But forever could wait a bit, too, because Dorsey couldn't. Neither could Adam, evidently, because as he pressed upon her—into her—one particularly soulful kiss, he moved a hand forward to curve his fingers unapologetically over her breast. A keen heat shot through her at the contact, and she gasped as she tightened her own fingers in his hair. In response, he, too, clenched his hand tighter, more resolutely, over her, and she was helpless to halt the moan that arose from some deep, dark place inside her.
"Again," she managed to murmur, and immediately Adam obeyed. Several times, in fact.
Without even thinking about what she was doing, relying on simple reaction now, Dorsey dropped a hand to the button of his blue jeans and punched it through its mooning. Hastily, she tugged down the zipper and dipped her hand inside the stiff fabric, until she held him, pulsing and hard, in her palm. He was already slick with his desire for her, and she rejoiced in the knowledge of the power she held over him. Then he caught the fastening of her own jeans in two deft fingers and loosed it, thrusting his own hand inside to easily—and quickly—find the damp, heated heart of her. And when Dorsey's knees buckled beneath her, she understood that that power ran both ways.
Adam roped his other arm around her waist, catching her capably before she would have melted to the ground. But as he held her, he continued the intimate onslaught he'd started with the other hand. Back and forth his fingers furrowed her delicate flesh, drawing erotic patterns and scandalous designs. Over and over he penetrated her, first with one finger, then two, until she was nearly insensate with wanting him.
As his actions intensified, her own exploration of him ebbed, but not so far that he remained in control of himself. As she slowly ran her fingers along the solid length of him, as she methodically rolled her palm over the tip of his shaft, his respiration accelerated and his own ministrations grew more haphazard.
And just when she grew certain that she wouldn't be able to respond in any way other than bursting into flame, somehow, Dorsey found the focus, the energy, to murmur, "Adam."
For a moment, he didn't reply, only stilled his hand and relaxed—a little—his body. Finally, though, weakly, he whispered, "What?"
"I really, really, really want you," she told him.
"That's good," he replied breathlessly. "That's real good. Because I really, really, really, want you, too."
With much reluctance, she pointed out, "But there's no place to… I mean, we can't… There isn't room here to—"
Before she could even complete the sentence—and in one swift, fluid gesture—Adam withdrew his hand from her jeans, tugged them, and her panties, down over her hips, tossed his leather jacket up onto the counter and deposited Dorsey, bare-bottomed, atop it. The feel of soft leather beneath her naked flesh was an erogenous adventure she wasn't likely to forget anytime soon. She held her breath for a moment, to see if the counter would come crashing down with her upon it, but it held firm.
And so did Adam.
Without compunction or care, he finished removing her jeans and panties and tossed them to the floor, unheeded. Then, without scruple or ceremony, he began to shed his own. Dorsey's eyes widened in wonder at what he clearly meant to do, then a thrill of anticipation shot through her like a lightning bolt.
"Are you sure you want to try this?" she asked. But already she was scooting closer to the edge—to Adam.
"Oh, yes," he readily assured her. "I've been thinking about this for a loooong time. Well, this and about a million other varieties of joining my body to yours. But we can get to them next week," he hastily assured her. "In fact, I've been anticipating this so much lately that—" He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a condom, smiling hugely. "I didn't even bother to put it in my wallet."
Dorsey smiled back. "Gosh, I hope you brought more than one."
He tipped his head back and tented his hands before himself in silent benediction. "Thank you for this woman," he said to some unknown deity. Then he returned his gaze to her face. "Because she is, without question, the answer to every prayer, every wish, every dream I've ever had."
Oh, well, since he put it like that…
"I love you, Adam."
His gaze never left hers as he vowed, "I love you, too."
And that was the last thing either of them needed to say. Adam shoved his own jeans down and sheathed himself, and Dorsey opened to receive him. As he stepped between her legs, she settled her arms over his shoulders, curving one hand over his nape. He was warm and alive beneath her fingertips, and he was strong and powerful and sure. Most of all, though, he was hers. He was hers forever.
And she would always be his, she knew, a fact that was only reinforced as he entered her, claimed her, branded her as his own. That first fierce stroke went straight to her heart, to her core, to her soul, filling her so completely that she cried out her response. For one long moment, he stayed buried inside her, as if he couldn't tolerate the thought of parting from her, even that little bit. But then, very slowly, he withdrew, only to thrust himself even deeper still.
Dorsey crowded her body against his, wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, held him as close as she possibly could. Again and again their bodies joined, building friction and passion and need. And with each stroke of that intimate union, their souls merged, too. Together, they formed a unity of spirit as old as time, a spirit that was neither male nor female, but generated by the simple presence of love. And when all was said and done, it was that, and nothing more, that truly mattered.
* * *
Epilogue
« ^
"I hate summer in the city. It was just too damned hot today. I don't care if it is July."
Adam grinned as Lucas muttered the observation, then passed him the balsamic vinegar for the green salad he was putting together in Adam's kitchen. Both men had just come in from the office and were working in their shirtsleeves to prepare dinner. They had promised Dorsey and Edie that they would actually cook something for a change, instead of picking up carryout on the way home. That had become their habit on the alternating Wednesdays when it was their turn to cook on the weekly dinner date the two couples kept.
Lucas's gripe surprised Adam. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard the kid complain about anything. Oh, wait a minute, yes, he could. Just last week, Lucas had grumbled something about Edie's decision to have the bridesmaids wear pink, because now he'd have to pin a pink—God, pink—rosebud to his lapel at some point in the not too distant future.
Adam chuckled to himself at the recollection and went back to stabbing beef tips and chunks of green pepper onto skewers. A year ago, Lucas Conaway wouldn't have been caught dead within fifty yards of anything pink—not by choice anyway. But after muttering a few more halfhearted lamentations to his fiancée—his fiancée, Adam marveled again with a smile—he'd capitulated easily enough to Edie's command. Of course, Adam thought further, seeing as how he was Lucas's best man, he would have to pin a pink—God, pink—rosebud to his lapel, too. Hmm…
Oh, well. The wedding was still nine months off. Maybe Edie would change her mind. Again.
"So, is Russell Davenport going to give her away?" Adam asked.
Lucas nodded. "Oh, yeah, you bet. He said he wouldn't miss it." He was thoughtful for a moment, then added, "You know, I'm an optimistic man by nature, but even so, it amazes me how quickly Russell's entire family accepted Edie into the fold. Did you know his Aunt Bitsy wrote a letter of recommendation to help Edie get that job at the Mershon Gallery?"
"That was nice of her."
Lucas nodded. "And Russell's arranged a trust for Edie just like the one his other kids have. And he and his wife have already hinted that they're giving us a sailboat for a wedding present. A sailboat," he reiterated with disbelief. "I mean, I wasn't even expecting a gravy boat."
"Too bad Edie's biological mother couldn't be here, too," Adam said soberly.
"Yeah," Lucas agreed. "But at least she found Russell and told him about Edie before she died, so he
could look for her. Otherwise, Edie would still be alone."
"No, she wouldn't," Adam pointed out.
Lucas smiled. "That's true. Now, if I could just get her to change her mind about those pink dresses…"
"Quit complaining," Adam told him. "It's bad for your complexion."
"Oh, is that the latest from the resident Man's Life advice columnist?" Lucas asked. "What's Miss Dorsey Manners going to focus on in her girly column this month? Yeast infections?"
Adam chuckled. "No. She's going to address her favorite subject. Pay inequity."
"Oh, well, that ought to be good for spurring sales," Lucas said dryly.
Actually, Adam thought, it probably would be. Although he'd known six months ago that offering Dorsey a job at the magazine was a good idea, he'd had no idea that her popularity would soar the way it had, right out of the gate.
As the author of a monthly column called "From a Woman's Point of View," Dorsey addressed current events and social issues that affected men and women, presenting them from a position men normally never saw—a woman's point of view. She'd also contributed a fair number of woman-in-the-street stories for the publication that had met with surprisingly positive feedback. Man's Life was still a men's magazine, to be sure, but now it had the added dimension of a woman's touch. And hey, men loved to be touched by a woman. Especially one who wrote with the in-your-face frankness that Dorsey MacGuinness provided so well. Especially one who looked like Dorsey MacGuinness looked in the photo that accompanied her column.
Adam smiled as he reflected on that. Over the last six months, Dorsey had changed. Not a lot, and certainly not in any way that altered the essence of who and what she was. But the flannel shirts and jeans in her closet had been joined by short skirts and soft colors. There were high heels sitting on the floor alongside her hiking boots, black lace brassieres mingling with the white cotton undershirts in her drawer. And somehow, in embracing both the femininity of Lauren and the masculinity of Mack, Dorsey had emerged a very intriguing creature indeed.
She never stopped surprising Adam. And she never kept secrets. All in all, he was pretty much certain he was the luckiest man alive. But he didn't say so aloud. Lucas, he knew, would take exception.
"So what are you and Dorsey doing this weekend?" Lucas asked him.
"Well, Reginald Dorsey invited us to spend it with him and his kids at his little cottage in the country," Adam said.
"The ten-thousand-square-foot cottage?" Lucas asked.
"That's the one."
"Ah. So are you and Dorsey going to go?"
Adam shrugged and stabbed another chunk of green pepper. "I doubt it. Dorsey's coming around where Reggie's concerned, but she's not there yet. She still feels awkward around her half-brother and half-sisters."
"She'll get there," Lucas said. "It wasn't easy for Edie at first, either, but look how well that's turned out."
Adam grunted in agreement, then went back to work. He was just firing up the gas grill, and Lucas had just tossed the last of the croutons into the salad, when feminine laughter erupted in the other room.
"Our womenfolk have returned," Lucas observed unnecessarily.
It was particularly unnecessary in light of the fact that the womenfolk in question were entering the kitchen right about then. Each was armed with two grocery sacks, and they stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Adam and Lucas standing amid their dinner preparations.
"You're cooking?" Dorsey asked incredulously.
She looked pretty incredible, too, Adam couldn't help but note, dressed in a sleeveless, pale-yellow jumper—only a little bit limp from the heat—and humongous Birkenstock sandals. Her ruddy curls were piled haphazardly atop her head in deference to the heat, and her cheeks and nose were stained pink with a touch of city sunburn. Edie's face, too, showed signs of a long urban walk, as did the damp T-shirt that topped her flowered skirt.
"Of course we're cooking," Adam told them. "We promised, didn't we?"
"Yeah, but there was nothing here to cook when I left this morning," Dorsey pointed out. "Edie and I stopped for groceries, because you and I have been too busy to get any this week."
"Miraculously, I remembered this," Adam replied, "so Lucas and I picked up a few things on our way home. Dinner will be ready in about a half-hour."
"Don't worry about it, Dorsey," Edie said. "You and Adam can save all this for the weekend."
Dorsey chewed her lip thoughtfully for a moment before saying, "We, uh … I think maybe we might be in the country this weekend, Edie."
Adam smiled. Well, well, well.
"So you and Lucas can take them home tonight, instead," she added.
"Okay," Edie agreed readily. "But I'll stow everything in the fridge for now."
"I'll help you," Lucas offered.
Dorsey opened her mouth to object, but Lucas hefted the bags out of her arms before she had the chance to say a word. Adam took advantage of her momentary disconcertion to take her hand in his and tug her out of the kitchen, with a hastily offered "We'll be right back" to Edie and Lucas on the way out.
She laughed as she followed him, but her chuckles faded off as he pulled her into the bedroom, closed the door behind them, then pressed her back against it and crowded his big body against her. She immediately looped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer still, opening to him willingly when he covered her mouth with his. For long moments they greeted each other wordlessly after their long—almost a whole afternoon—separation, then, reluctantly, Adam pulled back to gaze at her face.
"Lucas and I have been talking about the wedding," he said without preamble.
Dorsey smiled a dreamy little smile. "Still not happy about the pink dresses, is he?"
"Not a bit," Adam told her. "But I promised him last week that when you and I get married, you'll pick blue."
Well, that certainly got her attention—which, of course, had been Adam's intention. Her eyes widened in surprise, and her mouth fell softly open. "When we get married?" she echoed.
He nodded. "What do you say?"
"I … Adam…" She smiled a little nervously. "You've never said anything about us getting married."
"Neither have you."
"I was waiting to see what you'd say," she said softly.
He laughed. "And here I've been waiting to see what you'd say."
She nibbled her lip anxiously. "Actually, I'm not quite sure what to say. I just … I don't know. We've just been so happy the last six months, living the way we do."
"But don't you want security?" he asked her.
She smiled. "I have that without being married to you."
He couldn't believe she was actually trying to talk him out of this, he thought. Then he noted the uncertainty in her eyes. Or was she? "But you're here more often than you're at your place," he pointed out. "I found a pair of your panties in my underwear drawer this morning. It was incredibly erotic."
She chuckled. "I'm here so much because I don't want to cramp Carlotta's style. She and her financial advisor have been pretty tight lately. The fact that he's not married has opened up all kinds of freedom in the relationship that she never realized she could have with a man."
Adam chuckled. "Do I hear wedding bells?"
Dorsey hesitated a moment. "I don't know," she said, "do you?"
He pulled her closer, dipping his forehead to hers. "Well, I don't know about Carlotta, but…"
"But what?"
"I think you and I should go for it. I love you, Dorsey, and I always will."
"I love you, too," she told him. "And I always will."
"Then let's make that clear to the world at large."
She nodded slowly, smiling hugely. "Okay. But I think I want peach dresses, instead of blue."
"Peach?" Adam exclaimed, biting back a gag.
"Or maybe lavender," she amended with a laugh.
He closed his eyes tight. "Fine, dear. Whatever you say, dear. You're the boss, dear."
Dorsey laughed harder. "T
hat'll be the day," she murmured as she pushed herself up on tiptoe to kiss him. "And I look forward to every last one of them to come."
* * * * *
How to Trap a Tycoon Page 32