She closed her eyes for just a moment—only long enough to rest them, honest—then was immediately jarred to awareness by a not so gentle shove to her shoulder. Snapping her eyes open again, she glanced up to find Lindy Aubrey standing over her, hands fisted on her hips, one eyebrow arched in silent query, clearly none too pleased to find her bartender here in the locker room. Which was odd, Dorsey thought, because for the first time in weeks, she was actually a few minutes early for her shift. You'd think Lindy would be happy about that, but—
"Do you know what time it is?" her employer asked.
"Ten till four," Dorsey replied.
Lindy shook her head. "Try five after."
Dorsey glanced down at her watch. Sure enough, she was five minutes late for her shift and not even dressed in her uniform yet. "But that's impossible," she said. "I got here fifteen minutes early."
"Then what have you been doing for the last twenty minutes?" her employer asked.
"I've been…" Sleeping, she realized. Good heavens, she'd actually fallen asleep sitting on the bench and had stayed that way for fifteen minutes. "I—I … I guess I … I just didn't realize … I mean I…"
Lindy crossed her arms over her midsection, looking all too menacing in her sleek black suit. "Dorsey, this has gone on long enough," she said. "For the past month, you've missed more shifts than you've worked. And my patience has just about come to an end."
"But I've always had someone covering my shifts for me," Dorsey pointed out. "I've never left you shorthanded."
"That's beside the point," Lindy said. "I hired you to work thirty hours a week, and you agreed to work thirty hours a week. Now, I don't mind accommodating you when you need a night off here and there, but this is getting out of hand. If you can't handle the work load, I'll hire someone else who will. Do I make myself clear?"
Dorsey nodded.
"Fine. I don't want to hear that you need another night off for a while. Or else."
"But—"
"Not one night. If you need more than your regularly scheduled nights off, then don't bother coming in at all."
Dorsey hesitated only a moment before deferring to her. "Yes, Lindy."
"That said, I need you to work an extra shift this week. Saturday night. Drake's is catering a cocktail party for one of its members, and I'm down a bartender. You can start setting up at six o'clock . Here's the address." And then, without even awaiting a reply—there could, naturally, be only one reply … or else—she thrust a scrap of paper into Dorsey's hand.
" Six o'clock ," she repeated. Then, very clearly, she cautioned, "Do not be late."
"I won't," Dorsey assured her.
Lindy was about to turn and leave when her gaze lit on something on the top shelf of Dorsey's locker. Not the wedding ring, which she knew—and approved—of Dorsey wearing to fend off unwanted advances, but the stack of spiral notebooks that had doubled in number over the last month. Her notes for her dissertation, Dorsey realized. Four volumes, so far. In hindsight, she supposed it wasn't such a good idea to leave them here at Drake's where anyone could find them. But she never worried about the sanctity of her locker being violated, and she often liked to review past notes when recording new ones. Still, if Lindy ever took it upon herself to investigate…
Nah. That would never happen. Dorsey was confident of that. Lindy was a total privacy freak where her own life was concerned, and she always respected others' rights in that respect, too. She guarded Drake's membership roster like a mother polar bear protecting its young, and she afforded her employees no less a privilege. She asked few personal questions of anyone, and expected the same courtesy in return. She wasn't the kind of woman who would pry into someone else's affairs. Or someone else's locker, either.
With one last warning glance at Dorsey, she spun on her heel without comment, clearly certain that Dorsey would not only show up on time Saturday evening, but would also now scurry right out to the bar.
Which, of course, she would.
Just as soon as she found the energy to move.
With a final sigh, Dorsey went to work on the buttons of her flannel shirt and tried not to think about the weekend ahead. She had really, really, really been looking forward to having Saturday night off. Not just because she'd been run ragged all week trying to be Dorsey at Severn, Mack at Drake's, and Lauren in too many places to name, but also because she had so much catching up to do in each of those lives. She had papers to grade, research to perform, writing to complete. And, dammit, she needed to rest. She and Lauren and Mack were all starting to look a mite bit peaked.
But she knew she'd be showing up to work the cocktail party. Not just because Lindy would fire her if she refused, but also because, she had to admit, it might be kind of fun, if she could stay awake for all of it. Although she'd observed a lot of the elusive domestic tycoon's predation and mobbing behavior at Drake's, where he was surrounded by like members of his pack, working this party would give her the added opportunity to analyze some of his social behaviors. With any luck at all, she might even witness his mating habits. Or, at the very least, his courtship rituals. Viewing the tycoon's mating habits, after all, could put her off her lunch for days.
Only then did Dorsey remember that Lauren had an engagement of her own that weekend, speaking and signing books at Northwestern University . But that was on Sunday afternoon, Dorsey reminded herself. Lauren—and Dorsey—were both free on Saturday night.
* * *
When she saw that it was Adam Darien who opened the front door to the posh penthouse suite to which Lindy had directed her Saturday night, the first thought that went through Dorsey's head was that she really should have seen this coming. The second thought was that he looked too yummy for words.
His white dress shirt and charcoal suit were utterly faultless and very sexy—though not quite as sexy as they were when he was all rumpled and disheveled at Drake's at day's end. And his brightly printed Valentino necktie was totally bitchin'. Dorsey felt a momentary pang of covetousness, and she had half a mind to slip the accessory from under his collar and pocket it for herself. And, hey, while she was at it, she thought further, she might as well unbutton his shirt and slip it, with his jacket, right off his shoulders. Probably, he'd want to remove his own shoes and socks, but she could certainly help him out of his trousers, and then she'd be free to run her hands all over his naked—
"Hi, Mack. Long time, no see."
Pffft . Another perfectly good fantasy interrupted just when she was getting to the good part. That had been happening to her a lot lately.
"Uh, hi," she responded lamely, not sure what else to add.
Actually, that wasn't quite true. There was, in fact, one question that was circling through her mind at a pretty steady clip at the moment, but she was fairly certain this wasn't a good time to ask him if he had any plans to put his tongue in her mouth again any time soon, and if so, when, because she had absolutely no plans after the party was over.
"I'll be working your party tonight," she told him instead. "Lindy needed an extra ton— Uh … hand."
"Ah." Then, stepping aside to extend an arm toward the interior, he bade her, "Come on in."
Dorsey tried not to be too hurt by the fact that he seemed to not even remember what had happened the last time they were together. Hey, the least he could do was look a little melancholy, feel a little hungry, the way she did herself. But he appeared to have moved on to other things. Other women? she wondered before she could stop herself. And he seemed to have forgotten completely that scarcely a week ago he had been trying—and succeeding really well, she recalled a bit breathlessly—to cop a feel on her … front porch. Among other places.
Fine , she thought. She could be just as indifferent as he could. She'd just stroll right into his apartment and not notice him at all, not notice just how…
Wow . Okay, so she wouldn't be able to completely ignore her surroundings, she realized immediately. Because in addition to Adam looking just too, too yummy, dammit, h
is penthouse was the most sumptuous place she'd ever seen.
The far wall was all windows, offering a spectacular view of the Chicago skyline, spattered with lights and washed in the pinks and oranges of a setting sun. The furnishings were utterly masculine—dark woods and neutral leather, and the floors were covered by massive Oriental rugs with abstract designs. The mantelpiece of the dark mahogany fireplace was fairly obscured by antique models of ships, and it bisected floor to ceiling bookcases that boasted hundreds of leather-bound volumes. On the wall between them, above the fireplace, was a painting of what looked to be a turn-of-the-century harbor full of more boats.
The dining area lay near the windows, and Dorsey could just make out the entrance to the kitchen on one side. The cacophony of clanking dishes and clinking glass told her someone was in there preparing hors d'oeuvres. She knew she should be getting to work, herself, setting up the bar in preparation for his guests' arrival.
"Mack. You coming?"
She heard Adam call to her from the other side of the room and only then realized that she had been standing there by the front door, gaping at her surroundings while he had moved blindly on to other matters. Now she turned her glance in his direction and found him standing framed by an elegant archway on the other side of the room, still acting as if nothing had happened between them.
Judging by his response, she might very well have dreamed the entire episode. There was nothing in his expression, nothing in his voice, nothing in his posture, to suggest that the two of them had shared the intimacy they had. Maybe she really had dreamed the whole thing, she thought. Maybe the entire exchange had simply been a fantasy conjured by her overwrought brain. Maybe he really hadn't pulled her into his arms and kissed her senseless. Maybe he really didn't feel anything for her at all beyond a fond friendship. Maybe all of her dreams and hopes and memories were little more than smoke and sparkle.
"I thought we could set up the bar here in my library," he told her, tipping his head at the room on the other side. "It's fairly centrally located and large enough to accommodate a good number of people."
Dorsey barely heeded what he was saying, because she was too busy trying to make sense of her feelings. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? For him—and her, too—to forget about what had happened a week ago and return to the way things had been before. Adam seemed perfectly willing and capable of doing exactly that. So why couldn't Dorsey do likewise? It would be disastrous to wish for more with him, impossible for anything significant to come of it. Any relationship beyond friendship that might arise between them was doomed from the start. Even their friendship would probably suffer a fatal blow if Adam ever found out that Lauren Grable-Monroe was actually Dorsey "Mack" MacGuinness. Rank deception did tend to wreak havoc on a personal relationship, after all. Go figure.
She should be grateful for his indifference, she thought. And she should mimic it herself. So why did she want so badly to walk across the room right now and cover his mouth with hers and lose herself in another one of those potent, relentless embraces?
Probably, she thought, because he looked so very kissable right now, that was all. If she'd thought him handsome in the elegant atmosphere of Drake's—and certainly, she had thought him handsome at Drake's—then he was doubly so here in his own home. As skillfully arranged as everything was, there was a casualness about the place that mirrored what she had sensed was a part of his own personality. He seemed more at ease here, more comfortable. More confident. She wouldn't have thought such a thing was possible, but here in his home, Adam Darien was even more self-assured than she'd ever seen him, and somehow that made him sexier than he'd ever been before.
Her heart hummed in an irregular, hip-hop rhythm, but she managed to force her feet in his direction. He didn't move at all as he watched her approach, only stood framed in the arched doorway. As she drew nearer, and he didn't alter his position, she slowed her pace some and waited for him to step aside. Belatedly, however, she realized he wasn't going to step aside. And also belatedly, she realized it wasn't a particularly wide archway that framed him.
She hesitated.
He didn't alter his position.
She came to a halt.
He didn't alter his position.
She gestured toward the room on the other side and raised her eyebrows in silent query.
He smiled. But didn't alter his position.
"Um, do you mind?" she asked pointedly.
"Not at all. In fact, I'm rather looking forward to it," he said.
Her heart hammered harder. "Adam, move out of the way."
He feigned confusion. "I'm sorry?"
"You're standing in my way," she told him pointedly. "Please move."
He pretended he was just now noticing. "Oh, that. I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was blocking you." But he didn't move.
Clearly he wasn't going to move, no matter what she did, so Dorsey inhaled a deep breath and pushed sideways through the archway as best she could. Her best, however, was none too good. Because just as she thought she'd make it through, Adam turned his body so that the two of them were face to face. Toe to toe. Chest to breast. And he smiled down at her in a way that was quite—
Whoa, baby.
Okay, so maybe it hadn't been a dream.
And oh, but it felt so good to be this close to him again. Better than anything—anything legal, at any rate—had the right to feel. She told herself to ignore the flash of heat rocking her and continue on her merry way. She told herself to forget how good Adam Darien felt to hold. But she couldn't ignore the heat, and she didn't want to forget how he felt in her arms. Especially since she had promised herself most definitely that it would never, ever happen again.
Somehow she made her body move forward, only to halt it again when Adam dropped an arm across her path and planted it firmly against the wall on the library side of the archway. Oh. Okay. So then, probably, it would never, ever happen again, she amended. Possibly, it would never, ever happen again. Maybe. Perhaps. Um … what was the question again?
Because of Adam's change of position and Dorsey's brief forward motion, her upper torso now pressed lightly against his forearm, and a hot shaft of desire speared through her at the contact. Immediately, she tried to back up, but he hastily lifted his other arm to flatten his hand on the opposite wall.
And then Dorsey found herself effectively penned against one side of the archway, an opening that was barely a foot wide. There was no way she could avoid touching Adam, no way she could avoid acknowledging him. No way she could prevent the ragged trip-hammering of her pulse or the quickening of her breath or the heat that flushed her face. Instinctively, she retreated a step, an action that pressed her back against the hard wood of the arch. And before she realized what was happening, Adam claimed a step forward to compensate for her withdrawal, bringing his entire body within a hairsbreadth of her own.
"Adam…" she began to object halfheartedly. But whatever lame protest she had thought to utter died before she could give voice to it. Probably, Dorsey thought, that was because she didn't want to protest what she could see coming.
"I've missed you this week," he murmured softly. Then, without a single hesitation, he dipped his head forward and covered her mouth with his.
It was an extraordinary kiss. Adam picked up right where he had left off the week before, brushing his lips lightly over hers once, twice, three times, before deftly slipping his tongue inside. Dorsey opened to him willingly, eagerly, curving her hands up over his shoulders, around his nape, into his hair. At her silent encouragement, he deepened the kiss even more, pressing his body into hers from thigh to chest.
His heat surrounded her, his scent enveloped her, and she wanted nothing more than to join herself with him, lose herself in him forever. Oh, she had missed him, too, this week. Even more than she had realized. Certainly more than she should.
The last thing she needed was for someone from Drake's to stumble upon them this way. But before she could utter her concern aloud,
Adam withdrew, nuzzling the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat before pulling his head back to gaze down at her. She murmured a soft sound of disappointment but let him go. Before retreating completely, however, he dragged his lips, briefly and with aching tenderness, one more time over her own.
The entire episode passed so quickly and was so wondrous she could almost believe she imagined it. Almost. Then she saw the way his face had grown flushed from the embrace, noted the way his pupils had expanded with his desire, marked the way his chest rose and fell in a rhythm even more ragged than her own respiration. More than that, she saw her own passion mirrored in his expression. And she realized that what had just happened was very, very real.
And very, very arousing.
"We need to talk," he said softly.
"Adam…" she said again, pleading for she knew not what, but pleading just the same.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he said softly, ignoring her protest. "About what happened the last time I saw you. I thought maybe if I stayed away from the club this week, it would be better for both of us. But I still think about you all the time. And something tells me you've been thinking about me, too."
"Adam, please, I…"
In response to her unspoken request, he pressed two fingers lightly over her mouth. "We'll talk later," he told her. "Make up some excuse to stay late tonight after everyone else has gone."
Dorsey tried to tell herself it was a bad idea and ticked off all the reasons why. He wasn't her type. He was the kind of man she'd sworn to avoid. They had nothing in common. He wasn't into long-term relationships. She wasn't into long-term relationships. Her mother had hinted at a rather questionable liaison with his father. And—the big one—Adam and Lauren Grable-Monroe would never get along.
How to Trap a Tycoon Page 13