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What would you risk for love?

The Tycoon’s Desire

Three seductive and thrilling romances from three beloved Mills & Boon authors!

The Tycoon’s Desire
Anna DePalo
Arlene James
Chantelle Shaw

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Under the Tycoon’s Protection

By

Anna DePalo

A lifelong book lover, ANNA DEPALO discovered that she was a writer at heart when she realised that not everyone travels around with a full cast of characters in their head. She has lived in Italy and England, learned to speak French, graduated from Harvard, earned post-graduate degrees in political science and law, forgotten how to speak French and married her own dashing hero.

Anna has been an intellectual-property lawyer in New York. She loves travelling, reading, writing, old movies, chocolate and Italian (which she hasn’t forgotten how to speak, thanks to her extended family). Readers can visit her at www.annadepalo.com.

For my editor, Julie Barrett, and my friend Vera Scanlon, for knowing there’s a place in the heart for fairy tales…and for understanding that strong heroines write their own tales.

Chapter One

Allison Whittaker stared at the man who might be trying to kill her.

She shifted the slats of her window blinds slightly to get a better view of the dark Boston street stretched out below her. The yellowish glow cast by an oldfashioned gas lamp fought a losing battle with the darkness of the cool April night.

The man sat motionless in the driver’s seat of the black car across the street, his face in shadow.

He’d been there last night, too.

She’d noticed. She made a point of noticing. More than four years as an Assistant District Attorney in Boston did that to a person. She’d been a lot more naive when she’d been straight out of law school.

A nice genteel white-shoe law-firm job should have been the next rung on the ladder. Her uppercrust family had certainly expected it of her. Her mother, a respected family court judge who’d just had a glowing article written about her in The Boston Globe, certainly had.

Instead, she’d surprised them all. She’d gone for the tough prosecutor’s job. And not as a prestigious Assistant U.S. Attorney trying federal cases either.

Nope. She’d gone for the down-and-dirty: putting away the friendly neighborhood drug dealer or burglar as a prosecutor in the District Attorney’s Office.

She looked down again at the man in the car. Of course, she’d surprise everyone even more if she wound up dead in her apartment, her throat slashed by the mystery man sending her death threats. She didn’t want to make that her encore.

She held her breath as the man in the car shifted and opened the driver’s-side door.

As he got out of the car, she strained for a better view but couldn’t make out his facial features in the dark. What she could tell was that he was tall and solidly built, with sandy-brown hair and dark clothes.

She watched as he scanned the street up and down and then made his way toward the house. Was he heading for her?

Her heart began to pound, her breath catching in her throat. Call the police! the rational part of her mind screamed.

Surely the neighbors would hear if he tried to break in? Her exclusive Beacon Hill neighborhood was usually quiet and serene.

The man below passed under a street lamp and her mind pulled the emergency brake on her thoughts.

She knew that face.

Suddenly fear was replaced by anger. Not the simmering variety of anger, either, but a full-blown boil. The type that any of her three older brothers would have recognized as a sign to dive for cover.

She headed for the staircase of the redbrick townhouse that she called home, heedless of the fact that she was dressed for bed in a short silk slip and matching robe. When she got downstairs—the back of her mind taking note of the fact that she hadn’t yet heard a knock or bell—she undid the lock on the front door and yanked the door open without ceremony.

“Hello, princess.”

Allison felt the same rush of energy she always did in this man’s presence, quickly replaced by an undercurrent of pulsing tension.

He had a lithe but muscular physique, one which usually reduced women to giggles and flirtatious banter. But not her. They had too much of a history for that, and she doubted his presence on her doorstep tonight was a mere coincidence.

She crossed her arms and snapped, “Did you take a wrong turn, Connor? The last time I checked, Beacon Hill was too exclusive a neighborhood for riffraff like you.”

He had the audacity to look amused, his gaze raking her. “And you’re still the perfect diamond blue blood, princess. Just like I remembered.”

“If you know anything about diamonds, you’ll remember they’re the hardest stones around.”

“Oh, I know plenty about diamonds these days, petunia,” he said, tapping the tip of her nose with his finger as he sauntered inside without invitation, forcing her to take a step back. “I’ve discovered they’re the gift of choice for women in your class.”

She yanked her mind from the image of Connor picking out diamonds for his girlfriends. Probably at someplace like the exclusive Van Cleef & Arpels, damn the man. He might have grown up in tough, working-class South Boston, but, thanks to the multimillion-dollar security business he’d started, his bank account was well into eight figures these days. He was quite the self-made tycoon.

She slammed the door shut behind him and locked it. “Make yourself at home.” Sarcasm was easier than thinking about him looming in her dark house with no company but her and the turbulent feelings he un erringly evoked in her. “I’m sure you’ll tell me in your own good time just what you were doing studying my house in the middle of the night.”

“What makes you think I was studying anything?” He peeled off his jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

She rubbed her chin, pretending to contemplate that as she followed him into the living room and watched him flick on a lamp. “Oh, I don’t know…could it be the fact that you’ve been sitting in a car across the street with the engine turned off for the last half-hour?”

She watched as he glanced around the living room. Framed photographs were everywhere, including ones of her with family and friends and holding Samson, her cat who’d died of old age four months ago. She felt vulnerable and exposed, her life on display in so many telling snapshots.

She’d moved into the townhouse after selling her condo last year. Her best friend and sister-in-law, Liz, who was an interior designer, had helped her decorate in an elegant style that fit well with the house’s old and patrician history.

He turned back to her. “Nice digs.” He bent down and gazed at a picture of her in a bikini on a beach in the Caribbean, laughing back into the camera as she ran with fins and goggles in her hands toward the water. “You filled out nicely, princess, once you finally got through puberty.”

She gritted her teeth. Despite the fact that Connor Rafferty had practically become a member of the family since rooming with her oldest brother Quentin at Harvard, she’d never felt comfortable around him. And she’d certainly never thought of him as a brother. Impatiently, she asked, “Why are you here? And more importantly, why were you lurking outside my house so late on a Thursday night?”

He straightened and shoved his hands in his pockets, his jaw hardening. “Did I scare you? Did you think I was that piece of scum who’s been sending you those nasty little love notes?”

“No!” She realized a second too late that the vehement denial sounded exactly like the bald-faced lie it was, but his mere presence had set her on edge. She supposed one of her brothers—probably Quentin—had mentioned to him the threats she’d been getting.

He quirked a brow, his tension easing a fraction. “What? Never thought you’d be glad to see me instead?” His lips twisted in wry amusement.

“Get real.” In fact, she had been relieved it was him in the split second before anger had stepped in. “And you’re evading the question. What are you doing here?”

He walked over and leaned against the back of the chintz-covered couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, feet crossed. “Just doing my job.”

“Just—” She stopped as an unwelcome thought intruded and her eyes narrowed.

He cocked his head. “You were always a quick study, petunia. Though, I have to confess, it is fascinating to watch those wheels turn in that devious little head of yours. I’ve always said that if you’d been born a redhead, the package would have been perfect. Red hair to match that red-hot temper of yours.”

“Get out.”

She watched his eyes narrow and his lips set in a firm line. “Now is that any way to treat the guy who’s here to protect you?”

She strode into the room and whirled back toward him once she got to the fireplace. She couldn’t believe this was happening. “I don’t know which member of my family hired you, Connor—” she said, crossing her arms “—and, frankly, I don’t care. You may own the best security firm in the country, but you’re not wanted or needed here, got it?”

Pushing away from the couch, he folded his arms, looking as easy to move as a boulder up a mountain. “Based on what I’ve heard, I’d say I’m definitely needed around here. As to whether I’m wanted—” he shrugged “—I’ve been asked to do a job and it’s going to get done.”

Want. Her mind zeroed in on that one word, then quickly backed away. Whatever she felt for Connor, that certainly wasn’t an apt description.

True, with hazel eyes framed by long, thick lashes and sandy hair cut conservatively short, he was model material except for the nose that had been broken a couple of times and the crescent-shaped scar marring his chin. But in her mind that was all overshadowed by the fact that he was condescending and annoying. Not to mention an untrustworthy snitch.

She hadn’t seen him since her brother Quentin’s wedding a few months back, but though their paths hadn’t crossed much lately, he was as familiar to her as a member of her family. He, on the other hand, hadn’t really had family to speak of, having lost both parents by the time he’d gotten to Harvard. Instead, he’d spent most school holidays with the Whittakers.

She placed her hands on her hips. “There’s no way you can do this job if I’m telling you that you can’t.”

He rubbed his chin, seeming to contemplate that for an instant. “Since Quentin still owns this place—” he nodded around him “—because you haven’t gotten around to closing the deal with him yet to purchase it, I’d say you’re wrong about that. So, first thing we’re going to do is make sure that security at the bachelorette pad is up to snuff.”

The familiar urge to throttle Connor Rafferty was coming over her again. True, she didn’t own the townhouse, but that was a mere technicality. The house had stood empty for two years after Quentin had purchased it as an investment, but she’d fallen in love with it and offered to buy it from him. In any case, she didn’t need a bodyguard. “If I need protection, I’ll get it.”

His lips thinned, his gaze holding hers. “That won’t be necessary, because I’m planning to stick to you like Krazy Glue until we get to the bottom of who’s been sending you death threats in the mail and spray-painting obscenities on your Mercedes.”

“I can take care of myself. I spotted you lurking around outside in a parked car, didn’t I?”

The thin line of his lips curved upward in a humorless smile. “What about that guy who was in the parked car at the street corner? Don’t tell me you missed him?”

She had.

He raised an eyebrow, seeming to read her silence for the admission it was.

“You can’t be sure that was in any way connected to me.” She knew she was right, nevertheless her heart tightened.

“You’re right, I can’t. But he was out of there like a speeding bullet as soon as I decided to test my theory by getting out of the car.”

“And you didn’t go after him?”

He shrugged. “How could I be sure he was after you?” he asked, tossing her words back at her.

At her impatient look, he added, “Anyway, it was too late to get back in the car to follow him and I couldn’t make out his plate number or even the make of the car in the dark before he disappeared. So, instead, I came to your door thinking at least I’d get thanked by the damsel in distress for running off the bad guy.”

“Now that you’ve run him off, would you mind running off yourself?” Even if she needed protection, she could arrange for it herself. The last thing she needed was a bodyguard hired by her overprotective family, not to mention one as distracting and annoying as Connor was.

His brows drew together. “You really don’t get it do you, princess?”

She pretended to look bored. “I suppose you’re going to explain so I can ‘get it.’” She stood her ground as he strode toward her. If he thought to intimidate her, he had another thing coming.

“You suppose right.” He stopped mere inches away.

She had to tilt her chin up to keep eye contact with him and caught the muscle ticing in his jaw. She ought to take perverse satisfaction in knowing that, as much as he unsettled her, she seemed to have an uncanny ability to annoy him as well.

“Working for the DA’s Office these days may give you the idea that you’re streetwise,” he growled, “but you’re not.” He looked her over. “Which leads me to wonder why you didn’t stick with what all the other debutantes and society ladies do for public service? You know, organizing a charity auction or something. Why bother working with the tough guys at the DA’s Office?”

She gritted her teeth and prayed for patience even though outrage bubbled up inside her. “This isn’t a hobby. It’s a career.”

She knew he’d had a rough childhood on the sometimes unforgiving streets of South Boston, but, really, that didn’t give him the right to constantly tweak her nose about having grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth. After all, he didn’t play the wealth card with Quentin.

Connor’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve made a career out of looking for a thrill, haven’t you, petunia? I’ve wondered why that is and why you can’t seem to get what you want with the pampered trust-fund boys over at the country club.”

She glanced around for something to throw, then decided it would be a pity to waste some heirloom against his hard head. And, besides, she’d be playing into every preconception he had of her. “So sure you know it all, don’t you? Except, guess what? I’m no longer some teenaged kid that you can rat out to her parents.”

He looked at her assessingly, his hazel eyes darkened to a nearly amber color. She could tell from the flare of his nostrils that he had his temper on a very short leash. “Still can’t forgive me for that one, can you?”

She arched a brow and ignored the way his nearness was coaxing every surface cell in her body into oversensitized awareness. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He had the height advantage by a good six inches over her five-foot-eight frame, but she was used to holding her own against three brothers who similarly bested her. “Saying that I can’t forgive you implies I still care about what happened, which I don’t.”

His lips thinned. “Yeah, and you haven’t seemed to have learned a lesson from it either.”

“Oh, I learned,” she countered. “I learned I couldn’t trust you.”

“You were a naive seventeen-year-old kid who’d started hanging out with the wrong crowd. What did you think? That biker boy in that bar was coming on to you because he wanted to take you home to share a root beer?”

“And you weren’t my keeper!” She didn’t add that one of the reasons she’d been in the bar that night was because she’d been hoping he would turn up. She’d briefly—very briefly—in her teenaged years had what some might have called an infatuation for Connor. But that was before he’d proven, by betraying her faith in him, that he’d seen her only as a pesky kid.

She could still recall the waves of embarrassment and humiliation she’d felt when he’d dumped her over his shoulder in the bar and marched out to his car, heedless of her kicking and yelling.

As if that weren’t enough, despite promising her that, if she kept still, he wouldn’t give a full report to her parents, he’d gone ahead and ratted her out anyway. She’d gotten a long lecture about underage drinking and sex, been grounded for a month, and had her comings and goings forever questioned after that.

Aloud, she said, “I’d say you’re just as guilty as I am, Connor, of not learning lessons from the past. You’re still acting like my keeper when you’re not.”

He finally seemed to be pushed over the edge. “Dammit! Are you so stubborn that you won’t accept help even when you need it? When your life may be in danger?”

“Stubborn?” She tilted her head to the side. “Seems to me you could write a magnum opus on that subject.”

She started to brush past him but he grabbed her arms and forced her gaze to his. His expression was stormy, his brows drawn together and his lips compressed. “Stubborn, thickheaded…”

She braced her hands against his chest. “Likewise,” she retorted. They were practically nose to nose, and beneath the adrenaline pumping through her veins, a little thrill of excitement intruded at having finally shaken his control—his years-old control.

His head swooped down then, cutting off her gasp of surprise as he seized her lips in an angry kiss. His lips moved over hers with hard pressure, and, when she would have jerked away, his hand came up to the back of her head to anchor her in place.

“Mmm…!”

Back when she’d been seventeen, she’d often daydreamed about what it would be like to be kissed by Connor Rafferty. But none of the scenarios had been like this. He kissed the way he did everything: with a cocky confidence that took no prisoners.

When he finally pulled away, their breathing was rapid as their eyes met. His hazel ones held a challenge, as if he was daring her to make some flippant comment about what he’d done and what invisible line had been crossed.

Her mouth opened, but when his gaze shot downward and narrowed, she clamped her lips together again. The tense moment stretched between them. She was acutely aware of how close he was, of the leashed energy emanating from him.

And then, without knowing exactly how and why it happened, she was in his arms again and his lips were on hers in an instant and she was responding the way she used to dream about, except now she could do a little real-life comparison.

His lips, for one thing, were softer and smoother than they looked. They slid over hers, molding and caressing, coaxing a response. His hands didn’t roam, instead they exerted a subtle pressure between her shoulder blades and at the middle of her back.

He didn’t make a sound, but focused all his concentration on giving and receiving pleasure from the stroke of his lips against hers. Whereas his first kiss had been angry, this one seduced.

Her lips parted beneath his and his tongue slid inside her mouth to stroke against hers, inviting her to respond. The evening shadow that darkened his jaw was a rough caress against her soft skin.

He pulled her closer, flush up against him, as she was caught up in the rush of feeling that had burst between them.

She might have been able to chalk up the first kiss as a fluke, but this second kiss…well, Connor Rafferty was the best kisser behind the best lips she’d ever encountered—and that included Ben Thayer in high school, who’d read and mastered 100 Creative Kisses: Smooching with Confidence.

When his hand slid down and cupped her bottom to pull them closer together so their bodies were in intimate contact, alarm bells went off in her head. She grasped his shoulders, intent on pushing him back, when she realized the ringing wasn’t only in her head.

The phone rang again, insistently, and Connor set his hands on her shoulders to steady her as they broke apart.

Flustered, she glanced around the living room to determine where the ringing cordless was located.

She spotted it peeking from under a throw pillow on the couch and hesitantly picked it up. “Hello?” Her voice was still husky with arousal.

“I’m coming for you.” The voice at the other end of the line was raspy and hoarse.

“Who is this?”

“Lay off your cases at the DA’s Office or you’ll end up dead.”

Her hand tightened on the receiver. She knew she had to keep him talking to get more clues. “I don’t scare easily.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Connor tense and his brows draw together. She turned away as he strode toward her.

There was a grim chuckle on the phone line. “I’m willing to bet Daddy would pay a nice little sum to get you back—dead or alive.”

Suddenly, the receiver was torn from her hand. “Touch her and I’ll obliterate you like the scum you are.” Connor’s voice was clipped and deadly. “You won’t be able to walk down the street without watching your back.”

Allison guessed the line must have gone dead because Connor punched a few buttons on the receiver, listened for a few seconds, and then tossed the phone onto a chair with a disgusted look on his face. “Should have known it wouldn’t be that easy to trace.”

“Why did you do that?” she demanded, bracing her hands on her hips. “You didn’t even give me a chance to try to draw him out.”

“Draw him out?” he asked incredulously. “Forget it, honey. You may work for the DA, but take it from someone who’s had a lot more experience with criminals. This guy’s a wily bastard. He’s only going to be drawn out when he comes for your pretty little neck.”

“There’s no need to be crude,” she snapped.

“What did he say?” he demanded.

“He warned me to back off the legal cases I’m working on.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What else?”

Seeking a distraction, she adjusted a pillow on the couch. “And he implied that kidnapping was in the cards.” She didn’t add the part about a ransom to get her back—dead or alive. No use adding even more fuel to Connor’s bonfire.

Chapter Two

Connor cursed. “I’m bunking down here.”

“What?”

“You heard me. My job starts now.” He cast a skeptical look at her tiny, chintz-covered couch. It looked about as comfortable as a linoleum floor. “I don’t suppose that couch converts into a sofa bed?”

“It doesn’t convert into anything. It’s an antique.”

He could almost hear her mentally add, “And if you’d grown up with some class, you would have known that.”

In his line of work, he’d become accustomed to spoiled, born-rich types who looked down their noses at him and the shadings of a Boston accent that still caused him to drop his r’s on occasion.

He’d long ago mentally filed Allison Whittaker under the heading Pampered Debutante. In return, she treated him with a haughty disdain that was so cool it could give polar bears frostbite.

True, he’d long ago sparked her ire by hauling her butt out of that rough-and-tumble bar, but he’d been fully justified. She’d been too much of a sheltered and naive princess to know what she was getting herself into.

When she’d announced after law school that she was joining the District Attorney’s Office, he’d figured she’d last about a nanosecond. She’d surprised him by hanging on for four years, but he’d always thought—despite his taunt about her aversion to the country-club crowd—that it was only a matter of time before she threw in the towel to marry a guy named Sloan, or, God forbid, Blake, and raise little Ralph Lauren-clad infants in an upscale suburb.

He glanced at the clock on the mantel. Since she looked ready to argue with him again, he decided to change tactics. “It’s nearly two in the morning. I’m beat and in no mood to drive back to my place. So, why don’t you show some mercy here?”

He watched the fast-moving emotions on her face as she debated what to do. When she seemed to come to a conclusion, he knew he’d won, but he carefully schooled his features into a bland expression.

“Fine,” she said reluctantly. “But only for tonight.” She moved toward the doorway. “There’s a guest bedroom. I’ll just go up and make sure it’s in shape.”

As he watched her leave, he figured he’d deal with the morning when it arrived. Allison was in over her head here, and, whether she wanted to admit it or not, she needed him.

He moved around the room restlessly. He’d gotten a call that morning from Allison’s brother Quentin. Naturally, all the Whittakers were concerned that Allison was being harassed and that it might be connected to one of her cases at the District Attorney’s Office. But Allison—not being one to be cowed easily, a trait he normally would have admired—had insisted she could handle matters by herself and no one should overreact.

His natural reaction had been to volunteer his security services. And, because Quentin was an old friend and the Whittakers had been good to him, he’d insisted on taking this matter on personally—with no fee.

He hadn’t divulged that to Allison, of course. He figured it would be easier if she thought he was a hired hand rather than some quasi–big brother trying to step in and do the right thing.

And the truth of the matter was, whatever he felt these days, he was damn sure it wasn’t brotherly. True, she drove him nuts, not the least because of her open disdain for him. But, as much as it irked him, they hit sparks off each other whenever they were in the same room.

He had enough sexual experience to recognize that for what it was. The signs were all there and too obvious to ignore. He was acutely aware of her—the light, flowery scent that clung to her skin, the startlingly brilliant blue of her eyes, the thick mass of dark-brown hair cascading past her shoulders.

She was curvy, too, her nicely rounded figure making her neither voluptuous nor willowy, but just right for making his body tighten whenever he was around her. He’d nearly blown a fuse when she’d opened the door in that short and silky slip, its matching robe gaping open above its loosely and obviously hastily tied belt.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. If he didn’t watch it, he’d get aroused right now, just thinking about her, and he couldn’t afford another lapse.

The long-simmering kettle of tension between him and Allison was getting harder to ignore and living with her under the same roof was going to try his self-control to the limit.

He’d kissed her, for cripes’ sake. Sure, he might try to rationalize it, but he knew the truth was more complicated than that.

What’s more, she’d kissed him back. Now that was an interesting little reaction for him to puzzle over. She’d been all fiery passion, just as he’d thought she’d be, and he, Lord help him, had been more than ready to be consumed by the heat.

He wondered what would happen if he tried to kiss her again…He started to grin, then stopped short. Get a grip, Rafferty. You’re here to protect her.

True, Allison had grown from a pesky kid into a beautiful, desirable woman. But they didn’t get along well enough for anything longer than a fling, and anything shorter would feel as if he were betraying his friendship with the Whittakers. And that went a long way toward explaining why his attraction to Allison had lain dormant, never acted upon—until tonight.

So, protect her he would, his raging hormonal reaction to her be damned. Just thinking about someone trying to harm Ally had made his blood boil. She might send his libido into overdrive, but she also had some jerk trying to spook her.

Fortunately, he’d been able to persuade her to let him spend the night at her place. But bigger battles lay ahead. She thought she was getting rid of him this morning, but she had another thing coming.

In the morning, Allison dressed for work and got downstairs only to discover Connor was already in the kitchen, dressed in last night’s form-fitting black jeans and white T-shirt—which, to her chagrin, outlined the lean but hard-looking muscles of his chest.

He looked up from tossing a pancake and nodded toward the coffeemaker. “Help yourself.”

She guessed she wasn’t getting rid of him just yet. She didn’t have it in her, however, to be irritated about it. “Thanks for making breakfast.” The aroma of the coffee and the smell of pancakes were already seducing her taste buds.

His lips quirked up, as if in acknowledgement that her statement was dictated only by good manners. “You’re welcome.” He slid a pancake onto a waiting plate. “I never leave the house in the morning without a shot of carbs,” he added, as if by way of explanation for his presence in her kitchen.

When they’d almost finished breakfast, she decided to tackle the bear in the room that they were both ignoring. “The threats are ridiculous. I mean, whoever is making them has to know that even if he gets me off my cases, they’ll still go forward. The DA’s Office will just get another prosecutor to handle them.”

Connor took his time answering, wolfing down the last of his pancakes. “That’s true. But no one knows your cases as well as you do. Whoever is threatening you is probably betting the DA’s case will be a lot weaker with a prosecutor who has been substituted midstream.”

“But that’s crazy!”

“Yup.” Connor nodded. “Crazy and desperate.”

Was he purposely trying to scare her?

As if reading skepticism on her face, he continued, “There’ve been plots in the past to knock off judges. A defendant may figure he can get a more sympathetic judge if he succeeds in getting rid of the first one.” He shrugged. “It isn’t a big leap to think someone’s guessed a similar strategy could work with an overzealous Assistant DA.”

She felt a prick of annoyance. “I’m not overzealous.”

Connor leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, but you’re doing your job too well and it’s scaring this guy. When I called you overzealous, I was just conjecturing about what our Mr. Nice on the phone could be thinking—and what might be motivating him. Maybe the next Assistant DA won’t care as much about your cases or won’t have your determination and brains.”

She couldn’t help the frisson of happiness that went through her at his offhand compliment.

Connor leaned forward and shoved his empty plate aside. “Is there one case you’ve been working on a lot?”

She gave him a sardonic look. “I only wish there was just one.” She knew she should be standing up right now, thanking him for his concern and showing him to the door, just as she’d promised last night. Yet, she supposed, she owed him some satisfaction in return for his concern, however misplaced, not to mention for cooking breakfast.

“All right, what’s a major case you’re working on?”

She considered a moment, then said, “One of them is the Taylor burglary case.”

“That one hasn’t made the papers.”

She nodded. “It wouldn’t, but Sam Taylor has a rap sheet that’s long and interesting, including drug dealing and misdemeanor assault and battery. This time he’s charged with burglarizing a home.”

“Is he out on bail?”

“No, he’s behind bars awaiting trial.” Then she added, by way of explanation, “He’s only in his early twenties, so there’s still time for him to move on to more serious crimes even if he gets off for this one—or even if he doesn’t but gets out of prison in a few years.”

Connor nodded curtly. “Drug dealing. Was he a neighborhood pusher?”

“Basically.”

Connor drained his coffee cup, taking his time asking his next question. “Has anyone linked him with a gang? He’s the right age and corner-dealing is the bread-and-butter of gang business.”

His perceptiveness surprised her. “Some of his neighbors have more or less said so. Off the record.”

His face gave away nothing. “So, some gang members may be harassing the Assistant DA who’s trying to put their old buddy Taylor in the slammer for a long while.”

A chill went through her as he gave voice to the fear that she refused to acknowledge, but she forced herself to nod in agreement. “All right, I buy that logic.”

“Any other prosecutions you’re handling?”

“There’s the Kendall case.”

“Okay, what’s the Kendall case?”

She shrugged. “Business executive accused of embezzlement. Part of it is what accountants know as a lapping scheme. Basically, stealing and then hiding the fact by applying subsequent revenue to cover the missing money in the company’s accounts receivable.” She paused. “At least that’s what we’re trying to prove.”

“Kendall. Name sounds familiar.”

She nodded. “He’s high profile. Sits on a bunch of charitable boards. A big social climber.”

His lips twisted. “Great, my favorite type.”

She pasted a look of mock surprise on her face. “What? You dislike the social climbers as much as the born-rich types? Are there any types you do like?”

He gave her an inscrutable look before mentally seeming to shift gears back to the issue at hand. “Those white-collar crimes often settle. Just the thought of landing in a cell next to your run-of-the-mill burglar or drug dealer is usually enough to get these guys’ defense attorneys to talk settlement.”

“True, but, in this case, Kendall doesn’t want to admit any wrongdoing.” She was surprised by Connor’s knowledge of law enforcement. She supposed she really shouldn’t be though. His father had been a cop and Connor had in all likelihood worked with the police and prosecutors on numerous occasions on behalf of his clients.

She added, “As I said, Kendall is a social climber. If he’s convicted, it’ll ruin him. Right now his public relations firm is spinning this as the DA’s Office’s misguided attempt to bring down one of Boston’s big philanthropists.”

“Is Kendall out on bail?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so Kendall is free to come and go. Unlike Taylor, who could, despite that, have some buddies on the outside helping him out. On the other hand, Kendall appears to be just a white-collar criminal. We don’t know whether he has it in him to get his hands dirty with death threats.”

She gave him a look of studied patience. “In other words, I’m working on two major cases, so I have two defendants with motives to do me wrong? Is that what you’re saying?”

He quirked a brow. “What I’m saying is, put a lid on it, petunia. Someone’s after you and we haven’t answered the who, what, and why questions yet. Until we do, it’s best if I stay here.”

Stay here? Hadn’t they settled this last night? He was going, going, gone. In fact, he should have been gone already. If she wasn’t such a sucker for coffee—not to mention pancakes for breakfast—she’d have seen him out the door an hour ago. In any case, there were so many things wrong with his suggestion she couldn’t begin to count them.

“You can’t stay here.” She added a note of finality to her tone.

“Can’t?”

“It’s not necessary.” She added repressively, “I thought we’d settled this last night.”

He glanced around in disgust. “Wake up, princess. You don’t even have an alarm system around here.”

“I’ll have one put in.”

He said dryly, “That’s exactly why I was hired.” Then added, “But putting in a security system takes time. Even a company like Rafferty Security needs a few days to do a job like this.”

She should have seen this coming the minute she got downstairs to find him flipping pancakes. The sneak. “So, I’ll stay with…” Who? She searched her brain in a hurry. Her parents? One of her brothers? The options weren’t enticing. “My parents.”

“Your parents live in Carlyle. That’s going to be quite a commute.” He folded his arms over his chest and sat back, apparently digging in for battle. “And, let’s see…” He snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah, if I were a criminal trying to kidnap you, I’d absolutely love the chance to follow your car home from the office on a deserted road at one o’clock in the morning.”

“One of my brothers then. Quentin, Matt and Noah all keep apartments in Boston.”

“They’re often not even in Boston. Ever since he got married, Quentin has settled down to domestic bliss in Carlyle with your friend Liz and their baby. And Matt and Noah are often on the road for Whittaker Enterprises. If you disappeared from one of their apartments, no one would discover it for hours, even a day or two.”

She knew he was right, but she rebelled at the thought. No one, least of all her family, seemed to understand that a bodyguard would raise eyebrows at the DA’s Office. She’d worked too hard at her career to have her credibility undermined by the poor-littlerich-girl image that had stalked her her entire life.

Connor unfolded his arms. “What you need is a bodyguard,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But I understand why that might be a problem for someone in your position.”

“Thanks,” she said wryly, his perceptiveness taking her by surprise. “At least you’re more reasonable than my family.”

“So,” he went on, “that’s why I’m suggesting another option. Namely, me. All anybody else needs to know is that I’m a friend of the family who’s moved in with you for a while, maybe until renovations on my own place are done.”

The man had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Even if he did manage to keep a lower profile than a typical bodyguard, his offer was unwise. Very unwise if last night’s kiss was anything to judge by. “I thought we’d been over this. No.”

“I’ll pick you up and drop you off at work,” he continued unperturbed, “and, as an added bonus—” he gestured to their surroundings “—I’ll stay here with you.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

He gave her a humorless smile. “Don’t worry. I’m house-trained and basically pick up after myself.”

She rolled her eyes.

He leaned in then, suddenly serious, his hazel gaze capturing and holding hers. “This isn’t a game, Allison. Someone has already vandalized your car and sent you death threats. You don’t know what he’ll do next.”

“I know.” She’d tried not to focus on the danger but, instead, on finding the perpetrator. She refused to live her life in fear—although, truth be told, hadn’t that been part of her motivation last night for being at the window, peering down at a dark street?

Connor continued, “Your family said the police are involved, but you and I both know those resources only go so far.”

She’d always known Connor Rafferty was a man who didn’t take no for an answer. He was, after all, the guy who’d climbed out of South Boston and, by the age of thirty-seven, had built a multimillion-dollar enterprise offering security systems and personal protection to big companies as well as the rich and famous.

But, she reminded herself, he was also the guy who’d hauled her teenaged butt out of a dark bar over ten years ago. The guy who still acted at times as if she were a pesky little kid, regardless of last night’s inexplicable kiss.

Fortified by that thought, she tried again for a polite brush-off. “Look, Connor, I appreciate the offer, but, as you just said, the police are on it. The DA’s Office also has detectives assigned to it.”

His eyes narrowed. “And what if I said you really don’t have a choice in the matter?”

She scoffed, then stopped abruptly as he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a set of house keys. Alarm bells went off in her head. “Where did you get those?”

“When I’m hired for a job, I usually get access to the premises,” he said coolly.

She pursed her lips. She knew exactly which Whittaker to thank for giving him access. When she was through with Quentin, his ears would be ringing for days. In the meantime, she had one cagey security expert to deal with.

Quite clearly, she wasn’t simply going to be able to banish Connor as she’d like. Experience had taught her, however, that it was better to graciously call a temporary truce rather than to admit defeat. She needed time to figure out how to get him out of her house. In the meantime, she’d play along with his game.

“I see,” she said, keeping her voice a few degrees cooler than his. “Well, if you’re going to be my temporary roommate, then we should set some house rules.”

“Such as?” His tone was suspicious, wary.

“Last night was a mistake that will not happen again, got it? Unfortunately, you caught me at a weak moment, when my defenses were down.”

“That’s the idea.”

She narrowed her eyes. “As I said, it will not happen again.”

“Are we, by any chance, talking about the kiss we shared?”

“Of course I’m talking about the kiss.” Somewhere in the last few hours, the kiss—really two kisses that had seemed to flow almost seamlessly together—had assumed a singular identity all its own, so that she now referred to it mentally as “The Kiss.”

“Just checking,” he said in a voice that was so amiable it set her teeth on edge.

“And let me correct you, it’s not ‘the kiss we shared.’ It’s the kiss that you planted on me when I was distracted and vulnerable.”

His lips teased upward on one side. “Funny, you seemed to have enjoyed it.”

“No kissing. That’s part of the ground rules, Rafferty.”

He had the temerity to look openly amused. “I’ll agree not to kiss you. Whether you kiss me, however, is another matter.”

She gave him a frosty stare. “I’ll do my best to resist.”

“So, are we shacking up together?” he asked.

“With an offer like that, how can I refuse?”

He broke into a grin. “Modesty prevents me from saying more.”

“I’ve always said it’s your strong suit.”

“Is that sarcasm I detect?”

“That and good manners prevent me from saying what else.”

He laughed outright then, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Her stomach somersaulted and she resisted the sudden strange urge to quell his hilarity with a sultry kiss on his laughing mouth.

Oh boy, was she in trouble. Until last night, she’d have said that the only way she’d have thought to silence Connor was with an advanced move from her karate class.

At least until she could figure out how to get rid of him, Connor was going to be her protector from an unknown threat, but who was going to protect her from the very real threat he represented?

Chapter Three

Connor’s suspicions were immediately roused when Allison didn’t argue about his insistence on driving her to work. His instincts told him she was far too docile. She was up to something, but he wasn’t sure what.

Nevertheless, he didn’t dwell on it because he had a typical jam-packed work day ahead of him, starting with driving back to his condo to change into a business suit before heading to Rafferty Security’s headquarters.

At lunchtime, he drove over to Whittaker Enterprises’ headquarters in Carlyle. He and Quentin had long ago scheduled lunch at Burke’s Steakhouse for today. They tried to fit in a lunch appointment from time to time, often at Burke’s, as a way of keeping in touch despite their busy schedules. He knew, however, that this time Quentin would have questions about how things were going with beefing up Allison’s security.

He hadn’t been wrong, he thought, as he shifted in the seat he’d taken in front of Quentin’s desk because they still had a few minutes before they had to walk over to Burke’s.

“I tried to talk to her about taking some more safety measures,” Quentin was saying, “but she just shrugs me off. Tells me she’s dealing with it. But, the thing is, she’s in a high-profile job and coming into contact with unsavory types every day.”

Connor nodded. “I’m doing my best. She wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me last night.” He added wryly, “And, you know, I’m not known for my ability to be charming and ingratiating.”

Quentin chuckled. “Yeah, but I haven’t got a choice…”

The door to the office swung open and Quentin’s voice trailed off as Allison strode in.

Her clear, sky-blue eyes flashed her annoyance. “Are you two discussing me, by chance?”

She was dressed in the navy suit that Connor had seen her in that morning, the open collar of her white shirt giving a tantalizing glimpse of her bare throat. Her high-heeled black leather pumps set off her shapely legs beneath her short skirt.

The mere sight of her awakened every male need Connor had, but she had completely disregarded everything he’d said this morning.

Quentin muttered a curse under his breath. “I suppose Celine let you come right in, didn’t she?”

“Actually, your secretary stepped away from her desk right after letting it slip that you were meeting with Connor.” Connor watched as Allison’s eyes settled on him then, a disdainful look on her face. “I might have known you’d be here. Patting yourself on the back for a mission accomplished, are you?”

He rose from his seat. “I’ll only feel a sense of accomplishment once we track down the guy who’s after you.” Sternly, he went on, “I thought I told you to stay put and that I’d pick you up from the office when you were ready to leave.”

“Yes, I do recall you ordering me to stay put. What I don’t recall is my agreeing to it, especially since I have my dear sibling to thank for my new living arrangements.” She folded her arms and sat on the corner of Quentin’s desk, glancing back at her brother, who merely raised an eyebrow inquiringly at her.

“Hello, Quentin,” she said coolly. “Just the person I wanted to see. You know, the last time I checked, tenants still had the right to peaceful occupation of the premises without unwanted roommates being foisted on them.” She fixed her brother with a hard stare. “So far I’ve resisted the urge to file a complaint against you with landlord-tenant court. I know that would break Mom’s heart.”

“Is that what you came here to do? Complain?” He added in exasperation, “And, for the record, what would break Mom’s heart is if we found you dead in a ditch. We’re all worried sick about you and this psycho who’s sending you threats.”

“Well, of course Mom is worried!” Allison retorted. “She was also worried when Noah took up race-car driving a few years ago. When Matt decided he’d try rock-climbing. And, when you went backpacking through Europe. But she trusted you to take precautions.”

Quentin leaned forward. “What’s wrong with getting a little help in this case? I couldn’t even mention Connor’s name without you going ballistic on me.” Quentin folded his hands on his desk. “Connor is the best in the business. The only reason you won’t consider him is that you two do nothing but snap and bark at each other.”

“Great, won’t that make us pleasant roomies!”

Connor gained grim satisfaction from the thought that she sounded worried about their living situation. “I can stand the heat in the kitchen if you can, petunia.”

She gave him the imitation of a smile. “You won’t need to worry about the kitchen, Connor, because I plan to light a fire under you.”

Their gazes locked while Quentin stifled a laugh. Connor wondered what she’d say if he told her she’d already lit a fire inside him. He’d just been unsuccessfully dousing the flames for years.

Quentin cleared his throat. “If you think I’m meddling, Ally, just consider it payback for your meddling in my life. That was a nice little performance last year, orchestrating to throw me and Elizabeth together.”

“That was different.”

Quentin’s expression showed skepticism. “Oh, yeah?”

Connor knew that, partly thanks to Allison’s machinations, Quentin and her best friend Liz were now married and the parents of one-month-old Nicholas.

Allison straightened away from the desk that she had been leaning against and folded her arms. “You and Liz were made for each other, Quent. Besides, you can’t say you’re unhappy with the way things turned out.”

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.