The Tycoon's Desire: Under the Tycoon's Protection / Tycoon Meets Texan! / The Greek Tycoon's Virgin Mistress

“Ah, Allison,” he sighed.

She gave him a quick peck on the lips.

He spread her legs then and positioned himself. “Last chance, princess,” he said and, despite his light-hearted tone, she knew he was holding himself tightly in check.

In some ways, it seemed she’d been waiting for this moment her whole life. She’d be darned if she’d beat a retreat now—the consequences for tomorrow be damned. She was about to find out if the reality lived up to all her girlhood fantasies.

“Not a hope, Rafferty.” She wrapped her legs about him and raised her hips.

He groaned as he slid into her. “Ah, petunia—”

She gasped, then sighed.

He set a rhythm that she took up, meeting him with counterpoint thrusts, the momentum building in tandem with the tension between them until it burst forth and sent her spiraling into a starry darkness, her hands clutching spasmodically on Connor’s shoulders and feeling the thin sheen of sweat that had broken out on his skin.

Dimly, she heard him give a hoarse groan and take his own release.

Connor came back to reality slowly. He felt as if he’d been passed through a wringer; he was spent, his muscles weak with release. Paradoxically, he felt gloriously alive.

Before tonight, he’d thought the sexual tension between him and Allison was a strong sign they’d be explosive in bed together.

He hadn’t been wrong.

He looked over at Allison. Her eyes were closed, their ebony lashes flickering against her fair skin. A slight smile played at the corners of her lips.

She’d blown him away. If he’d had any clue, he wondered whether he could have resisted her as long as he had, even with the many reasons it made sense to do so.

And that was the problem, he acknowledged. Those reasons had not gone away.

His job was to protect Allison, not bed her. She was still the daughter of the couple who’d treated him as if he were a surrogate son. She was Quentin’s baby sister. Someone whom he, along with her brothers, had treated for years as if she were a spoiled brat.

He closed his eyes. He didn’t—couldn’t—regret what had just happened. It had been the most glorious sexual experience of his life. But what was he supposed to say to Quentin next time he saw him? I slept with Allison and, hey, it was better than I ever fantasized?

‘Course, then he’d have to let Quentin deck him. He’d been asked to be her bodyguard, not her lover.

And yet, the attraction between him and Allison had been simmering for a long time. The threat against her had simply been the match that had ignited the tinderbox that they’d shoved their attraction into so they could safely ignore it.

He was going to have to tread carefully, that was for sure. Among other things, he had to figure out sooner rather than later who was making the death threats. After that, he could focus on figuring out what uncharted territory he and Allison had steered their relationship into.

He glanced back over at her sleeping face. Whether Allison was going to admit it or not, what they’d started tonight wasn’t finished.

Allison woke to the smell of fresh coffee. Had she set the automatic timer on her coffee pot?

She rolled over and opened her eyes. Dark wood ceiling beams greeted her. She frowned, momentarily disoriented. Where was she?

And then it all came rushing back…the death threat in the mail…her agreement to come out to the Berkshires with Connor despite her better judgment…their intimate dinner…the two of them tangling the sheets together.

She flushed. He’d certainly lived up to her fantasies and then some.

They’d woken up in the middle of the night, and they’d had at each other in a way that had been just a bit less mind-blowing than the first time.

More importantly, she knew that last night she’d seen a side of Connor that he rarely let anyone glimpse. She’d seen vulnerability when he’d talked about his father’s death and she’d realized his protective instincts ran deep and strong.

Then he’d made love to her tenderly and passionately.

Made love. Was that literally what it had been?

Her mind shied away from the question.

Certainly he desired her. She hugged the sheet to her as she thought about Connor’s demonstration of desire last night.

She had to admit their relationship had changed irrevocably.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

She groaned. Leave it to Connor not to give her a moment to freshen up and look presentable.

“Rise and shine, princess.”

He was dressed in a beat-up T-shirt and jeans and his hair still appeared damp from his shower. He looked positively yummy.

A smile played at the corners of his lips. He held out the steaming cup in his hand. “I brought your shot of caffeine. I was going to hold it under your nose to resuscitate you, but I see you’re awake.”

She sprang up in bed and held out her hands. “Bless you.”

He handed her the cup and then sat on the side of the bed. “Cream, no sugar.”

She sipped. “Mmm. Excellent. How did you guess?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “There are a few things I’ve picked up about you over the years. One of them is how you like your coffee.”

“Part of your dossier on me?”

He looked at her enigmatically. “You could say that.”

“Hmm.” She lowered her eyes and sipped. “Thanks for bringing the coffee. It really wasn’t necessary.”

She again felt the same uncharacteristic shyness with him that she’d felt last night, before…before…As she felt herself start to blush, she yanked her mind back from that trail of thought.

“Actually, it was necessary,” he said matter-of-factly.

She quirked a brow, struggling for the casual, uncaring attitude that had been so easy to adopt where he was concerned—before last night.

“I’ll admit to a selfish desire to see how you looked lying in my bed this morning.”

She couldn’t resist asking, “And how do I look?”

“Like a woman who’s been thoroughly made love to.” His eyes were hot. “Just like I imagined.”