The Tycoon's Desire: Under the Tycoon's Protection / Tycoon Meets Texan! / The Greek Tycoon's Virgin Mistress

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 legalsized 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.

“That’s my mail!” Allison stormed back over to him from the table where she’d just set down her gym bag. “And don’t tell me that you open your clients’ mail, too!”

He blocked her attempt to grab the envelope. “In fact, sometimes I do. When the job calls for it.”

He slid the contents from the envelope and his blood ran cold. Allison gasped beside him.

There were three photographs of Allison going about her business. The photos were somewhat grainy, computer-generated reproductions taken from a distance, but nevertheless the subject was unmistakable.

Angling himself away from her, he let his eyes scan the contents of the plain white sheet of paper that had fallen out with the photos. The three lines of typed text chilled him:

Just so you know Im watchin. I can take you out anytime. If you wanna live, quit your job and go vacation on daddy’s money.

Allison made a grab for the material in his hand, but he held up his arm. “What is it?” she demanded.

He debated for a second, but realized he’d have no peace until she found out, as much as he wanted to shield her. He wanted to kill the bastard who was threatening her. Tipping the contents of the envelope toward her, he said, “Take a look.”

He watched her face blanch and cursed under his breath. “Don’t touch anything. I’m calling the police and having them test all the contents of the envelope for fingerprints.”

She nodded, uncharacteristically silent.

“Do you recognize when the photos were taken?”

“Two or three weeks ago, I think.” She looked up at him and her expression conveyed thinly veiled distress. “That first shot was taken in front of the dry cleaners. My car is over on the far left, which is where I think I parked it when I couldn’t find a closer spot. It looks as if the photo was taken from the parking lot across the street.”

“Okay, and do you recognize the two others?”

“I think so. I’m wearing something different, but I think those were taken days apart.”

He nodded and carefully set down the offending images and sheet of paper. “Good. That’ll give the police a good lead about where to start asking questions to see if anyone remembers anything, though I doubt anyone will.”

She raked a hand through her hair, the glossy locks cascading around her face. “This is ridiculous. I’m used to having my photo taken from time to time, but it’s always been reporters flashing bulbs in my face at a press conference or at a charity ball.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Quite the popular little heiress prosecutor, aren’t we?”

“Kiss my millionaire fanny, Rafferty.”

He laughed, but he privately admitted the joke was on him: he’d certainly given more than a passing thought to kissing her all over.

But, he was glad to see his comment had had its intended effect and there was some fire back in her eyes. That white-faced expression she’d been wearing was unlike her. And while he wanted her to appreciate the danger she could be in, he also didn’t want this crazy nut to cow her and mark her for life.

She frowned. “His English skills aren’t very good, are they?”

“Yeah, which does point to our man Taylor or, more precisely, one of his gang members who isn’t behind bars.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” She looked unconvinced. “Or it could just be someone trying to throw us off the scent and point the finger elsewhere.”

“What makes you think that?” He had his own theory in that regard, but he was interested in hearing hers.

She crossed her arms. “If one of Taylor’s pals wanted me dead, I’d probably already be gone—or, at least, they wouldn’t have bothered with a note.”

He nodded. She’d obviously learned a few things at the DA’s Office. He just wasn’t sure he liked her being acquainted with the seedier side of life. Sure, he’d often made fun of her diamond-studded-slipper upbringing, but he knew better than most just how bad the alternative could be.

“The person who is doing this obviously wants to scare me,” Allison mused, “but so far he’s hung back from doing more than threaten. So, again, we have a profile that might fit better with Kendall, who’s a white-collar criminal.”

“You know something, petunia?”

“What?” Her chin came up, as if expecting a sarcastic remark.

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Her shoulders relaxed a little. “That’s probably the highest compliment in your book.”

Chapter Five

Allison didn’t know why she’d let Connor talk her into spending the weekend at his getaway cottage in the Berkshires, west of Boston. Somehow she’d let him convince her that she needed the change of scene.

She sat in the living room, her files around her, having spent the afternoon working on her brief in response to Kendall’s attorney’s pre-trial motion to exclude certain evidence from being presented to the jury.

She could hear Connor moving around in the kitchen. After they’d gone into town for groceries, he’d gone to work on his computer. There were four of them in the den, she had discovered, plus some hitech computer accessories.

She was thankful that the past week had been less eventful than last Saturday. After they’d discovered the anonymous note in her mailbox, the rest of the day had been spent talking to the police that Connor had summoned to the townhouse. She’d spent more than an hour being grilled, the dull throbbing at her temples a testimony to the thoroughness of their questioning.

The police had since informed them that the photographs and note hadn’t turned up any fingerprints other than Connor’s, though the envelope that they had come in had had many different prints, including probably that of her mailman. None of the shop owners or anyone else near the locations where the photographs had been taken had remembered anything suspicious.

Yet, despite the uneventfulness of the week, she hadn’t felt relaxed. Whereas before she’d only thought someone might be watching her, the photographs confirmed that to be the case.

It was a spooky and unsettlingly thought. She now found herself turning around at odd moments, expecting to catch someone watching her.

So, at the end of the week, when Connor had argued she could work just as well at his country house as she could at the townhouse, she hadn’t disagreed too strenuously. In fact, she admitted to herself, having him around made her feel safe. Perhaps it was the photos and note that had done it, but she no longer had the same desire to get rid of him.

And going to Connor’s place was a distraction. When they’d arrived that morning, she’d discovered that Connor’s “getaway cottage” was a two-story, wood-frame structure nestled in the woods, well back from the road. It boasted four bedrooms, two baths, a spacious kitchen, a living room, dining room, den, deck and, for good measure, a hot tub.

She tried hard not to think about the hot tub—and tried harder still not to think about the fact that her bedroom was next to his.

She looked through the sliding-glass doors leading to the outdoor wooden deck and watched Connor fire up the barbecue grill. Beside him, plates held some steaks and potatoes, ready for grilling.

Deciding it was time to put away her files for the evening, she rose and gathered up her papers, putting them in a neat stack on an end table.

When she got outside, Connor was nursing a beer and watching the rays of the disappearing sun twinkle through the branches of the trees.

He opened another beer and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, watching as he expertly used a long fork to turn the steaks. “You know, I could almost get used to having you cook for me, Rafferty.”

At his astonished look, she laughed. “But I suppose grilling is up there with manly pursuits like knowing how to open a beer bottle and programming a remote control.”

Seemingly despite himself, he chuckled. Closing the barbecue, he said, “You got that right, petunia. So for the rest of the evening, remember that I’m the one in charge and you’re the deputy.”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you mean for the rest of the evening? That’s what you try to convince me of every day.”

“Right, but with little success.” He nodded through the glass doors at the kitchen. “The rest of the stuff for dinner is in there.”

Tossing him a look, she nevertheless took the hint and went to the kitchen. She returned with plates, utensils, and napkins for the outdoor table. She also carried out the salad he’d left on the kitchen counter.

As she set the table, she cast him a surreptitious look. His faded jeans did little to hide a tight rear end. He wore his button-down plaid shirt open at the collar, where it revealed a small bit of the white undershirt he wore beneath. Overall, the effect was casual but sexy.

Until they’d actually sat down to eat, Allison didn’t realize how intimate it was to be having dinner alone with Connor, surrounded by the woods, eating food that he’d prepared. Despite that—or maybe as a distraction from it—the conversation flowed easily between them. They talked about the latest news, what the Boston Red Sox could do to make it to the World Series, and what qualified as classic rock-and-roll music.

As a result, by the time they were done eating, she was feeling pleasantly relaxed. So much so that she was able to say casually, “There’s one thing I never understood about you, Rafferty.”

“Only one?” He quirked a brow and sat back, looking amused. “What a letdown. I don’t even qualify as complex, misunderstood, or—better yet—tortured?”

She rolled her eyes. “James Dean was tortured, you’re just—” she paused to think for a few seconds “—inscrutable.”

“Inscrutable?” He rubbed his chin. “Okay, I guess that’s better than nothing. So, I suppose you’re going to enlighten me about what makes me ‘inscrutable’?”

Ignoring his mocking tone, she plunged ahead. “As I was saying, there’s one major thing I haven’t understood about you.” She took a fortifying sip of her beer. “It’s this whole South Boston business.”

His expression, she noted, became ever so slightly shuttered.

Nevertheless, because she wasn’t one to turn back once she’d started, she went on, “You leave South Boston, get a fancy degree from Harvard—with high honors in computer science, no less—and then, instead of starting the corporate climb at some cushy investment banking job, you wind up going back to South Boston to set up shop.”

He shrugged.

“Not only that,” she persisted, “but you choose an unglamorous area like security systems. Most people don’t go to Harvard just to come full circle.”

He sat back in his chair and studied her. “True, but things worked out well anyway.” He nodded around him to the large house and the surrounding trees. “Maybe, princess, it was all part of the master plan.”

She nodded. “Knowing you, I don’t doubt it. What I want to know is, what was the master plan?”

He looked amused. “You just keep probing until you get some answers, don’t you? Which is probably what makes you a great prosecutor.”

“Don’t try to sidetrack me with compliments.” She steeled herself against his flattery and leaned forward in her seat. “Why go back to South Boston after Harvard? One would assume you had every reason not to, particularly since your father was killed in the line of duty there.”

She knew from Quentin that Connor’s father had been a cop who had died when Connor was still a kid. She also knew Connor’s mother, a nurse, had died of breast cancer soon after his high-school graduation, leaving him parentless from the age of eighteen. It had all made her feel very sorry for Connor when she’d met him.

“Am I being cross-examined?” Connor’s tone was casual, but she sensed an underlying tenseness in him.

Knowing that she was on to something, she ignored his question and said, instead, “Tell me about your father.” She added, gentling her voice, “Please. I’d really like to know.”

He saluted her with his empty beer bottle. “Okay, princess, I see I’m not going to throw you off.”

She wondered if that were true. She got the feeling he was only going to give her an answer because he wanted to—and she also sensed she was on terrain that Connor didn’t ordinarily let people onto.

He was silent for a time, looking off into the distance before his gaze came back to her. “I was nine when Dad died. Tough age to lose your father—but no age is a good one. He was the assistant coach of my softball team and taught me the usual stuff: how to ride a bike, how to swim.”

He blew a breath, then continued, “My father had this thing about giving back to the community. Perhaps because he’d grown up as a working-class kid in South Boston himself and had gone on to become a cop.”

“Hmm,” was all she said. She’d finally gotten him going and she wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to get sidetracked by her commentary.

“Anyway, even though we could have afforded to live out in the suburbs, he wanted to stay in South Boston. He even angled his way to a job there.”

“In other words, he was into ‘community policing’ even before the term was coined,” she put in.

He nodded. “Exactly. He believed not only in police patrols, but police involvement in the community.”

“Getting to know people,” she supplied. “Coaching softball as a way to keep kids off the streets.”

He nodded again. “Right.”

She waited for him to go on.

He took a swig of his beer, then squinted into the distance as if he was trying to make out something among the trees. “One day the doorbell rang and I thought it was him, back from the evening shift. Instead it was the sergeant from his district, looking so serious I immediately got a queasy feeling in my stomach.” He shifted his gaze back to hers. “You can guess what came next.”

“How did it happen?” she asked softly. They’d known each other for years but this was the first time she’d felt comfortable enough to ask him about the circumstances of his father’s death. She ached for the boy who had opened the door to a nightmare so many years ago.

“He was responding to a break-and-enter. He caught one guy, cuffed him. What he didn’t know was the guy had a partner who was packing a .38 special.”

Allison flinched at the image he evoked.

Connor grinned crookedly. “You wanted to know, princess.”

“What I want to know is why you bury that story.”

“Ever combative and feisty, aren’t you?”

She frowned. “Maybe, but there’s certainly nothing to be ashamed of in that story. I have no idea why you keep quiet about it. In fact—”