Under the Tycoon's Protection Read online

  Connor glanced over at Allison and noted she’d also marked Kendall’s arrival. He knew without asking, however, that she would avoid Kendall. It would be improper for a prosecutor to be talking to a defendant in one of her cases.

  On the other hand, Connor reflected, Kendall looked at ease despite the fact that nearly everyone there tonight must know he’d had the audacity to show up even though Allison, who was prosecuting his case, would be present.

  Connor narrowed his eyes. If Kendall was their man, then Allison’s harasser was a cool cucumber. Exactly the type who would be hard to catch. And exactly the type he intended to watch like a hawk.

  Allison glanced around the ballroom. She’d managed to shake Connor for the time being. Unfortunately, though, her parents were bearing down on her. She braced herself as they approached. “Hello, Mom.”

  “Ally.” Her mother leaned in for a kiss before drawing back and looking searchingly at her face, concern etched on hers. “How are you feeling? Are you having any trouble sleeping? Because if you are—”

  “Mom, I’m fine.” She’d spoken with her parents earlier in the week about the shooting incident, but she’d spared them the details, which would just have worried them needlessly.

  Her parents exchanged looks. Her father was an older version of Quentin, but his dark hair was peppered with gray, giving him a distinguished look.

  “You should have told us you’d received another death threat in the mail just days before the shooting,” her father said gravely.

  Allison suppressed her irritation. Connor, it seemed, had been talking again. “I didn’t want to worry you and Mom unnecessarily,” she said, hoping the explanation was one they’d be satisfied with. “You were on a business trip hundreds of miles away last week. There was nothing you could do except worry even more than you’d already been doing.”

  “Of course we would have worried!” her mother exclaimed.

  Allison took a deep breath. “Thanks to Quentin, I have a bodyguard, remember? I’m taking precautions.”

  “Connor said that you’d gone out without him when you were attacked,” her father countered.

  Snitch. What else had he told her parents? All she needed in order to make her humiliation complete was for Connor to have divulged the reason she’d left the house. Aloud, she said, “Connor has been saying a lot these days.” She turned as Quentin parted from Liz, who was speaking to another woman, and strolled up to join them. “What else has Connor been saying, Quent?”

  Quentin held up his hands. “Hey, he’s only trying to help.”

  “I thought I was just getting a bodyguard,” she said indignantly, “but, apparently, Connor is doing double duty as a spy.”

  “Now, Allison—”

  “You should have warned me, Quent. If I’d known Connor was reporting everything to you and the rest of the family, I’d at least have given him something interesting to relay. You know, wild parties, dancing on tables, men swinging from the chandelier…male strippers…”

  “Actually,” Quentin said dryly, “getting information out of Connor is like prying open a clam with your bare hands.”

  “Oh, come on.” She cocked her head. “Are you going to deny he lost no time telling you about the shooting incident last week? Even before I had the chance to pick up the phone?”

  Quentin frowned. “Only because I phoned him and demanded to know what the heck had happened the night before. I had gotten a call from the police to let me know that they were going to do everything possible to try to keep the tabloid journalists at bay about the shooting. One of the nice things about being a major donor to police charities is that the police brass remembers you when, say, your sister is involved in a shooting.” Quentin paused and gave her a meaningful look. “Naturally, I had to ask what shooting.”

  “I was going to call you,” she said, knowing she sounded a bit defensive. The truth was she hadn’t been relishing that conversation with her brother—or any other member of her family for that matter. She knew her family well enough to know their reactions would have fallen somewhere between alarm and panic, and she hadn’t been wrong.

  “After I got a call from the police,” Quentin added, “I phoned Connor.”

  “Don’t you mean interrogated?” she asked, her annoyance coming through in her tone. “And why didn’t you bother to call me first?”

  “Because,” Quentin said patiently, “given a choice between the two of you, I knew I’d have a better shot with hin at getting the straight story.”

  She crossed her arms. “Are you saying I would have lied?”

  Her brother gave her a knowing look. “Artful omission is more like it.”

  Allison dropped her arms in exasperation. “Whatever.”

  “And, yes, believe it or not, I did have to threaten and cajole Connor,” Quentin went on. “He initially told me to call you. I think the only reason he eventually said anything at all was that I’d already found out more or less what happened from the police.”

  So maybe Connor hadn’t gone racing to her brother with the news.

  “I must say, I agree with Quentin,” her mother put in. “Connor seemed very reluctant to go into much detail about the shooting when your father and I asked him about it. Frankly, I think he wanted to spare us unnecessary worry.”

  “And, by the way,” her father added, “Connor is not the one who told us about the threat you’d received in the mail. That was something that the police mentioned to Quentin when they called him.”

  She looked across the ballroom and her eyes met Connor’s. The look on his face said he was debating whether to walk over. She shook her head almost imperceptibly. She didn’t need his help handling her family.

  She did owe him an apology though—at least for jumping to the conclusion that he’d raced to her family to blab about the shooting.

  Sitting next to Connor at dinner was torture, Allison thought. Her family, fortunately, was sitting among guests at other tables. Otherwise, it would have been much harder to pretend interest in the mundane chitchat being carried on at her table.

  She took another bite of her dessert. Mercifully, the guest on her left had just excused himself to say hello to people he knew at another table.

  She itched to hash things out with Connor. She wanted to apologize, yes. At the same time, though, she was still piqued about the high-handed way he’d acted after the attack in the parking lot. Surely he owed her an apology as well?

  She stole a look at him. He was chatting with the guest on his right, the wife of a Congressman. Connor’s slightly rough-around-the-edges quality was set off tonight by his tuxedo. The juxtaposition was incredibly sexy and, she noted sourly, apparently appreciated by the Congressman’s wife as well.

  The stab of jealousy brought her up short. She was spared having to analyze the emotion, however, because Connor took that moment to turn to her.

  “Dance with me?” he asked. His lips were curved upward but his tone was mocking. “I think we can survive it, don’t you?” He nodded around their table at the empty seats and the couple getting up at the other end. “Besides, it will look odd if we didn’t take at least one turn around the room.”

  She nodded and let him help her rise from her seat. The dance floor might finally afford her the opportunity and privacy to get her apology over with.

  When they were out on the dance floor, he drew her to him for the start of a slow song. If she’d been dispassionate, she would have said his touch felt light but firm. But, since she was far from feeling detached, his touch—from their bodies brushing to his hand at her back guiding her—was causing waves of pulsating sensation to radiate outward from the points of contact.

  For a while, they danced without speaking, gliding across the dance floor to a slow and sweet song until the temptation to rest her head on his shoulder became palpable.

  She gave herself a mental shake. She had things to say to him and she’d better get on with it.

  Before she could say anything,
however, he stirred the hair at her temple with his breath and murmured, “Silence becomes you.”

  She looked up with a start and saw the mocking laughter in his eyes. She’d been practically swooning in his arms—while thinking that she had to apologize to him—and he was mocking her! She decided the apology she owed him could wait a little longer. “Humility would become you but I don’t see you exhibiting any.”

  “That’s my girl.” He had the nerve to laugh outright. “I was wondering where that temper of yours had gone. You seemed as deflated as a dead balloon during dinner.”

  Well, Allison thought, so much for her attempt at seeming at ease during dinner. “Quite the one for compliments tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Is that what you want? Compliments?” he asked. Though his tone was still mocking, it contained a hint of seriousness.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He cocked his head, pretending to think, before clearing his throat and looking down at her. “Your eyes have the color and sparkle of aquamarines, your hair the darkness and luster of a night sky—”

  “Stop.” Even knowing he was teasing, his words sent a ripple of liquid pleasure through her.

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re in a room full of people.” And she couldn’t take anymore.

  “Ah.” His eyes gleamed. “Haven’t you ever heard that dancing is the vertical expression of a horizontal desire?”

  He was telling her? She was practically going up in flames, incensed yet aroused by their banter.

  “So how am I doing? Am I as good as Slade?”

  “Who?”

  “Preppy boy.”

  She must have continued to wear a blank look, because he added impatiently, “Mr. Make-Love-Not-War.”

  “That’s Makepeace,” she said, correcting him.

  “Same thing.”

  “And his name is Sloan, not Slade.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Were Makepeace’s compliments as good?” He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “I bet he didn’t turn you on, petunia.”

  He was impossible. Forget the apology. She figured he owed her one by this point, but she was willing to consider the two of them even if it meant she could get rid of him now.

  His lips turned up a notch. “The look on your face is saying you want to kick me in the shins.”

  “And some other places.”

  “You’re too fiery for a milksop like Makepeace.”

  The song they were dancing to faded into another slow tune. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Connor cast her a disbelieving look. “Seems to me you’ve already made up your mind. Otherwise, you wouldn’t still have a thing for guys from the wrong side of the tracks.”

  One guy in particular, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. Especially since he seemed to be taking pleasure in baiting her. “You know,” she said, her voice dripping disdain, “I must have been crazy even to have thought I owed you an apology.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing him look taken aback for an instant. That expression was quickly replaced by one of sardonic amusement however. “I can think of many reasons why you’d owe me an apology, petunia. So why don’t you narrow it down for me and tell me what in particular spurred this fit of remorse?”

  She gritted her teeth. The only remorse she was feeling at the moment was at not having clobbered him. But, instead, she said, “I got a call from Quentin on the morning after the incident in the parking lot. He seemed to know all about what had happened without my telling him.”

  “So naturally you thought I was the one who called to fill him in,” he supplied.

  “It was a logical assumption to have jumped to under the circumstances,” she said defensively.

  He arched a brow. “Logical because I’m an untrustworthy snitch where you’re concerned, is that it?” His lips tightened. “Ever since I lied to you and went to your folks with the story of you at the biker bar when you were seventeen. It goes as far back as that, doesn’t it?”

  “It wasn’t a far-fetched conclusion to jump to,” she asserted again. “Anyway, are you also going to deny suggesting to Quentin that I quit the DA’s Office because the job may have become too dangerous for me?”

  “I didn’t suggest it to him. He brought it up.” He gave her a considering look, then added, “But I won’t say I disagree.”

  Her temper flared. Fortunately, the song they were dancing to faded away and the band decided to take a break.

  She pulled out of Connor’s hold. “Great, then the sooner we find out who’s been making the threats, the sooner my job will stop being so dangerous and the sooner you can get the heck out of my house. Frankly, it won’t be a moment too soon for my taste. On either count.”

  She turned on her heel, not giving him a chance to respond, though she noted that his face had tightened with anger.

  Of all the nerve. She’d been a lovesick fool to think something unique and lasting had been developing between them. Instead of giving her his respect, it was clear that to him, she’d always be a spoiled little rich girl who needed protection. His protection.

  Nine

  It was Saturday, the day of the annual Memorial Day Weekend barbecue at Allison’s parents’ house.

  Usually Connor looked forward to this Whittaker family tradition. Usually, but not this year.

  Last year, according to what had since become Whittaker family lore, the barbecue had marked the kickoff of Quentin and Elizabeth’s whirlwind relationship. Allison had made her famous suggestion that her brother act as her best friend’s sperm donor. Now, one year later, Connor’s old college buddy was happily married to Liz and the father of newborn Nicholas.

  Connor took a swig of his beer and chanced a glance across the lawn at the cause of his dour mood. Allison was cuddling baby Nicholas in her arms, making cooing noises. The baby must have done something unexpectedly funny because she looked up, laughing, and their eyes met.

  She looked away quickly, but not before a yearning so strong it hurt slammed into him. It wasn’t a pure physical need for her, he realized. It was deeper, more powerful. A vision of her cradling their own baby flashed across his mind.

  Then he pulled himself up short. She was tying him up in knots and it had to stop. Until they found out who was threatening her, he reminded himself, sorting out his relationship with Allison was on hold.

  With any luck, though, the holding pattern wouldn’t have to continue much longer. He felt for his cell phone again. No call yet, but there was time. Guests were still arriving at the Whittaker’s house.

  In the meantime, he thought self-deprecatingly, he could brood at leisure. The Cortland Ball had brought home for him that he and Allison were from different worlds. And, as furious as he still was about her tossing that in his face in the middle of an argument, he’d since acknowledged to himself that there was some validity to her point.

  “Hey, Rafferty.”

  He turned and caught a volleyball just before it hit him in the stomach.

  Noah Whittaker sauntered up, a grin on his face.

  “Still greeting your guests with a sucker punch to the stomach?” Connor asked dryly.

  “No, just you,” Noah replied, then gave him another easy grin. “It’s one of the rituals reserved for brothers, honorary or otherwise.”

  Since his college days, Connor acknowledged, he’d had an easy camaraderie with Noah, who had the reputation of being the most fun-loving of the Whittaker brothers.

  “Stop doing your brooding James Dean impersonation and get your rear end moving,” Noah continued. “There’s a volleyball game starting up and we’re beating Quentin and Matt’s team again this year so I can claim bragging rights to a winning streak.”

  Connor tossed the volleyball back at him and asked wryly, “You mean so you can make it two years in a row?”

  “Hey, you gotta start somewhere.”

  “Fine, I’m game.” As he and Noah made their way to the back of the
house, he figured volleyball was preferable to standing around ruminating over Allison.

  Noah slanted him a look. “Allison’s on our team. Is that cool with you?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Just because he alternated between wanting to shake some sense into her and a desperate need to make passionate love to her didn’t mean he couldn’t play nice if the situation called for it.

  “Don’t know.” Noah shrugged. “Maybe because you two singe everyone around you with the sparks you throw off when you’re near each other. Heck, someone who didn’t know you might think you two were crazy about each other.”

  Connor almost stopped in his tracks.

  Noah’s comment was startling, Connor realized, because it was true. He was crazy about Allison. Crazy in love with her. Not just want, not just desire. Love.

  It was the right name for what he’d been feeling all along, he finally realized. And, if it was the last thing he did, he’d get her to admit she felt the same way about him. Then they could talk about their differences.

  He couldn’t change who he was and where he’d come from, but he loved her deeply and irrevocably. And if that still wasn’t enough for her, well—his heart clenched—she could just try to find a guy who’d care for her more than he did.

  Noah waved a hand in front of his eyes. “Hey, Rafferty, you still on Earth with the rest of us mortals?”

  Connor knew Noah was expecting a flip response, so he said, “If it hasn’t been apparent, your sister has been barely acknowledging my existence lately.”

  “You do know how to push her buttons, I’ll give you that.”

  “Likewise, she’s not so bad at pushing buttons herself.”

  Noah threw him an amused look. “Why don’t you help take her off our hands?” he joked. “You know my parents think you’re great. And, you’d be doing us a favor if you two got hitched.”

  Connor looked at Noah quizzically. He could swear there was a note of underlying seriousness to Noah’s kidding but Noah’s face revealed nothing other than his typical expression of amusement at the world. “If you value your health, you won’t let Allison hear about that scheme.”