How to Trap a Tycoon (26 page)

Or, at least, he tried to pat her. But the second his hand made contact with her back, Edie jerked up out of her chair at the speed of light and spun around fast enough to send that chair clattering to the ground.

Lucas told himself that the reason she looked so terrified was because she was in the process of choking to death. But she inhaled a deep breath, and he realized that whatever had been blocking her windpipe was now free. Nevertheless, she sputtered uncomfortably a few more times. And nevertheless, she still looked terrified.

He remembered then how she had reacted at Drake's that night when he had tried to place his keys in the palm of her hand. He remembered how she had reacted when
Davenport
had reached across the bar to skim his thumb lightly over her cheek. Innocent gestures, both, but Edie had reacted as if rabid hyenas were launching themselves at her jugular. Both times she had lurched her entire body backward, as if she feared for her very life. She seemed to feel exactly the same way right now.

"Edie?" he asked quietly, taking an experimental step toward her.

She in turn took a very deliberate step backward.

"Are you all right?" he asked further. He righted the chair that had toppled over when she'd rocketed out of it and silently bade her to sit down. Amazingly, she did so without comment.

"I'm fine," she said a bit hoarsely once she was seated. Lucas inhaled a slow, deep breath and returned to his own seat. "I probably shouldn't ask what that was all about, but then, I've never much been one to do what I know is right, so… Just what was that all about?"

She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, eyes that appeared even larger and bluer than usual, thanks to the dampness that lingered there after her coughing fit. At least, Lucas assumed the tears were a result of her coughing. What the hell else could have caused them?

"What was what all about?" she asked him innocently. "I just swallowed the wrong way, that's all."

He frowned at her. "Don't start, Edie. Don't try to lie to a liar like me. It won't wash. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"I just swallowed the Brie wrong," she insisted.

"You just about jumped out of your skin when I put my hand on your back," he corrected. "The same way you just about jumped out of your skin at Drake's that night when I tried to give you my keys."

Her blank expression turned vague. "And your point would be…?"

He muttered a ripe curse under his breath. "You got a problem with being touched, Edie?"

She met his gaze levelly. "Yes." But she offered no further explanation.

Never known for his tact—or his courtesy, for that matter—Lucas asked, "Why?"

Something in her eyes went absolutely glacial at his question. But her voice was the very essence of politeness when she said, "That, Mr. Conaway, is none of your business. Now then. Back to what we were talking about a moment ago. You're looking for a rich woman to take care of you, is that it?" Her tone was decidedly less polite as she added, "You? Want to be taken care of? By a woman? With money? This is something that frankly surprises me."

Lucas smiled when he realized how badly he'd misspoken—and how badly she'd misunderstood. No wonder she'd nearly choked on her Brie. "I meant that Adam wants me to use the book
How to Trap a Tycoon
to find a rich woman to take care of me for a story. It's for the magazine, Edie," he clarified, his smile growing broader. "For
Man's Life
. What, you thought I was really looking for a sugar mommy?" His smile turned into chuckles. Real chuckles, too. Not the phony-baloney sarcastic ones to which he'd become so accustomed.

Wow
. That felt really good. He couldn't honestly remember the last time he had laughed at something because it was funny. Because he enjoyed it. Because it made him feel happy. He should try to do that more often. Interesting it being Edie who had generated the spark within him.

She had the decency to look chagrined for assuming what she had. And when she did, Lucas laughed some more. He hated to say it, but she really was cute when she was embarrassed. Even if she was Mulholland of Sunnybrook Farm, she wasn't quite as annoying as he'd suspected she would be at close range. Funny how he'd never noticed that before tonight.

"A story for the magazine?" she asked a little sheepishly.

"A story for the magazine," he told her.

"Gee. I, uh … I guess I should have figured that one out for myself, huh?"

Lucas shrugged, and with that single, careless gesture, he felt a few of the chips he'd carried around since childhood tumble right off his shoulders. Wow. That felt really good, too. Amazing. Two questionable evenings with Edie Mulholland, and suddenly, he felt almost like a human being. This could get interesting.

"Yeah, well, Edie, it's not like I've ever given you any reason to look for the best in me, have I?" he asked. "And that's probably the reason I'm having so much trouble finding myself a tycoon to trap," he further speculated.

She said nothing in response to his assertion, probably because no response was necessary. Then, carefully, as if she wasn't quite sure of her reception, she said, "I could help you out."

Lucas Conaway had never asked for or accepted help from anyone in his entire life. Whatever he had to show for who he was, he'd damn well earned it all by himself. Now, however, he met Edie's gaze with much interest. "What do you mean?" he asked.

She tore off another piece of baguette and used it to scoop up a generous serving of Brie. Before popping it into her mouth, however, she told him, "I'm good at finding people, Lucas. I'm close to finding my mother right now. And God knows I've had a lot of experience with tycoons."

He assumed she was talking about her work at Drake's, and decided he didn't want to know any particulars of the situation if she wasn't. At any rate, all he said in reply was, "Oh, yeah?"

She nodded. "Yeah. You want to trap yourself a tycoon? I'm just the woman who can help you."

Chapter 11

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D
orsey awoke Sunday morning to the most pleasurable sensations she had ever experienced. The cool crush of satin pillowed her cheek and naked breasts, cascaded over her bare back and bottom. Faint strains of a Bach piano concerto serenaded her from somewhere nearby, the light, joyful noise mimicking the happy pulsing of her heart. She inhaled deeply her contentment and was further greeted by the rich aroma of strong coffee, a fragrance that roused her from the last remnants of sleep. When she finally opened her eyes, it was to see Adam entering his bedroom wearing naught but a pair of sapphire-colored silk pajama bottoms and carrying a tray. A tray, she noted further, gratefully, that carried, among other things, the promise of nourishment.

She could use some nourishment after the night she had just spent, she thought, feeling muzzy-headed and pleasantly achy. Drowsily, she eyed the basket of sweet breads, the carafe of black coffee, the two simple white mugs, and the single apricot-colored rose in a silver vase. Goodness. What a romantic Adam Darien was turning out to be.

In the pale light filtering through the half-open window blinds, she got her first good look at him in dishabille. Her insides turned to warm butter at viewing such a sight first thing in the morning. His broad, naked chest was dusted from shoulder to shoulder with dark-brown hair, hair that arrowed downward to disappear into the waistband of his pajama bottoms. His belly was as flat and firm as a steam iron, and his arms were corded with muscle and sinew. His hair was adorably rumpled, and his eyes were lit with warm affection. He had the fat Sunday edition of the
Tribune
tucked under one arm, and she couldn't help thinking that he meant to spend the entire morning sharing his bounty with her right here in his bed. The mahogany sleigh bed that was surrounded by all manner of luxurious furniture and accessories, from the matching wardrobe and armoire to the richly patterned Oriental rugs scattered about beneath. The walls were painted a deep forest-green, adorned here and there by oil-on-canvas renditions of the English countryside.

The effect, on the whole, was one of enormous wealth and lush hedonism. And as Dorsey watched Adam draw nearer, carrying his sumptuous feast, surrounded by his luxurious belongings, one thought—and one thought alone—circled through her head:
Oh, I could get used to this. I could get used to this very easily.

Suddenly, the idea of trapping herself a tycoon wasn't nearly as unappealing as she'd once considered it to be. In fact, suddenly, Dorsey was questioning every conviction she'd ever had. Because she was also beginning to think that it might not be so bad relying on someone else for a change. It might not be so bad being taken care of once in a while. And it might not be so bad to be shackled to another human being for all eternity. Because if this was how it felt… If she could experience these wonderful sensations every morning when she awoke… If it meant having Adam Darien all sleepy-eyed and rumpled in her bed…

Well. Maybe Lauren Grable-Monroe was onto something after all.

Dorsey smiled sleepily and stifled a yawn and tried not to dwell on the fact that nothing had ever felt so utterly right in her entire life than this particular moment did. "Good morning," she murmured as she pushed herself up from the mattress. As unobtrusively as she could, she wrapped herself in gold satin as she went.

Funny that she would feel modest after some of the things the two of them had done to and with each other over the last several hours. She certainly hadn't been shy during the night, she recalled now, the heat of her memories warming her entire body. Of course, neither had Adam. Then again, she thought further, when she noted the way his pajama bottoms were tied so haphazardly—and so low—on his hips, he didn't seem to be feeling particularly modest himself at the moment. On the contrary, if that sly little smile playing about his lips was any indication, he had every intention of—

Oh, my
. She might never leave this bed again.

"Good morning yourself," he replied, his voice a rich rumble of contentment as he set the breakfast tray on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed. "I thought you were going to sleep the whole day away."

A momentary panic shook Dorsey as she searched frantically for a clock and found none.

"It's not even nine-thirty," Adam told her, chuckling. "What's wrong? You got a hot date somewhere I should know about?"

Although he seemed to be striving for levity, something in his voice held an undertone of uncertainty, as if he feared she might very well have another romantic obligation this morning. Goodness, could he possibly be feeling jealous? Feeling possessive? she wondered as a curl of something warm and fuzzy slowly unwound inside her. And why did the prospect of such a possibility make her feel so wonderfully delicious? The absolutely last thing on earth she wanted was to be possessed by a man. Wasn't it? Of course it was. Then again, she was feeling a bit possessive about Adam this morning, too.

Oh, dear. This was certain to wreak havoc on her dissertation.

"I have to be someplace this afternoon," she told him, nudging the thoughts aside for now and forcing herself to relax. "But not until three." Impulsively, she added, "I'm yours until then."

The smile he bestowed upon her in return was one of the greatest prizes Dorsey had ever won. Without further comment, he poured her a cup of coffee and brought it around to her side of the bed, setting it on the nightstand within easy reach. She mumbled her thanks but didn't pick it up right away. She was having too much fun feeling sleepy and disoriented and wanton, and she didn't want her wits about her just yet.

Adam, too, neglected the cup he had poured for himself, leaving it on the tray near where he had tossed the newspaper. "I should warn you," he told her without preamble, "that although I'm not a churchgoing man, I do have a rigid Sunday morning ritual that I religiously observe."

"Oh?" she asked innocently.

"I stay in bed until
noon
, reading every last word of the
Tribune
."

She smiled. "Even
Broom Hilda?"

"Yep."

"Wow. That's impressive. And you don't mind if I'm here to intrude?" she asked. "I won't be a distraction to you?"

"Oh, I'm counting on it," he assured her. Ignoring the newspaper, he climbed into bed and prowled like a predator toward her, then seated himself, cross-legged upon the mattress, before her. For a moment, he said nothing, only studied her with much interest, as if he were trying to decide exactly what to say. Then, suddenly, he grinned. A slow, sexy, dangerous little grin that ignited a spark of heat deep inside her.