How to Trap a Tycoon, Elizabeth Bevarly [best smutty novels txt] 📗

"Oh, come on," he cajoled. "It's just dinner. What's the big deal?"

The moment he voiced the question, Adam remembered what the big deal was. Her husband. As big deals went, that one was sort of … big. At least, he'd always visualized Mack's husband as being big. About six foot six, to be precise. Weighing in at three hundred pounds at least. With no neck. And a nasty overbite. And a hairy back. And knuckles grazing the tarmac. A really big beer belly. And a really tiny—

Before his thoughts became too distastefully graphic, Adam dropped his gaze down to the third finger of her left hand, to the slim gold band that always served to remind him of his folly. Much to his surprise, however—not to mention his profound interest—he discovered that Mack wasn't wearing her wedding ring.

Oddly, that made him remember that she hadn't worked a number of her shifts at Drake's over the past few weeks. She'd always had one of the other bartenders filling in for her, but she had missed quite a few nights. He wondered now if the reason for her absences at work might have something to do with the absence of a ring on her left hand. Like maybe her marriage wasn't all it was cracked up to be these days. And then he recalled once again their surroundings and couldn't help but think that Mack had come to the bookstore tonight to hear a best-selling author tell her how to trap herself a tycoon.

"Dinner's not a good idea," she told him. But, Adam noticed, she didn't say exactly why.

"It's an excellent idea," he countered. Then, before she could object—and because he just couldn't quite help himself—he reached out and wrapped his fingers lightly around her upper arm, urging her gently forward. And, talking as fast as he could, he added, "Besides, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about for a long time now, and Drake's just isn't conducive to frank conversation."

* * *

Dorsey had no idea how Adam Darien talked her into joining him for dinner, but fifteen minutes later, she found herself seated across from him at a cozy—really, it was too cozy—table for two, in a quiet—really, it was too quiet—restaurant near the bookstore. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. She was, in fact, fairly certain she knew how he had talked her into joining him for dinner. She had let him. That was how. She just wasn't sure she knew why she had let him.

Oh, all right, that wasn't exactly true, either. She was pretty sure she knew why she had let him. Because number one, he had caught her completely unawares when he had invited her. And number two, he had simply looked too scrumptious to resist.

And that was precisely the problem, Dorsey remembered now too late; she had found him irresistible since day one. He was an enigma, and she'd never been able to let go of puzzles she couldn't solve. He was everything she should deplore in a man—autocratic, self-centered, elitist, rich—but there was just something about him… She couldn't quite put her finger on what.

But some undefinable thing in him called to something equally undefinable in her. She could think of no other way to describe it. A rare, unifying element of some sort that they had in common. Whenever he strode into the bar at Drake's, every sense she possessed went on alert. She could have her back to the door, could be focused completely on a complex and unfamiliar drink recipe, but the second Adam Darien entered, she knew—she knew—he was there.

And her reaction to him, so unlike any she had experienced to anyone else, was something she couldn't help but want to explore.

Too, somehow she sensed that his exterior—as hard and impenetrable as it seemed to be—was little more than a facade, one that hid behind it a completely different creature from the face he presented to the world. Her conversations with him, full though they were of his dogma and opinions, were always animated—the two of them were evenly matched. He wasn't quite so full of himself that he didn't listen, and listen well, to what she had to say. And even when he disagreed with what she said, which was pretty much all the time, he still showed respect for her evaluations.

He was an intriguing mix of contradictions, first gruff, then gentle, at once antagonistic and agreeable, both chauvinist and conversationalist. As a result, he was that most irresistible kind of man for a woman to find—one who challenged her, both on a human and a feminine level.

Plus, she had to admit as she glanced over the top of her menu to inadvertently watch him inspect his, he really was very cute.

More than cute, she admitted grudgingly. It wasn't only what went on inside his head that appealed to her. As much pride as Dorsey had in her intellectual achievements, she was by no means above succumbing to a primitive physical attraction. And the attraction she felt toward him was certainly primitive. Potent. Relentless. Rawly sexual. Which, now that she thought about it, was probably a very good reason for her to avoid him. It was a long time since she had been sexually attracted to a man, never so powerfully as she was to Adam Darien. She'd just as soon it not be happening now, when her own sexuality was being manipulated by someone else—namely, Lauren Grable-Monroe.

"So what looks good to you?" he asked suddenly, glancing up from his menu before she had a chance to avert her gaze. He smiled—rather smugly, too—when he caught her ogling him.

What looked good to her, Dorsey thought, he would be better off not knowing. Because it would only lead to trouble. "Oh, gosh. I can't really decide," she hedged.

"Interesting," he countered smoothly, fixing his gaze on hers. "Because I know exactly what I want."

A surge of heat hummed through