How to Trap a Tycoon (44 page)

She expelled a sound that was a mixture of relief and disbelief because he didn't seem to want to strangle her. He didn't seem to want to humiliate her. He didn't seem to want to condemn her. What he seemed like he wanted to do was…

Oh, boy
. Maybe there was a chance for them yet.

"It stands for Truly Abominable," she told him breathlessly as, in one swift move, she lunged forward to withdraw the name plate from its metal holder. "That describes my behavior of the last few months quite well, I think," she added as she returned to her original position and tossed the nameplate into the box with her other things. She didn't want to leave it behind, after all. It was the only thing she had left that proved she had ever been a teacher in the first place.

Adam inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly, his gaze never wavering from hers. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked simply—not that the question required any kind of embellishment.

She opened her mouth to answer him, realized she had no idea how to do that, then closed it again.

Before she realized his intention, he pushed himself away from the carrel door and entered the tiny space, a pretty impressive accomplishment, seeing as how Dorsey herself barely fitted inside the cubicle. Then, even more impressive, he nudged the door closed behind him. He leaned one hip against the counter that had housed her laptop and lamp before she'd put them into the box on the floor, crossed his arms over his chest in a way that looked suspiciously like self-preservation, and continued to study her face.

And just like that, the temperature in the tiny room skyrocketed. Outside
Severn
College
, it might be a cold and snowy morning. But inside the carrel, at that moment, it was a torrid, volcanic afternoon. And she couldn't help thinking then that they were both frightfully overdressed.

Of course, she was probably getting way ahead of herself there.

"Is it hot in here?" Adam asked suddenly.

Then again…

He shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto the swivel chair that Dorsey had relegated to the corner—about two inches away. Then he pushed up the sleeves of his sweater, ran both hands briskly through his damp hair, and leaned back against the counter again. And he continued to watch her guardedly.

"Why did you come here?" she asked.

"Because your mother told me I'd find you here."

"You spoke to Carlotta?"

He nodded. "I went to your house first, and she told me you were here"—he nodded toward the half-full box—"cleaning out your stuff. Ghandi?" he asked before she could comment, noting the framed photograph.

She nodded. "I'm a big fan of passive resistance."

"Is that why you haven't tried to see me?"

She gaped at him. "I tried to call you. You were never in. I just assumed
you
didn't want to see
me
."

"I wanted to see you," he assured her immediately. "But I figured with all the stuff going on in your life in the aftermath of Lauren Grable-Monroe, the last thing you needed was to have me there complicating things. I wanted to give you—both of us—a little time to let things blow over."

She gazed at him with hungry melancholy, wishing she could put words to how very much she had needed him over the last few weeks. Instead, she only told him, "You wouldn't have complicated anything, Adam. I could have used you."

He gazed back at her in silence for a long time, and she wished she could tell what he was thinking. "And did you?" he finally asked. "Use me, I mean?"

She shook her head. "No. Never. Lindy was totally wrong about that. About all of it."

He sighed heavily. "It really pissed her off that she couldn't have you arrested or sue you for anything."

Dorsey wasn't sure she would ever stop looking over her shoulder where Lindy was concerned. Feigning. nonchalance, she said, "Did Lindy, uh … did she ever say anything about, oh … hiring some guys named Vito and Sal to come, gee, I don't know … break my legs?"

He chuckled. "Actually, I did hear her on the phone talking to someone name Vinnie who owed her a favor, but…"

"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.

But this…

"Actually," he said as he nuzzled the very sensitive spot just below her ear, "there is one more thing I require of you."

Naturally
, she thought. "You want me to get on my knees and beg for you," she guessed.

He pulled back again, arching a dark brow in thoughtful speculation. "Gee, I hadn't thought about that, but now that you mention it…"

"Adam…"

"Well, maybe later," he relented. "For now, I just require that you tell me how you feel. About me. Honestly, I mean."

His uncertainty was evident in the way he was looking at her, and Dorsey couldn't believe that he would still harbor some doubt about her feelings for him. Oh, well. She would just have to spend the rest of her life showing him
exactly
how she felt. In as many ways as possible. In each and every one of her incarnations. Mack would love him like a cherished friend and confidante. Lauren would love him like a passionate and eager mistress. And Dorsey would love him … well, she would love him totally. Irrevocably. Eternally.

And she summed it all up in three little words. "I love you," she told him simply. "There. That was honest."

"It was also," he told her, "very arousing."

Actually, Dorsey had already guessed that, because his arousal was palpable—mostly against her thigh.

"So," he piped up brightly when he realized that she had recognized his … palpableness. "Where do we go from here?"

"Well, since Carlotta's home today. I guess there's always your place," she suggested.

He smiled. "We'll get to that soon enough," he promised. "What I actually meant was, where do you go from here?"

"Oh." She sighed, hoping her disappointment wasn't too terribly obvious. For now, she contented herself—pretty much—with snuggling more resolutely against him. "Well,
Severn
has made it clear that there won't be a job for me here. Not in the sociology department, at any rate. They might have something opening up in janitorial soon, but…" She tried to chuckle, didn't quite manage it, and so shut up.

"You don't think you might find something with one of the other colleges or universities?" he asked. "There are an awful lot in the area"

"Actually," she told him, "I've already received quite a few offers of employment to teach, both here and out of state."

He pulled back to look at her again, his expression sober. Very sober. "Out of state?" he asked. "You mean, like …
Indiana
?"

She shook her head. "I mean like
New England
."