How to Trap a Tycoon

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  She'd just touched him. Voluntarily. And she hadn't flinched from him when she'd done it.

  Okay, so the touch in question had been a slap to his face. That was just a minor technicality. She had touched him. In a manner of speaking. It was progress. In a way. He just wished he could figure out exactly which way.

  "Well, my goodness, but that was dramatic."

  Lucas spun around at the sound of the velvety smooth comment to find a truly spectacular—and very oglable—redhead ogling him as shamelessly as he had just been ogling Edie. Wow. She was incredible-looking. Tall and slim and—whoa, momma—stacked.

  How had she escaped his attention until now? he wondered. And how was it possible that his capricious attention wanted nothing to do with her? Because that was exactly what was happening. As appealing as the woman was, Lucas was far too preoccupied with thoughts of Edie to care one way or another about the redhead.

  In spite of his appalling lack of interest in the woman, he smiled at her. At least, he thought he was smiling at her. He couldn't be sure, seeing as how half of his face was still numb from the flat of Edie's hand. "Yes. Well. Um," he began eloquently. "I suppose to the casual observer, that might have looked a bit dramatic, yes."

  She smiled back and sauntered closer. "Oh, I assure you, my observation was anything but casual."

  Lucas took a step backward as he replied, "Ah. I, uh, I see."

  Clearly undaunted by something so minor as his obvious retreat, the woman continued with her forward progress and sidled closer still. "And in my not so casual observation," she murmured as she drew nearer, "I've deduced that you're a man who could use a friend—or something—about now."

  Lucas took a few more steps backward. "Uh … yeah. Yeah, I could definitely use … something," he said cautiously. Then, because he knew he was behaving abominably—no self-respecting man would run away from a woman like this … unless, of course, he'd just been slapped senseless by Edie Mulholland, which, now that he thought about it, surely explained his utter lack of interest in this woman—he forced his feet to halt their rapid retreat. And he wondered how long it had been since Edie's departure and if she would be back anytime soon and if there would be any of him left unconsumed by this vibrant piranha once she did return.

  The redhead stopped, but only when a scant breath of air separated her from Lucas. Then even that scant breath was gone, because he sucked it in quickly and nearly passed out on the overwhelming aroma of Chanel Number Something Really Annoying that accompanied it.

  The woman seemed not to notice, though, because she tilted her head in the general direction in which Edie had just departed and said softly, "She seems to be pretty upset."

  Lucas nodded. "Yes, she does."

  "Looks like you might have your work cut out for you tonight winning her back."

  "It does look that way, doesn't it?"

  The redhead considered him thoughtfully. "Then again," she puffed. Actually purred, Lucas noted. How incredibly off-putting. "You don't seem like the kind of man who needs to keep a woman like that," she finished.

  Uh-oh. "No?" he asked.

  She shook her head slowly and lifted a hand to smooth out what he was sure was a nonexistent crease in his lapel. "No," she said softly, flattening her hand over his chest. "You look more like the kind of man who needs keeping himself."

  Oh, man . "Do I?"

  This time she nodded. "Young women are just so excitable, aren't they?"

  Lucas swallowed hard. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I … I guess. Edie can be a little vixen sometimes. A little minx, a little spitfire, a little tigress, a little … little… Where was I? Oh, yeah. A little firebrand."

  The redhead seemed in no way impressed by this revelation. "Yes, she's certainly something," she said blandly. "But it seems to me that what you need is a woman who has a little more patience. A woman who takes her time. A woman who has more experience in … handling … a man like you."

  Yikes . "You, uh, you really think so?"

  "Oh, yes," she cooed. Actually cooed, he thought. How incredibly irritating. "Why don't you and I go somewhere that's a little more … private?" she added smoothly.

  Good God. "Private?" he echoed.

  "Private," she reiterated. "I have my car tonight—but not my husband," she told him shamelessly. "We could have a lot of fun together, you and I. And not just tonight, either." She smiled with much satisfaction before concluding, "And it goes without saying that it would be my treat. All of it," she further assured him, "would be my … treat."

  Unbelievable , Lucas thought. Everything he'd been looking for in a tycoon for weeks, everything he needed for his article, everything, in fact, that he could possibly have ever fantasized about in his entire life… It had all just walked right up and introduced itself. All he had to do was open his mouth and agree to this woman's proposition, and he would have both his story for the magazine and one helluva good time. And it even went without saying that it would be her treat.

  So he opened his mouth to agree to the woman's proposition. Unfortunately, what came out was, "Thanks, but if you'll excuse me, I really need to go find my date."

  And then, as gracefully as he could—which wound up being not very graceful at all—he disengaged himself from the woman's enthusiastic clutches, offered her a smile of—almost genuine—regret, and ran like hell in the opposite direction.

  Tycoon schmycoon. What Lucas really wanted more than anything else in the world was Mulholland of Sunnybrook Farm.

  * * *

  "You blew it. You totally and completely blew it. I can't believe how badly you blew it. Excuse me a moment while I crown you King Blowing It the First. It just boggles the mind how you blew it."

  Lucas waited patiently for Edie to finish berating him—again—and tried to focus on navigating the road ahead of him instead. Ever since leaving the gallery, she had taken enormous pleasure in telling him over and over and over again how close he'd come to bagging his quarry only to fail miserably by letting his tycoon get away. In fact, Edie seemed to take a little too much pleasure in telling him that. Here she'd gone to all this trouble to help him trap a tycoon, and when he'd finally had one in his grasp—or, at the very least, had found himself in her grasp—he had let the woman get away, and Edie actually sounded happy about it.

  What an interesting development.

  "The world isn't a big enough place to hold how badly you blew it," she continued relentlessly. "That big sucking sound you hear? That's you blowing it. I mean, Lucas…" She sighed heavily. "You blew it."

  "So you've said. Sixty-four times now."

  "But you blew it."

  "Sixty-five."

  He braved a glance in her direction to find that she had braced her elbow against the passenger side window and was clutching a fistful of blond curls over her forehead. She looked beat. She looked frustrated. She looked confused. What she didn't look was happy.

  "I'm sorry," he said, turning his attention back to the highway. "I know you went to a lot of trouble, and I apologize for not taking advantage of you."

  He felt, more than saw, her go rigid.

  "It," he hastily corrected himself. "I apologize for not taking advantage of it. You, I would never apologize for taking advantage of. Mainly because I think you'd have as much fun as I would."

  "Oh, right. In your dreams."

  "Oh, believe me, Edie, we have definitely been enjoying ourselves in my dreams. You can't imagine."

  She said nothing in response to that, and Lucas didn't push. He was still thinking about how she had touched him—okay, slapped him … details, details, sheesh—earlier in the evening, and he was still wondering how to go about broaching that particular subject with her. Because he did indeed intend to broach that particular subject with her. And he would do it before this night was through. He just hadn't quite decided yet how he was going to tiptoe delicately around it.

  "So, Edie, about that little slap you gave me earlier this evening," he began. Okay, so forget the tiptoeing
. Steamrollering had always worked much better for him, anyway. "Did you enjoy that as much as I did?"

  He glanced over at her again, and this time he found her smiling. Still looking beat, frustrated, and confused, but smiling. It wasn't a big smile, but it wasn't bad. It was something they could work on.

  "I enjoyed it more than you could possibly know," she told him.

  He smiled back. "I thought so."

  "But probably not in the same way you did," she qualified.

  "Oh, I don't know about that," he told her. "How does the saying go? A little S and M now and then is relished by the wisest men."

  She hesitated only slightly before revealing, "I've never heard that saying."

  He feigned surprise. "No? Well, I sure have."

  "And it wasn't S and M," she corrected him.

  "Wasn't it?"

  "No, it was F and R."

  "F and R?"

  "Fun and rewarding."

  He threw her a lascivious grin. "So then we did enjoy it in the same way."

  She expelled a few halfhearted chuckles. "You are the strangest man," she said.

  Her comment stung just enough that Lucas couldn't quite stop himself from remarking, "Oh, and that's something coming from a woman who can slap a man without compunction but can't tolerate having his hand curled innocently over hers."

  Once again, he felt Edie stiffen in the seat beside him. "That's none of your business, Lucas."

  "Maybe not," he retorted. "But it sure as hell makes it difficult to get to know you better."

  "Then don't try to get to know me better."

  He kept his gaze trained on the road ahead as he said, "See, now that's going to be something of a problem."

  "Why?"

  "Because, Edie, I'd really like to get to know you better."

  She said nothing in response to his assertion, and from the corner of his eye, Lucas saw her turn her head to look out the window at the quickly passing night beyond. "You'll get over it," she said softly.

  "Maybe," he conceded. "But maybe I don't want to get over it."

  "You'll get over it," she repeated, more softly than before.

  He wanted to tell her that was unlikely, seeing as how he had no intention of even trying to get over her. But the words never formed in his mouth—or his brain, for that matter—which was actually just as well, because they'd arrived at her apartment building. Which was actually not so well, after all, because before the car had even come to a complete halt, Edie was scrambling out of it to rush up the walkway toward the big, rectangular, utterly nondescript brick building.

  "Edie, wait!" Lucas called after her.

  But the exclamation got lost under the sound of a slammed passenger side door.

  "Dammit," he muttered as he reached for his own door.

  He didn't catch up with her until he hit the second floor of the building and saw her jamming her key into her front lock. Quickly, Lucas strode forward and, without thinking, moved behind her and thrust his hand against the door. It landed spread open wide with a loud thump, and although his body never made contact with hers, at his abrupt appearance, Edie leaped backward. The front door halted her, but that didn't prevent her from crowding herself back against it. And it didn't stop her from looking terrified.

  It didn't stop her from being terrified.

  Because, clearly, she was terrified, Lucas noted. Her lips were parted fractionally, her chest was rising and falling with her rapid respiration, and her eyes were wide with apprehension.

  "Don't hurt me," she said softly. "Please."

  Lucas's own heart began to pound fiercely then at the evidence of what lay before him. Evidence of what he had suspected since that night he'd had too much to drink at Drake's. Somebody—who knew who, who knew why, who knew how long ago—had obviously mistreated Edie Mulholland and mistreated her badly. It didn't bear thinking about, but he knew that, at some point, he'd have to think about it. At the moment, however, he could only try and see clear of the red haze of rage that clouded his vision and do his best to calm her down.

  "Edie, I would never hurt you," he said softly. More than anything in the world, he wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms, but he knew that was the last thing she would tolerate. "You have to know that. I would never—I could never—hurt you."

  "Just let me go inside," she said. "And then go away. Please, Lucas. Just leave me alone."

  As much as he hated to retreat from her when she was like this, he knew she was too frightened for him to try reasoning with her. So he took a giant step back and held both hands up before him, palms out, in a gesture of surrender, of supplication. For a moment, she didn't move at all, only eyed him warily, as if she couldn't believe he'd done what she told him to do, as if she still expected him to pounce. Then, very slowly, she turned to the door again and twisted her key in the lock.

  "Edie, let's talk about this," he said as she began to push the door open. "Let's not let the night end this way."

  She said nothing as she ducked inside her apartment, but she didn't immediately slam the door and lock it, as Lucas would have guessed she would. Instead, she hesitated, standing framed by the doorway and half hidden by the door she had tucked herself behind. Her breathing was much less rapid now, and her eyes were no longer darkened with fear. But her cheeks were stained with red, and the hand clutching the door was white-knuckled and trembling. She was still frightened, he thought. Maybe not of him, but of something that prevented her from seeing him the way he really was.

  "Edie," he said again, curling his fingers into impotent fists at his sides.

  She noted the gesture and arrowed her brows downward. Belatedly, Lucas realized how she must have misconstrued his actions. Immediately, he opened his hands again, but it was too late.

  "Edie, please," he tried one last time. "Talk to me."

  "Just go away, Lucas," she said, her voice thin and cold and much too empty. "Just leave me alone."

  There was no rancor, no venom in her command. Just a simple request and a kind of sad resolution. Had Lucas suspected for a moment that he possessed a heart, Edie would have broken it right there. Good thing for him he was such a heartless sonofabitch. The realization, however, brought with it little comfort.

  "Edie…"

  "Good night, Lucas," she said as she pushed the front door closed. "And good-bye."

  He said nothing more, knowing it would be fruitless at this point. In spite of her wishes, though, he knew it wasn't going to be a good night. And, as her front door clicked softly shut, he knew it wasn't going to be goodbye, either. Not yet. Not by a long shot.

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  « ^ »

  W hen Dorsey arrived at work late Monday afternoon, she sensed immediately that there was something very, very wrong. And not just because she'd managed to arrive early for a change, either. But as she changed into her bartender uniform and donned her wedding ring, as she stowed her backpack and teaching assistant clothes in her locker, she just sensed somehow that there was something … not right.

  In spite of her misgivings, however, she completed her preparations and headed out to the bar and as always, saw all of Drake's regulars lined up in their usual spots. Likewise as always, Adam was already there waiting—watching—for her, with that secretive little smile playing about his lips that Dorsey had come to know and love so well. And as always, Edie stood chatting with Straight-Shot-of-Stoli. But not as always, the other bartender was looking rather morose.

  "Hi," Dorsey greeted her as she slipped behind the bar. "You look kinda down. What's up?"

  Edie shrugged without much concern and reached behind herself to tug at the strings on her apron. "I'm just not feeling all that great today, that's all."

  Which was also totally out of character for Edie, because in all the time she'd worked at Drake's, Dorsey had never known the other bartender to be under the weather at all. Edie's sunny disposition and her a-smile-a-day outlook had always kept even the nastiest germs a
t bay. Certainly she'd never looked as beaten down as she did now. Her bright blue eyes had dimmed some and were smudged beneath with faint purple crescents. Her mouth was flattened into a tight, joyless line, and her skin seemed paler even than it had before. Her whole body, in fact, seemed more fragile, more limp. Worse than that, though, her spirit seemed almost empty.

  Unsure why she did it, Dorsey turned to look at Straight-Shot—not in accusation, but to silently ask for his input on this odd matter of Edie's sudden sobriety. But all Straight-Shot did was shake his head slowly and turn his hands palm up in unspoken confusion.

  So she turned back to Edie and asked softly, "Are you okay?"

  Edie nodded in a very unconvincing way. "I'm fine," she said, likewise without conviction. Then she sighed with what sounded suspiciously like remorse. "It's just a visit from the seven PMS dwarfs, that's all," she added listlessly. "I'll be okay in a few days."

  In spite of the other woman's clear dejection, Dorsey couldn't help but smile at that. "I probably shouldn't ask, but … the seven PMS dwarfs?"

  Edie did, finally, offer up a small grin in response. "Yeah," she said. "The seven PMS dwarfs. You know Grumpy, Crampy, Moody, Bitchy, Hungry, Angry, and Doc. What? They never visit you from time to time?"

  "Oh, yeah," Dorsey assured her with a chuckle, feeling a little better in light of Edie's—granted halfhearted—whimsy. "And not just when I'm PMS, either. But, gee, I've never seen the little buggers get you down like this before," she further observed.

  Edie shrugged again, still fumbling with the ties on her apron, which had clearly tangled themselves into a knot. "It's just…" She sighed again. "I had to tell someone to leave me alone last weekend, that's all.

  Dorsey nodded her understanding. "And he won't leave you alone, huh?"

  "No, he has left me alone," Edie said unhappily as she fought more fiercely with the apron ties that wouldn't come free. "I haven't seen or heard from him all week."