Читать книгу The Tycoon's Desire - Anna DePalo - Страница 14

While they drove back to the townhouse, Connor kept a grip on his temper. But only because he had to.

They’d just finished talking to the police, who’d recovered a couple of unusual-looking bullets—or slugs, in police lingo—from the scene around the parking lot. With any luck, the police would have a theory soon on the caliber and model of gun that the perpetrator had probably used in the shooting.

Unfortunately, the parking lot—at least the part around Allison’s car—had been empty of people at the time of the shooting, probably due in no small part to the bad weather. Of the two people whom the police had interviewed who had seen the perp’s car speed away, one had sworn the car was gray while the other had called it blue.

In any case, Connor doubted that the gunman was stupid enough to use a vehicle with plates that could be easily traced back to him, though he’d make sure that the police and his own people nevertheless looked into it.

And that was the other thing: the profile of Allison’s unknown harasser that he and Allison had constructed could be thrown out the window.

The assailant had now done more than merely threaten and vandalize property. He’d shown he was desperate enough to try a direct attack on Allison. Not only that, but, chillingly, he’d apparently slashed Allison’s tire before the shooting in order to make it hard for her to flee by car.

Still, Connor wasn’t convinced that the signs pointed to a member of Taylor’s gang rather than a white-collar criminal such as Kendall. Allison’s assailant had proved—fortunately—not to have very good aim. While it was possible that the incident in the parking lot had been intended as a gang-inspired drive-by shooting, the fact that the job had been so botched raised questions in Connor’s mind.

The minute he’d gotten back to the townhouse and found the note Allison had left behind, he’d taken off after her, trying to reach her on her cell phone and not succeeding. When he’d gotten to the parking lot, he’d pulled up right at the curb in front of the supermarket. He’d been getting out of his car when he’d heard the first shot ring out. Icy fear had wrapped itself around his heart as he’d reached for his own gun.

He gave a quick glance at Allison sitting in the passenger seat next to him. She sat looking straight ahead, still appearing shaken by what had transpired in the last couple of hours.

Silence reigned between them until they got into the townhouse. At which point, Connor decided it was time to get some answers. “I have a distinct memory of telling you to stay put,” he said tightly. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but running out to the supermarket does not count as staying put.”

“You were delayed,” she responded, irritation lacing her voice. “And, anyway, I refuse to be a prisoner in my own home.”

“Right,” he said harshly as he followed her into the living room. “It appears you’d rather be dead.”

She stopped and whirled back to face him, temper flaring in her eyes. “That’s blunt,” she fired back. “Anyway, even if you’d been with me, I might still have gotten shot at.”

“True, but it’s all about the odds, princess, and it would have been less likely,” he snarled back. “He, or whoever it was who took a shot at you, would have thought twice about it if you looked as if you had security.”

“Since when do you carry a gun?” she demanded abruptly.

“What do you think being in the security business means, petunia?” he said, his tone scornful. “Of course I’ve got a gun.”

He didn’t add that he was considered an excellent shot, keeping his skills honed at a shooting range. His clients expected him to provide top-notch security and that included using a gun if necessary. Fortunately, it had never been necessary—until today—because he was adept at using other means to get results.

“And I can’t believe you chased that nut,” she continued. “You could have been killed!”

Worried about him, was she? Under different circumstances, he’d have been pleased, but right now he was still furious about the way she’d completely disregarded his instructions. “So why did you run out?” he asked. “What was so important you couldn’t wait for me to get back? Or give me a call on my cell, for God’s sake?”

She went still, looking away, then glancing back.

She appeared embarrassed, though that didn’t make sense. “What?”

“I was planning a romantic dinner,” she said finally. “For two. I needed some ingredients.”

Her admission floored him. That was it? That was the important errand she’d told the police she’d had to run? He’d have been happy munching on cardboard if it had kept her inside!

The only good thing that had come out of the shooting was that the police would now be stationed outside the townhouse whenever Allison was home. They were taking the threats against her even more seriously.

Still, Allison’s admission brought home an unpleasant truth: they’d both gotten more focused on exploring the new-found physical chemistry between them than on keeping her safe.

Instead of thinking of him as a bodyguard whose orders should be followed to a T, Allison had been thinking of him as a lover who wouldn’t necessarily get furious with her for disregarding what he’d said. She’d gone out and risked her life because she’d been planning to surprise him with a romantic dinner, for God’s sake!

For his part, as much as he’d tried to convince himself otherwise, sleeping with her had changed everything. He wasn’t the cool-headed expert he needed to be in dangerous situations. Instead, he was running on emotion because the thought of anything happening to her tied him up in knots.

Aloud, he said, “That’s it? You ran out to the store so you could cook dinner?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Where was your judgment?”

She folded her arms. “Obviously, in the wrong place,” she said sarcastically, “if I was thinking of cooking dinner for you. Clearly I was wasting my time.”

Anger battled with relief inside him. “You’re still the rash, headstrong princess, aren’t you? When are you going to learn to think before you act?”

“Well, I’m thinking now,” she said coldly, dropping her arms. “And what I’m thinking is that taking our relationship to a new level was a mistake.” She flashed him a look of disdain. “I should have known.”

She should have known? Heck, he should have known. He should have known better than to get involved with her.

He and Allison came from different worlds and he was a fool to have forgotten that for even a minute. She was the sheltered daughter of a wealthy family and he’d always be the guy who climbed out of rough-and-tumble, blue-collar South Boston.

Even after Harvard, even after more than ten years building a multimillion-dollar business, he was still rough around the edges. His South Boston accent trickled in when he wasn’t careful. And, frankly, he didn’t blend with the country-club set and never would.

Still, the fact that she’d brought up their different backgrounds in an argument riled him. “You can try chalking me up as a mistake,” he said silkily, “but we’re dynamite in bed together.”

“Go to—”

“I’m betting,” he said, cutting her off, “that the pretty boys over at the country club haven’t done nearly as good a job of satisfying you, have they, petunia? Otherwise you wouldn’t still be looking for a roll in the sack with a guy who’s seen the seedier side of life.”

Her face had gone pale with anger. “That’s right, Rafferty, and I’m glad you realized it, because that’s all you were. A nice little frolic,” she said, her voice haughty with disdain, “but certainly not someone I’d contemplate having a real relationship with.”

He grabbed her arm as she stalked by him, whirling her to face him, but she shrugged off his hand.

“Give it up!” she said, her eyes flashing.

Ignoring her request, he followed her down the corridor toward the back of the house. They weren’t done, not by a long shot. That she’d even try to dismiss him as nothing more than a quick fling had him seething.

Entering the kitchen, she went over to the sink.

“Dammit, we’re not done.”

“Oh, we’re done all right,” she said without turning around, starting to rinse a glass. “Done, over, finished.”

He laughed derisively. “If you believe that, petunia, then leprechauns live at the end of the rainbow.”

“What I believe, Rafferty,” she said, turning around, “is that you need to cool off!”

A spray of cold water hit him square in the face before he could react. “What the—!” Raising his arms to shield his face, he stalked toward her.

They wrestled with the hose from the sink, water dousing them both, until he was able to yank the nozzle out of her hand.

He was about to let her know exactly what he thought but then his gaze dropped a notch, connecting with the front of her white shirt, which was plastered to her, her nipples clearly visible through the clingy fabric of her wet bra and shirt.

His blood heated.

She raised her arms to shield herself.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

She went still. “Damn you, Rafferty,” she whispered. “I don’t want this.”

He raised his gaze, meeting her eyes. “Whether we want it or not seems almost beside the point,” he said in a bemused voice. “It’s there between us and always has been.”

She tossed her head, wet strands of hair sending droplets onto them both. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Liar,” he chided softly, moving before her.

They were practically toe-to-toe now. He let his eyes drop down to her mouth, which parted on a soft breath.

“That’s right, darling,” he taunted. “Let me see how you feel.”

Her eyes sparked fire. “Go to—”

His head swooped down then and he swallowed the end of her sentence in a kiss that was searing and desperate—as searing and desperate and hot as his need for her.

He was still running on the remnants of the adrenaline that had started earlier in the parking lot, except that now the reality of their near brush with death, mixed with relief, was channeling that energy into a need for sexual release. Even understanding what was provoking him, however, was not enough for his intellect to overcome his baser instincts.

She moaned in his arms, meeting him kiss for desperate kiss, her hands tangling in his hair, anchoring him.

He lifted her up onto the kitchen counter, sand-wiching himself between her legs as her skirt rode high on her thighs.

The need to affirm life, to stamp her as his, was overwhelming.

Hot mouth met hot mouth in desperate, soul-stirring kisses. He hungered to be inside her, to give vent to his frustration by seeking the release he knew awaited him there.

He lifted his head and yanked her shirt out of the waistband of her skirt, popping the buttons on the front of the garment in his haste to rid her of it.

When he’d peeled the shirt off of her, he bent his head to close his mouth over the peak of one breast through the fabric of her bra.

She made a sound that came out as half laugh, half gasp. “Connor!”

He shifted his mouth to her other breast, his hand at her back to urge her forward toward his mouth.

He felt her fingers threading through his hair, her breath coming rapidly. “Please,” she gasped.

Her need inflamed him.

Raising his head, he let her tug him back to her as she pulled at the bottom of his shirt to loosen it from his jeans.

Their movements were jerky and desperate as they both attempted to rid him of his wet shirt.

As the shirt dropped to the floor, he realized they weren’t going to be able to wait much longer. “Hang on,” he said roughly, unsnapping his jeans and tugging the zipper downward.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly.

He fumbled with a foil packet from his wallet. Then his fingers pushed aside her underwear. Testing and finding her warm and wet, he groaned.

“Connor,” she said, her voice cloudy with passion.

He shifted, pulling her forward to the edge of the counter, and then over, sliding her down on him even as he pushed upward.

She gasped. “Please, yes.”

He took up a rhythm then, abandoning himself to turbulent sensation and fiery passion as she clung to him, her legs wrapped around him, her head nestled in the curve of his shoulder and her breathing rapid.

His muscles strained, and his breathing grew more labored as the tension mounted. She moaned, and arched in his arms.

Their mutual release when it came was quick and powerful. He felt her tense, gasp, call his name, seconds before he lost himself in oblivion.

Tap, tap, tap. Realizing she’d again been lost in thought, Allison put down the pencil she’d been tapping against the desk that she sometimes called hers in the District Attorney’s Office.

The events of Saturday night replayed themselves in her mind.

What had he called her? A rash, headstrong princess.

How dare he! He’d spoken and acted as if he thought she hadn’t changed much, as if she were—still—a naive, wayward teenager. Even now, having a deeper appreciation for how his protective instincts had developed, she couldn’t excuse how he’d dismissively labeld her

His words and actions rankled all the more because this time, instead of merely visiting a bar because she harbored a secret crush on him, she’d actually slept with him. She’d let him strip her bare both physically and emotionally. The betrayal this time was oh so much worse.

She’d begun to think they had a new understanding, one based on mutual respect. Instead, he’d apparently been thinking of her as nothing more than a spoiled little heiress, albeit one with whom he enjoyed amazing chemistry.

In fact, after the shooting, he’d acted just like her family with his overprotectiveness. He’d lit into her as if she were still an underage teenager lacking judgment.

Her lips tightened reflexively.

Their relationship—however short-lived—had been a mistake. Of that, she was now certain. There was no way they could have a real relationship—one based on mutual trust and respect—when he’d made it clear he saw her as nothing more than a sheltered and pampered princess.

She’d been insane to have been planning to welcome him home with a romantic dinner. Ironically, thanks to their argument, she now agreed with him about going out for ingredients for dessert.

She should have nuked some macaroni and cheese, slid a bowl at him, and told him that he was dining in style. Or, better yet, handed him a spoon and invited him to enjoy the stuff directly from a can.

Men were such animals.

Speaking of which…her face burned as she recalled the frenzied interlude on the kitchen counter that had followed their argument.

She should have kneed him and walked away. Instead, a combustible combination of relief at having escaped unharmed and anger at him had led to sizzling sex—as if Connor needed any further evidence that, if nothing else, they were great lovers.

She wondered at the reference he’d made to the attraction that had always been between them. Could he have known about her teenaged infatuation with him? Did he know she’d been in the bar that night in the hope of seeing him?

At least she hadn’t admitted her teenaged infatuation to him. That would have made her humiliation complete.

Her phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts. Picking up the receiver, she said, “Hello?”

“Allison!”

“Hello, Quentin.” She made her voice cool. Her brother was still on her less-than-wonderful persons list.

“Thank God you’re okay!”

Someone had obviously spilled the beans to Quentin about Saturday’s incident—the details of which had miraculously stayed out of the newspapers—and she had a good idea who that someone was. She sighed. “Yes, I’m fine. No need to worry.”

“No need to worry?” Quentin said, sounding uncharacteristically agitated. “Are you crazy? You could have been killed and that’s all you have to say?”

“Well, as you can tell, I wasn’t. So, sorry to say, your younger sister is still here to torment you.”

“Quit it with the glibness, Ally,” her brother said impatiently. “You’re just lucky Mom and Dad are in Europe on vacation at the moment and Noah and Matt are on business trips. Otherwise, they’d all be descending on you.”

“Don’t I know it,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Heck, I’d have been there myself if I didn’t have some VIPs coming into the office this morning,” Quentin said. “Anyway, Connor assured me that he has everything under control.”

Her hand tightened on the receiver. “Oh, he did, did he?”

She heard Quentin sigh. “Allison, for the love of God, would you just try listening to Connor for a change? I know you two can barely stand each other—”

She wondered what Quentin’s reaction would have been if he’d known she and Connor had recently found one area where they could deal with each other.

“—but he’s there to protect you,” Quentin continued, “and he’s one of the best in the business. So would you quit trying to make the guy’s job harder than it has to be?”

“And I still have a job to do, Quentin,” she said, her tone clipped, “and that’s putting the baddies behind bars. Unfortunately, that may involve some risks.”

“Right and that’s another thing.” Quentin paused and cleared his throat, seeming to choose his words carefully. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do after the DA’s Office? You’ve been there, what? Four or five years?”

“Close to five. But who’s counting when you’re having fun?”

“I don’t think the family can take much more of this, Allison. This latest episode with your getting shot at may be the nail in the coffin for Mom and Dad.”

She closed her eyes. “You’ve told them?”

“Not yet, but someone has to because the papers may link your name to the shooting sooner or later,” he said significantly.

She opened her eyes again. “Fine, I know.” She could already picture the newspaper headlines. Years of hard work trying to stake an identity for herself apart from her well-known family would evaporate before her eyes.

“All I’m saying is you may want to start thinking about when this stint at the DA’s Office is going to end. It’s just too dangerous. Connor said the usual stint is three years or so.”

Connor had said that, had he? She’d be interested in knowing what else Connor had said. “Maybe it isn’t just a stint. Have you thought about that? Maybe I want to climb the ladder at the DA’s Office.”

Quentin didn’t say anything but a distinct sigh came over the line.

“Besides,” she persisted, “I’m not the only one taking risks, Quentin. Everyone in the office has a tough job. If it weren’t me, it’d be someone else.”

“All right, that’s all praiseworthy and good, but the fact of the matter is that it is you,” Quentin argued. “You’ve been the one getting threats. You’ve been the one getting shot at. And, you can’t tell me that your name and your family’s wealth and high profile don’t put you at special risk.”

She thought about the phone threat she’d gotten: kidnapped and held “for a pretty penny.” Quentin had inadvertently hit the mark. Aloud, she said, “I’m not going to be boxed in by a whole set of rules just because of my last name.”

Quentin started to interrupt, but she went on, “And you can tell your friend Connor not to worry. I won’t be trying to cook dinner for him again anytime soon.”

If it were possible, she was even more annoyed with Connor by the time she got off the phone.

Ratted her out to her family again, had he? He hadn’t even waited for her to tell them in her own way. Instead, he’d lost no time in spilling the entire story to Quentin as if she were still a recalcitrant teen whose family he had to enlist to keep her in line.

Had he also had the gall to suggest to Quentin that she should be looking to move on from the DA’s Office because the prosecutor’s job had become too dangerous for her? Is that how the thought had occurred to Quentin?

She wouldn’t put it past Connor.

She narrowed her eyes. If Connor thought things were icy between them now, she fumed, he’d better get ready for a deep freeze.