The Tycoon's Desire. Anna DePalo
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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