me?" he asked again. "I mean … I thought we were friends, Mack," he added softly. "Hell, we were a lot more than friends. Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?"

"I tried to," she said. "I really did. But every time I started to say something, I just…"

"What?"

Dorsey sighed. "A picture would pop into my head that was so clear and so scary that it kept me from saying a word."

"A picture of what?"

This time she was the one to study his face, the face she had missed so much over the last several weeks. "I kept seeing you," she told him. "Looking at me the way you’re looking at me right now. And I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth, because I couldn’t stand the thought of you looking at me that way. And now it’s not a thought, it’s a reality, and you’re looking at me that way anyhow, and I … I can’t stand it, Adam." She curled her fingers into impotent fists at her side. "I hate it that you hate me, and I don’t know what to say or do that would put things back to rights."

"Oh, Mack…" He reached for her then, pulling her close, folding his arms over her shoulders. "I don’t hate you," he assured her. "I could never…"

With a soft growl of frustration, he cupped one hand over the nape of her neck, skimmed the other up and down along the soft fabric of her sleeve. He tucked her head beneath his chin and just held her, and Dorsey couldn’t believe she had actually forgotten how good it felt to be this close to him. As miserable as she’d been during the last month, she hadn’t honestly realized until now all that she had been missing. Because finding herself back in Adam’s arms was like living out every fantasy she’d ever had. The scent of him surrounded her, his heat mingled with her own, and his nearness set her heart to racing like a thoroughbred. Never in her life had she imagined anyplace could feel as perfect—as right—as this.

"I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out what I’m feeling," Adam told her, "and the only feeling I’ve managed to identify is confusion. You’re not who I thought you were. You’re not the Mack I came to know and lo—" He halted abruptly, then hastily continued, "And you’re certainly not Lauren Grable-Monroe. I thought I knew you so well. And it turns out I don’t know who you are at all."

She looped one arm loosely around his waist, then opened her other hand over his chest. And she found some small measure of encouragement in the way his heart was hammering hard beneath her fingertips. "I’m Dorsey," she said softly. "That’s who I’ve been all along. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. To anybody."

"Dorsey," he echoed. But he said nothing more, only pulled his head back to look down at her, arching an eyebrow in idle speculation as he studied her face.

"I don’t expect you to understand," she told him. "I’m not sure I completely understand myself. But … I’m not just Mack. Mack is in there, certainly, and so, I guess, is Lauren Grable-Monroe. But they’re both only a part of who I really am. Nobody seems to realize that except me. I’m not sure I even realized it myself until just recently."

Adam gazed at her in thoughtful silence for another long moment, taking in her hair, her eyes, her mouth … and then some. Finally, with a very wicked smile, he said, "Then maybe I need to get to know you—all of you—better."

And before Dorsey—or anybody—could say another word, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

It was such a pleasant kiss. Nothing ravenous, nothing demanding, nothing intense, just … pleasantness. Tenderness. Entreaty. He plied her lips slowly, softly, gently with his again and again and again. And Dorsey succumbed gladly, entirely, melting against him as if it was where she was meant to be. It was where she was meant to be. And it was where she wanted to stay. Forever.

She pushed herself up on tiptoe and roped her arms around his neck, threading the fingers of one hand through his hair, curling the others around his nape. And as she kissed him back, she tasted faint hints of coffee and mint toothpaste and something else … something less tangible … something less distinct…

A promise. She tasted a promise in him. Or perhaps it was in her. In either case, she knew then that everything would work out between them. What they had created together, what they had grown and nurtured during the weeks they’d been together, what they were stirring to life once again… It was going to be all right, she told herself. All of it. All of her. All of them.

Adam pulled his head back from hers then, but only far enough so that he could gaze down into her eyes. "I’ve missed you … Dorsey," he said, smiling as he tripped over her name. "That’s going to take some getting used to," he added with a chuckle, a flash of merriment brightening his eyes. "But I have missed you. All of you. And I’ll do whatever I have to do to get every last one of you back."

He’d do whatever he had to do? Dorsey marveled. Good heavens. All he had to do was … well … say something along the lines of what he’d just said. That and—

"Forgive me," she told him. "If you can do that, then—"

"Done," he replied readily. "Just promise me we will be nothing but honest with each other in the future."

"I promise," she vowed.

"Me, too," he told her. "I should start off by telling you very honestly that I love you. In all your incarnations."

She uttered a nervous chuckle. "Even Lauren?" she asked.

He nodded. "She’s a witty dame, and she looks great in a short skirt."

Dorsey laughed. "Better than Mack in a necktie?"

He narrowed his eyes in thought. "Hmm… That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether Mack is wearing just a necktie."

Dorsey feigned shock. "You wicked, wicked man."

He grinned, wickedly if she did say so herself. "Hey, baby, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet," he murmured as he pulled her close again.

It shouldn’t be this easy , she thought. After the month she’d spent struggling to keep her life together, finding her way back to Adam should be like hacking a path through the Amazon rain forest at the height of the wet season. With a butter knife. Blindfolded and barefoot. With piranhas nipping at her heels. And a side of bloody beef tied around her neck.