How to Trap a Tycoon(86)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Her head was starting to hurt with all the self-analysis and self-discovery, and she really didn’t want to think about all this right now. Not when she had Adam back in her arms. Not when she could make plans—real plans—for the first time where he was concerned. Not when something seemed to be going right after so much had gone wrong.

"Over the last several weeks," Adam continued, oblivious to her focus on them instead of her, "you’ve only seen the media as some vicious, hungry beast. But I think maybe what you need to do, career-wise, is approach the media from a different angle. Or maybe," he said further, with a cryptic little smile, "the media needs to approach you."

She eyed him curiously. "What do you mean?"

He studied her with much interest for a moment, as if he was mulling over something of grave importance. Then, very thoughtfully, he said, "Dorsey MacGuinness, I’m going to make you—all of you—an offer that none of you can refuse."

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He nodded. "Later. Right now, I have a much more important question to ask."

"What’s that?"

He grinned very suggestively. "Is it true that these study carrels are soundproof?"

She grinned back. "No, I’m afraid not."

"Mm," he replied, clearly unhappy with her response.

"Why do you ask?" she said, already knowing the answer.

"Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re not wearing any shoes."

Okay, so maybe she didn’t know the answer, after all. "My, uh … my boots were soaked by the time I got here. I set them over by the radiator to dry out." Then, because she couldn’t stand it, she asked further, "Why do you ask?"

Instead of answering, though, Adam continued to look thoughtful and posed another question of his own. "Well, if the study carrels aren’t soundproof, do they at least have locks on the doors?"

"Noooo," she told him, still not quite certain where he was going with this line of questioning.

"Will that counter hold both our weight?"

Oooh . Okay. Now she knew where he was going. Boy, ’bout time, too. But she replied, with much regret, "Probably not."

Clearly undeterred, Adam asked, point-blank, "Ever made love in one of these things?"

"Um … not yet."

"Feel like conducting an experiment?"

"Only if it’s for the furthering of my education."

He chuckled. "Oh, Dorsey, the things we can teach each other."

Her laughter joined his. "So what are you waiting for?"

Nothing, as became evident immediately. Because before Dorsey had even completed the question, Adam was tucking her right back into his embrace and lowering his head to hers. This time his kisses were less leisurely than before. This time there was hunger, demand and intensity. This time, there would be no retreat for conversation. This time, they would brand each other for life.

Life , Dorsey echoed faintly to herself as she got more and more lost in his kiss. She could hardly wait for that life to begin. Then Adam deepened his kiss even more, tasted her to the very depths of her soul, and she thought, Um, yeah, okay, I guess I can wait just a little while…

Then that thought, too, faded easily away, because, quite frankly, her brain was the last body part she wanted to be using at the moment. Lifting her hands to his hair, she threaded her fingers through the silky tresses, recalling quickly how much she loved doing this, how good it felt to pull him closer, how very possessive she could be where he was concerned. Adam seemed to sense her thoughts, because he looped his arms around her waist and splayed his hands open over her back to push her body flush with his own. It was an exquisite feeling, touching every inch of his body with every inch of hers, and she reveled in the realization that she would be able to do this forever.

But forever could wait a bit, too, because Dorsey couldn’t. Neither could Adam, evidently, because as he pressed upon her—into her—one particularly soulful kiss, he moved a hand forward to curve his fingers unapologetically over her breast. A keen heat shot through her at the contact, and she gasped as she tightened her own fingers in his hair. In response, he, too, clenched his hand tighter, more resolutely, over her, and she was helpless to halt the moan that arose from some deep, dark place inside her.

"Again," she managed to murmur, and immediately Adam obeyed. Several times, in fact.

Without even thinking about what she was doing, relying on simple reaction now, Dorsey dropped a hand to the button of his blue jeans and punched it through its mooning. Hastily, she tugged down the zipper and dipped her hand inside the stiff fabric, until she held him, pulsing and hard, in her palm. He was already slick with his desire for her, and she rejoiced in the knowledge of the power she held over him. Then he caught the fastening of her own jeans in two deft fingers and loosed it, thrusting his own hand inside to easily—and quickly—find the damp, heated heart of her. And when Dorsey’s knees buckled beneath her, she understood that that power ran both ways.

Adam roped his other arm around her waist, catching her capably before she would have melted to the ground. But as he held her, he continued the intimate onslaught he’d started with the other hand. Back and forth his fingers furrowed her delicate flesh, drawing erotic patterns and scandalous designs. Over and over he penetrated her, first with one finger, then two, until she was nearly insensate with wanting him.

As his actions intensified, her own exploration of him ebbed, but not so far that he remained in control of himself. As she slowly ran her fingers along the solid length of him, as she methodically rolled her palm over the tip of his shaft, his respiration accelerated and his own ministrations grew more haphazard.

And just when she grew certain that she wouldn’t be able to respond in any way other than bursting into flame, somehow, Dorsey found the focus, the energy, to murmur, "Adam."

For a moment, he didn’t reply, only stilled his hand and relaxed—a little—his body. Finally, though, weakly, he whispered, "What?"

"I really, really, really want you," she told him.

"That’s good," he replied breathlessly. "That’s real good. Because I really, really, really, want you, too."

With much reluctance, she pointed out, "But there’s no place to… I mean, we can’t… There isn’t room here to—"

Before she could even complete the sentence—and in one swift, fluid gesture—Adam withdrew his hand from her jeans, tugged them, and her panties, down over her hips, tossed his leather jacket up onto the counter and deposited Dorsey, bare-bottomed, atop it. The feel of soft leather beneath her na**d flesh was an erogenous adventure she wasn’t likely to forget anytime soon. She held her breath for a moment, to see if the counter would come crashing down with her upon it, but it held firm.