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

Quentin cocked his head and leaned back in his chair. “So that was different because you had my best interests at heart, is that it?”

Connor nodded at Allison, then looked back at Quent. “Obviously, unlike Allison here, who had your best interests at heart, Quent, you’re just a dirty, rotten interloper of the first order.”

Allison sighed in exasperation. Her brother and Connor were cut from the same cloth, despite the fact that one had been born to wealth and the other still had the air of a dangerous bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Neither would back down in a situation like this.

Connor looked at her levelly. “Somehow I didn’t think you’d be backing down easily despite seeming docile as a lamb when I drove you to work this morning.”

“You do know me better than that,” she tossed back.

“Let’s call this one a draw, petunia.” He said it calmly, but his fixed look conveyed the message that he would not be thwarted next time.

“Why don’t you join us for lunch?” Quentin offered. “Connor and I agreed to do lunch today a long time ago, but, as it happens, you’ve been the number-one topic so far.”

She glanced at her watch. “Thanks for the offer but I need to get back.”

She’d succeeded in communicating her displeasure to her brother, but it was clear that neither he nor Connor was going to be moved to seeing her point of view—such as the need for Connor to remove himself from her house.

Since staying any longer would probably be an exercise in futility, she supposed that it made sense to agree to Connor’s offer of a draw and retreat from the field of battle. But if Connor thought he’d won, he was in for a big surprise.

Connor moved toward her. “I’ll go with you.”

“You’re having lunch with Quent, remember? Besides, it’s broad daylight with plenty of traffic.”

“Quentin and I can have lunch another time,” Connor shot back. “Besides, we’ve said all we needed to say. My guys are starting on the security system for the house this afternoon and I need to get back.” He nodded at Quentin. “You don’t mind if I take a rain check, do you?”

Quentin looked quizzically from one to the other of them before, she could swear, a smile played at the corners of his lips. “Not a problem. Not a problem at all.”

Her brother’s expression made her wary, but she didn’t dwell on it as Connor came toward her, obviously intent on following her out the door. “Suit yourselves.”

“I’ll pick you up at work when you’re done,” Connor said in a tone that declared he would brook no argument. “Give me a ring on my cell.”

“Naturally,” she responded sarcastically, though silently she admitted that she’d unintentionally summarized part of the problem: she was afraid that having Connor around might seem all too natural all too quickly.

On Sunday, Allison drove to Carlyle to have brunch with her family. Her brothers and her sisterin-law had all converged at her parents’ impressive brick colonial.

Connor came with her, as she knew he would have even if he hadn’t gotten a separate invitation from her parents.

He was still camped out at her townhouse, but she hadn’t given up hope of dislodging him. Even if Quentin technically still owned the townhouse and Connor could claim to be acting at his request, that didn’t mean she was without options. She wasn’t prepared yet to take the drastic step of moving out herself, but she could refuse to cooperate with Connor and ignore him as much as possible.

The main topic of conversation during brunch was, of course, her nameless antagonist. In comparison, the fact that she was living with Connor seemingly went over without anyone so much as batting an eye.

Her mother seemed to summarize the general feeling by commenting, “We’re so grateful to you, Connor, for providing your security services. It does give me some peace of mind.”

Her brother Matt added, “Lots of luck, Connor. And, if I know Allison, you’re going to need it.”

Connor merely cocked an eyebrow but Quentin and Noah grinned knowingly.

Allison tossed a quelling look at her brothers—a glance that indicated their hilarity was definitely not appreciated.

By the time brunch was over and she joined her sister-in-law Elizabeth in the family room, she was gritting her teeth. If there was anyone who could sympathize with her plight, however, it would be her best friend.

She flopped into a wicker chair facing Liz. “Can you believe it? Grateful? Peace of mind?” She opened her eyes wide in mock disbelief.

Liz, who’d just taken the rocking chair to breastfeed Nicholas, looked up. “I know, I know. But, Ally, really, aren’t you the least bit scared by all this?”

“You mean the threats?” Allison shrugged. “Yes, of course. But I can’t let fear paralyze me. Otherwise I might as well resign my job tomorrow.”

Liz nodded understandingly.

“But don’t tell my brothers that.” She blew a breath. “If they knew I was the least bit bothered by this, they’d probably hide me in a hut somewhere with bodyguards posted at all sides.”

Liz chuckled. “Oh, Allison, they mean well. Quentin, for one, is genuinely concerned about your safety.”

“I know. I just wish they’d give me a little more credit. Besides, there are practically four of them. Connor could give the other three a run for the money in the overprotectiveness category.”

Liz gave her a sympathetic look.

Allison sighed in exasperation. “Connor’s made himself at home in the townhouse. Yesterday he was inspecting door locks and checking windows. He already has his people installing a home alarm system with a direct alert to the police.”

The alarm system had made her more comfortable, she conceded. It was just who was supervising the installation that bothered her.

“Hmm.” Liz looked down at the nursing baby. “There was a time when you would have done somersaults for attention from Connor.”

Allison made a noncommittal sound in her throat. Liz knew all about her teenaged humiliation at Connor’s hands. “I got tired of dining on the crumbs of that table a long time ago.”

“I’d be shocked if a daughter of mine were dining on the crumbs of any table,” Ava Whittaker said as she entered from the doorway leading to the family room.

Allison watched as her mother—looking elegant as always, her coifed hair as dark as Allison’s own but tinged with some gray—sank into a nearby wicker chair. “Mom, how could you say that in there?”

“Say what, dear?” Her mother bestowed an indulgent gaze on the baby.

Allison waved a hand. “Grateful, Mom? Peace of mind? Whatever happened to ‘a woman is perfectly capable of taking care of herself’? Usually I can count on you at least in this family.”

Her mother had practically raised her children alone while her father built Whittaker Enterprises. When the youngest of her children had reached her teens, Ava had gone to law school and eventually become a respected family court judge. Allison’s mother was her hero, her role model.

Her mother’s gaze drifted back from the baby to her. “Of course I know you can take care of yourself. But there’s nothing wrong with thanking Connor for his help when you may be in real danger.” She paused. “In fact, I hope you haven’t forgotten the manners I tried to instill in you and have already thanked him yourself. Have you?”

Allison quashed the niggle of guilt. Her mother had a sneaky way of turning the tables on her. “The way all of you were falling over yourselves to thank him, you’d think he’d taken on his worst client ever.”

Her mother raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Allison, you know we meant nothing of the kind. Your brothers were just teasing, and usually you’re besting them at their own game.”

“Yes, well, think of the inconveniences that Connor has to put up with!” Allison sat up in her chair and pretended to think for a second before snapping her fingers. “I know! I made him pace downstairs waiting for me to get ready this morning.” She glanced at Elizabeth, who was looking mildly amused. “You know how I love long, hot showers.”

Her mother tried and failed to look as if she were seriously concerned.

Allison glanced from her mother to Liz and back. “Hasn’t it occurred to anyone in this family that I’m, for all intents and purposes, living with a man?” She covered her mouth in a mock gasp, then threw up her hands. “I mean, if it had been anyone but Connor, your reaction would have been the opposite of peace of mind and, guaranteed, Matt and Noah wouldn’t have been wishing him luck.”

“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 papers 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.

Chapter Four

Her 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.”