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

of the other questions asked today. Surely this one can't stump you that badly. It's fairly straightforward. Unlike your own deceitful self."

The author straightened and seemed to recover some of her own elegance and sophistication. "No, you're right, of course. And it's not that I'm stumped for an answer. I'm just trying to fathom how you can be so frightfully rude."

"I'm rude?" the woman echoed incredulously, splaying a hand over her heart. "Me? I'm not the one who's responsible for leading good, decent men astray. I'm not the one who's made my living on my back. I'm not the one who's caused countless marriages to fail and left children fatherless. Home wrecker!" she cried defiantly in conclusion.

Oh, wow , Adam thought. This was getting good. With much anticipation, he turned his attention to Lauren Grable-Monroe, wondering how she was going to talk her way out of this one. Evidently, he wasn't alone. Because the entire auditorium had gone absolutely silent, every eye in the place riveted to the two women's exchange.

For a moment, the author said nothing, only returned her interrogator's angry gaze with a slightly less caustic one of her own. Then, very softly, very evenly, she replied, "I'm not responsible for any of those things, either. I'm not a home wrecker."

"Oh, the hell you're not," the woman countered. "How can you stand up there, an admitted mistress, a woman who's confessed to countless adulterous affairs, and say otherwise?"

"I can say that," the author replied in clipped tones, "because I never held a gun to any man's head and forced him to be unfaithful to his wife. The men who seek such relationships do just that—seek them. If their marriages fail as a result of that search, then it's their own fault. And I might add that their marriages must not have been very solid to begin with, if these men took it upon themselves to look for fulfillment elsewhere."

Ooo. Score one for the home wrecker , Adam thought. The other woman, however, clearly wasn't willing to let the author off so easily. "How dare you," she said coldly. "How dare you suggest that a man would willingly turn away from his loving wife to follow after a cheap bit of skirt like you. And how dare you stand up there and encourage these young women to lure respectable men into illicit affairs."

A murmur went through the audience at that, and Adam was fairly certain that more than a few of them were in support of the woman's accusation. Man. It was amazing how quickly a tide could turn.

The author sighed heavily. "Obviously Mr. Darien isn't the only one in the room who hasn't read my book yet feels qualified to comment on it at length."

Oh, fine , Adam thought. Just bring that up again, why didn't she?

"Because clearly, Ms.…?" the author left the remark unfinished, her request obvious.

"It's Mrs.," the other woman corrected her crisply, standing more erect than before. "Mrs. Harrison Enright."

And why did Adam get the impression that Mr. Harrison Enright was keeping a hot little tootsie under wraps somewhere? Just a hunch.

"Mrs. Enright," the author continued, her voice softening some. "I assure you that at no time do I advocate anyone entering into an illicit affair. On the contrary, what I'm encouraging women to do is to use their resources to look out for their own best interests. I suggest you read my book and—"

A bitter laugh cut the comment short. Well, that, and Mrs. Enright's cry of "Not bloody likely! I'll not put a red cent into your adulterous accounts. You can return to making a living on your back, as far as I'm concerned. Just stay away from my husband."

Yep, Adam thought. Mr. Enright most definitely had a hot little tootsie under wraps somewhere. No question about that.

The author sighed heavily again then lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger. She closed her eyes, shook her head slowly, then, "Oh, boy," she muttered softly into the microphone.

And Adam had to admit that, although he hadn't entirely accepted every hypothesis the author had posed that afternoon, he sure couldn't disagree with her on that one.

Chapter 12

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"So there she was, with this absolutely furious woman berating her, and all she could do was sputter some lame comment about not being responsible for wandering husbands."

For the third time in less than a week, Dorsey listened with jaw clenched tight as Adam described—in much too vivid, much too enthusiastic detail—Lauren Grable-Monroe's public flogging at Northwestern on Sunday afternoon. The first time had been bad enough, because it had come almost immediately following the event, when she and Adam had spent the evening together, dining and dancing. And, okay, necking heavily on her front porch after she'd cited exhaustion and a need to get home. This instead of returning to Adam's place for a night of what she was sure would have been raucous and extremely satisfying lovemaking.

The second time she'd been forced to listen to his glowing account of the episode had been two days later, when Adam had joyfully described it to Lindy Aubrey. And Lindy, Dorsey recalled now, had taken an uncommon interest in the event. Which was odd, because Dorsey didn't think Lindy took an interest in anything—except Drake's of course. But she'd laughed without inhibition, and with much satisfaction, at Lauren's unfortunate confrontation. And somehow, Dorsey had felt almost betrayed by her employer as a result.

Now it was Lucas Conaway who was held in thrall by the story, and he was enjoying it more than anyone had a right to enjoy anything. He sat in his usual jeans and usual white Oxford shirt and usual silly cartoon necktie on his usual stool next to Adam's, nursing his usual Tanqueray and tonic as if he had no intention of drinking any of it anytime soon. The working day was over for the two men, but Dorsey's was just beginning, and somehow, the