Читать книгу The Tycoon's Desire - Anna DePalo - Страница 9

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?