Under the Tycoon's Protection (4 page)

“But it
is
Connor, dear.” Ava paused. “Unless you're suggesting something
is
going on between the two of you?”

“Of course not!” The thought was ridiculous. “The Kiss” didn't count. “I was just arguing the what if? Is it so beyond the realm of possibility that Connor and I would find living together—” she searched for the right words, then gave up “—sexually awkward?” Not only that, it was too intimate, too personal, too everything!

A gleam came into her mother's eyes. “Oh, I see.”

She knew that gleam. The last time her mother had it, she'd just found out Liz and Quentin were having a baby.

Frustrated, Allison slumped back into her chair in defeat. “No, you don't see, Mom.”

She'd meant to use the co-habitation issue as a hook to gain some maternal support by making it clear why Connor living with her in the townhouse was an untenable situation. Unfortunately, the plan had backfired: her mother was looking pleasantly surprised.

“Well, what I do understand,” Ava said, “is that there's a perfectly nice young man in there.”

Allison stared moodily out at the lawn and wondered idly how Connor would have liked being called “a nice young man.”

“And, if
someone
were interested, I'd say she couldn't do better.”

Allison nodded at Liz. “Can you see her counting the grandbabies? You and Quentin have opened the floodgates.”

Liz righted the baby, who'd finished feeding. “Well, you have to admit, Connor is a catch.” She added, at Allison's look, “If you were interested, I mean.”

“Speaking of grandbabies—” Ava took Nicholas from Liz and placed him over her shoulder to burp. “As much as I love this little sweetheart, my only regret is that Quentin and Liz didn't have time to plan a formal wedding.” Ava stood up and started pacing, looking at Allison over the baby's head. “So, my darling, I suggest you make sure to take those long, hot showers by yourself. Leave the cold ones to Connor.”

“Mom!”

Liz looked momentarily shocked and then started giggling.

Ava headed to the doorway, a smile on her face.

“We don't even like each other!” Allison called to her mother's retreating back. “We mix like oil and vinegar!”

She turned back to Liz. “Why am I explaining myself?”

“I think you're protesting too much.”

She grabbed a pillow from a nearby chair and tossed it at Elizabeth, who laughed and ducked.

 

The next week was a blur for Allison. Connor had finished seeing to the security system installation at the townhouse, and she and Connor had settled into a regular routine. Each morning, no matter how early, she made it to the front door only to discover Connor was already waiting for her, car keys in hand. If she didn't call him at the end of the day, he'd phone her and ask when he needed to pick her up at the office.

She tried to dodge him on Wednesday, but he just showed up at her office anyway and waited a half-hour for her to finish working. She'd felt like a heel, no matter how much she told herself he deserved it for barging into her life and her house.

Yet, despite doing her best to treat him as if he were no more than a speck of dust on the wall, the two of them continued to rub up against each other. His pa
pers and computer were set up in a corner of her study and his personal belongings were in her house.

But what really bothered her, she admitted to herself, was the intimacy of their living situation. She'd been trying to make a point to her mother when she'd used the words
sexually awkward,
but the truth wasn't far afield.

On Thursday morning, as she was getting ready for work, she'd realized the shirt for the outfit she was putting on was hanging in the hall closet. Knowing Connor was showering, she'd dashed out of her bedroom clad only in her bra and skirt.

She'd just turned to head back to her bedroom, pleased to have found the shirt she'd sought, when the bathroom door had unexpectedly opened and her gaze had collided with Connor's.

His only covering was a towel riding low on his hips. Half-naked, he paradoxically loomed even bigger and more imposing than he usually did.

Her gaze moved downward, taking in lean but sculpted muscles and a line of hair that traveled down a flat stomach and disappeared from view at the top of his towel.

When her gaze connected with his again, she felt herself flush. But whether it was from embarrassment at being caught in her curiosity, or from his hot look at her nearly topless state, or both, she wasn't sure.

She'd involuntarily hugged the shirt to her breast
in a protective gesture and marched past him, slamming her bedroom door shut behind her without turning around.

By Friday night, when Connor had picked her up at work and brought her back to the townhouse, the tension between them was so thick, she felt like a boiling pot with a shaking lid.

After changing out of her business suit and into some jeans and a fitted top, she headed downstairs to fix something simple for dinner and then curl up on the couch to go through some files she'd brought home with her from the office.

Unfortunately, Connor was downstairs in the front hall when she got there. He was loosening his tie and obviously headed upstairs to change out of the business suit he still wore. Somehow he managed to look rough around the edges even in conservative business attire.

He stopped when he saw her and his gaze raked over her, settling on the files she was holding. “What? No plans on a Friday night?”

She stiffened and her chin came up. “I have work to do.” Then she added, even though she knew it was ridiculous to feel defensive, “Otherwise I'd have had plans.”

“Since when does work mean giving up Friday nights?”

“Sometimes it does.” She shrugged. “Besides, I'm
not in the mood to head out tonight.” That was partly true. She also wasn't involved with anyone at the moment.

Normally, she'd be heading out anyway, but—and she'd rather eat chalk than admit this to Connor—the truth was that the death threats had nibbled at her self-confidence. So, spending Friday night cocooned at home—even with someone as annoying as Connor—was more appealing than hitting the social scene.

He arched a brow. “Maybe you'd feel differently about staying home if the guys you dated were more interesting.”

Her chin came up. “Back off, Rafferty.” As if he knew much more about her love life these days than what could be gleaned from the occasional mention about her in the society pages. She set her files down on the console table in the entry hall, where she could find them later.

He looked displeased. “You know what your problem is, petunia?”

She affected a bored tone. “I'm sure you're going to tell me.”

“Damn straight, I'm going to tell you. Your problem is you can't deal with a guy who has a brain in his head.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“I've watched you, princess. I've seen all the Tom,
Dick, and Harrys that have gone trooping in and out of your life.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I've never dated a Tom, a Dick—that's with a capital
D
—or a Harry.”

Connor's lips twisted. “Of course, I knew I didn't have a chance unless I surgically removed a large segment of my brain.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That's a lovely image. Anyway, it's not true. The guys I date are not dumb.”

“What about the guy who accidentally bonded his fingers together with glue?”

She sighed impatiently. “Why does everyone bring up Lenny? That was high school and I still can't live that one down.”

“In your book, the guys have to look and talk tough but be as thick as a plank,” Connor persisted. “Your problem is you've never dated a real man.”

“Like you, you mean?”

He smiled slowly, wolfishly. “I haven't heard any complaints.”

“You wouldn't. That criticism-proof room your ego dwells in doesn't let you hear any.”

His eyes narrowed. “Maybe there aren't any to be heard. I didn't hear any complaints from you about our kiss. In fact, you seemed to enjoy it.”

She flushed. “I've had better.”

His lips curved into a humorless smile, his jaw
hardening. He moved closer. “Really?” he asked, his voice low and silky.

She lifted her chin up another notch. “Yes,
really.
And, for the record: I didn't enjoy that kiss.”

“Hmm.” He reached out and clasped her arms with his hands, drawing her closer, his hands moving up and down in a slow caress. “Are you sure?” he murmured.

“Quite.”

“Because I could have sworn you were enjoying it.”

“Then you were wrong.” Was that breathy voice hers?

His gaze dropped to her mouth and he murmured, “Then I must have been imagining those soft lips moving underneath mine.”

He thought her lips were soft?

He bent his head and drew in a breath, turning his head to whisper in her ear, “And dreaming that subtle scent of pure woman.”

Her body heated.

He drew her flush up against him, his head bending to nuzzle her neck. “I must have fantasized that soft body pressed up against me….”

She should be stepping back—reminding him of the promise she'd extracted about no more kissing—but his low voice and the soothing caress of his hands were having an odd effect on her.

“Admit it,” he said softly against her temple. “You
liked the kiss.” His hands continued to stroke her, coax her.

It was hard to issue a denial…and hard to remember why it was so important that she do so. His hands moved up to knead her shoulder blades and her eyes nearly closed.

She could feel the magnetism practically radiating from him. He lifted his head and his gaze connected with hers. His eyes shone with a golden-brownish hue in this light. She felt prickles of awareness all over her skin, her nipples tight beneath the concealing fabric of her bra.

“You find me irresistible, don't you, petunia?” he said in a low, seductive voice. “I'm an arrogant, heavy-handed monster, but you like it.”

Yes. She should say it out loud and put an end to this. She focused on his mouth. If she said yes, he'd probably kiss her again. She bent toward him—

—and he stepped back, his arms dropping to his sides and the twin flames disappearing from his eyes. “Lucky for us then that I can resist you.”

It took her a second, but comprehension finally hit and, with it, a cold fury.

He'd been toying with her! Of all the arrogant, smug…

She was tempted to rear back and punch him. He found her very resistible, did he? He'd enjoyed their kiss just as much as she had, the stinker.

And with that thought, she knew how to wipe the smug smile from his lips. She grasped his lapels and yanked him down to her.

In the instant before her eyes closed, she noted the surprise in his eyes followed by—and she knew she wasn't wrong—male interest.

H
er response caught him off guard.

But he'd be damned if he didn't take advantage of the opportunity she'd handed him.

Sure, he'd been trying to rile her. Sure, her refusal to admit their first kiss had affected her had challenged him to prove her wrong. But, the tension that had been building between them all week could almost be cut with the proverbial knife.

So, when one of her hands moved to grasp his shoulder while the other cupped the back of his head, he let her urge him forward and press herself into him as she slanted her mouth across his to deepen their kiss.

Her lips, he thought, were just as soft as he remembered. Enticing. And warm. Definitely warm as they moved over his, caressing, coaxing, rubbing.

He parted his lips and let her take the kiss deeper. His body tightened in instinctive reaction to her nearness.

No matter how much she denied it, the sexual attraction was almost palpable between them. So much so that there was a fine line between their constant baiting of one another and jumping into bed together.

He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her off her feet, and tilted his head back so her mouth was on top of his and she was pressed against him.

She made a sound and started to push away from him, but he tightened his arms around her and took her mouth again and again in a series of increasingly hot kisses that had his blood pounding through his veins.

Finally, when the urge to undress her and take her right there in the entryway started to overwhelm his common sense, he took two strides and had her up against the wall. He lowered her slowly, letting her slide down against him, from her breasts yielding against his chest to her thigh sliding against his arousal.

When her feet had reached the floor, he let her break their kiss.

She blinked and took deep breaths that seemed to mirror his own.

“Want to go another round, petunia?” His voice
sounded husky with arousal to his own ears. “I dare you.”

He watched as her brows snapped together and her eyes flashed. It was worth the price of admission to spark her ire, he thought. She'd light into him now all right, but he'd gotten her to convert her outrage into sexual energy twice now, and both times he'd been putty in her hands.

“I don't need another round, Rafferty.” Her lashes lowered and her hand came up to stroke his arousal. She looked back up at him, her lips curving seductively. “I have all the proof I need that—how did you put it?—you can resist me.”

He sucked in a breath. In an instant, he had her pressed up against the wall again, hands over her head and wrists cuffed by one of his hands.

She wiggled against him, her seductive smile still in place, and he muttered a curse.

“What's that, Connor? I didn't hear you.”

He narrowed his eyes. They were playing a dangerous game: both of them refusing to back away from calling the other's bluff. Yet, he was far from being the type to back away from a challenge. “Careful, princess. You might want to think twice about issuing a challenge like that when you've literally got your back to the wall,” he growled. “Do you want to deny again you enjoyed our lip-locks? Because, if you do, I'll have to try to prove you wrong
again.
”

To her credit, her bravado didn't desert her. She tossed her head, silky strands of dark hair sliding against them both as she tried to clear her face. “I suppose this counts as seduction to a caveman like you.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with his free hand. But then, instead of drawing his hand away, he gave in to temptation and slowly caressed the delicate line of her jaw, letting his thumb rub over the puffy softness of her lower lip.

She held herself still, her gaze locked on his, not yielding, but not lashing him with her sharp tongue either.

He moved his hand downward, stroking the side of her neck and then trailing the tip of his index finger down along the V-shaped neckline of her top and lower, over the roundness of her breast.

With his fingertip, he traced the shape of her breast, moving over its jutting peak.

Allison moaned.

“Watch me,” he breathed. He cupped her breast then—noting she was just large enough to fill the palm of his hand—and began to knead her softness.

Her eyes were fixed on his hand, the quickness of her breath the only sign she wasn't immune to his caress.

His pulse came hard and heavy. “It wouldn't take much for us to hit the sack together, petunia.”

She looked up at him, her eyes dilated and dark with arousal.

“'Course,” he added wryly, “your brothers would probably pound me into pulp if we did. And I wouldn't blame them.”

“It wouldn't be any of their business,” she said, the breathless quality of her voice belying the toughness of her words.

He found it interesting she didn't immediately deny any interest in sleeping with him. “Right. Ever the independent one, aren't you?”

“It would be nice if you could remember that, too,” she said, her words sharp, but, again, her voice carrying that undertone of sexual excitement that was starting to drive him crazy.

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like, petunia,” he murmured, “if we took out our frustration with each other in the sack instead of aiming verbal barbs at each other?”

Her eyes widened a fraction but then her brows snapped together. Wrenching her hands free of his grip, she gave him a push. When he took an involuntary step back, she brushed past him, only to turn back, arms folded, when she was free and clear.

She looked furious. “
Have I ever wondered?
Is that an invitation to your bed?”

“If it was, would you accept?”

“Not on your life, Rafferty.”

He didn't know what had caused her abrupt change of mood, but he silently cursed himself for inadvertently setting it off.

She marched off in the direction of the living room. “Find some other entertainment for the evening.”

 

The next morning, Allison was feeling marginally more relaxed.

Any remnants of tension from last night she decided to work off at the gym. Connor came along, of course, and bench-pressed some iron while she hit the treadmill.

So much for her aim of ignoring him.
That
plan had fallen by the wayside last night. It didn't help that, despite her best intentions, her eyes kept trailing to him, finding him behind her with the help of the mirror in front of her.

He was in superb physical condition. His biceps and chest muscles flexed as he lifted the weight above his head, held it, and lowered it again, unaware of her scrutiny.

She thought about those arms around her the night before and flushed. Then her mind went back to his words.
Had she ever wondered about hopping into bed with him?

The question had been like a dousing with ice-cold water, yanking her from the romantic haze she'd fallen into.

Of course, there'd been a time when she'd wondered what it would be like to spend the night with Connor. But his question not only made clear that he hadn't reciprocated her feelings, it had also shown how little he'd known her.

And, naturally, she also couldn't forget that he'd long ago proven himself an insensitive lout.

Another quick look in the mirror revealed Connor was attracting more than his fair share of surreptitious female attention.

Scowling, she ran harder.

Minutes later, she stepped off the treadmill and walked over to where he was now standing by the leg press machine. “I'm going for a swim in the pool.”

He gave her a crooked grin. A thin sheen of sweat coated his arm muscles and neck and his T-shirt was darkened in the center with perspiration. He smelled sweaty and all male. “Need to cool off, princess?”

His double meaning wasn't lost on her. She gave him a level look. “Yes, and I thought a few laps in the pool would be a better approach than dumping water over your head.”

His laugh sounded behind her as she moved off in the direction of the women's locker room for a quick duck under the shower nozzle before changing into her swimsuit. Since he'd gotten into this gym—not his usual one—with her guest pass, she doubted he'd be following her down to the pool.

She was wrong.

She'd completed three laps and stopped at the side of the pool when she looked up to find him standing above her. They were alone, she noticed peripherally, the middle-aged woman who had been swimming in a nearby lane just disappearing into the locker room.

She trod water and frowned up at him, cocking her head to the side. “I didn't think I'd see you down here.” She nodded at his blue swim trunks. “Where did you get those?” she demanded.

“I always come prepared.”

Was that amusement she saw lurking in his eyes? If she wasn't mistaken, he knew she'd been thinking—no, hoping—she'd managed to shake him.

Instead, he was looming above her, muscular legs planted near the side of the pool, his hands braced on his hips, his chest and forearms leanly corded and well defined.

Inwardly, she irritatedly shoved down the feminine urge to yield. Outwardly, she shrugged for his benefit. “Suit yourself,” she said, and then took off toward the other end of the pool.

Within a few minutes, however, she became aware of him in the lane beside her. She pushed down her annoyance as he stayed with her down one length of the pool and up the other, matching her stroke for stroke.

She paused at the realization. Was that what he
was? she thought. Her match? Is that why she found him so annoying?

She'd thrown her best at Connor over the years and he'd thrown it right back at her. He didn't let her call the shots like a lot of the men she'd dated. Instead, he was an immovable, solid block of granite and she hadn't even made a dent despite years of trying.

Except, last night he'd wanted her. She imagined that if she hadn't made some flippant comment, if she'd taken his offer seriously, they'd have wound up in bed together.

She tested that thought despite herself. In bed with Connor Rafferty. In bed with her nemesis. In bed with the most detestably annoying and implacable man she knew.

Instinctively, she knew that their sleeping together would not be a tame affair. No, they'd take their contentious relationship into the bedroom and they'd be wild and uninhibited and a match of wills and passions.

She knew he found her at least somewhat attractive these days if their recent kisses were anything to go by. So why not just give in and scratch the itch they were both feeling?

She felt warm despite the coolness of the water. It would be so easy to go to bed with Connor—and so complicated—not least because he was currently living in the same house and sleeping just down the hall.

A part of her—the part that was apt to be flattered
by evidence of her feminine power—was thrilled she'd finally gotten Connor's attention, even if it was over ten years too late. That part of her whispered, why not find out exactly what kind of lover he could be?

Still, Connor was Quentin's closest friend. He was so close to her family that Matt and Noah thought of him as an honorary brother. If she gave in to temptation, she might have to deal with seeing her old lover over a family dinner now and then for the rest of her life.

When she found herself touching the side of the pool again, she decided to stop and pull herself upright. Her gaze immediately connected with Connor's hazel one.

He was big and male and disturbingly close, beads of water clinging to his shoulders above the water line. “Nice swim, petunia. Is this how you keep in shape?”

“I enjoy a good swim now and then.” She paused. “Alone.”

He smiled. “Glad I've been let in on the secret ritual.”

“Lucky me.”

She swam away from him then and toward the ladder at the side of the pool. He swam after her and she was acutely aware of him watching her get herself out of the pool, water cascading from her body.

She grabbed a towel while he hauled himself out of the water, too. As she headed toward the locker
room, he called after her, “Meet you outside in twenty minutes.”

She shot him a baleful look over her shoulder. He was shadowing her in the most literal way possible and it was all extremely disturbing.

 

An hour later, Connor parked in front of the townhouse and followed Allison to her front door. The black metal mailbox nailed to the brick face of the house was half open and visibly stuffed with catalogs and other mail.

He stepped around her before she could react and pulled out the mail in one swift move.

“Last time I checked,” she said, her tone annoyed, “it was a federal offense to interfere with the operation of the mail service.”

He smiled and watched her irritation grow. “Then consider it checking and not interfering.”

She made a grab for the mail, but he moved his arm up and away from her. “Aren't you going to unlock the door?” he asked placidly.

“Don't patronize me.”

“Just add it to my tab. I seem to be running a long one with you.”

She gave him a haughty look. “That's funny, because I recall stopping your credit line a long time ago.”

“Open the door.” He nodded at the lock, then looked around. It was broad daylight, not even noon,
but he didn't like standing out here with her. They made an easy target. She hadn't gotten any threats since he'd moved in with her, but he knew better than to let his guard down.

After she unlocked the door, he disengaged the alarm system by pressing a few buttons on the box near the door. Then he took a moment to glance through her mail.

The lingerie catalog gave him a moment's pause as he wondered whether she actually wore stuff similar to the skimpy satin bra and undies on the cover.

Tossing the catalog aside, he stopped at a legal-sized white envelope with no return address. He turned it over and, noticing nothing on the back, slid his finger under the flap to tear it open.