The Tycoon's Desire. Anna DePalo

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СКАЧАТЬ that some nut had been watching her, waiting to strike, all that hammered home that he could have lost her already.

      He might not have tomorrow—to laugh with her, to make love to her—and he’d be damned if he was going to wonder any longer about what might, could, or should have been.

      She straightened on the stool, her brows drawing together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “Don’t you?” he asked softly. With two strides, he was in front of her, within touching distance. To her credit, she stayed where she was, her chin coming up in that way she had when she was getting ready verbally to sock it to him.

      He almost smiled as he reached out to touch her.

      “Don’t,” she said on a breath. It wasn’t fear in her eyes—or panic—but a turbulent set of emotions.

      “Why not?” The urge to touch her was overwhelming and there didn’t seem to be a reason in the world not to give in to it. “Because your brothers would beat me to a pulp?” He raised her chin, his thumb caressing her lower lip. “I think I’ll risk it,” he murmured.

      Chapter Six

      Allison felt prickles of awareness all over her skin at Connor’s touch. She knew if they slept together, nothing would be the same again.

      This wasn’t just about one kiss or one night. This was about getting tangled up with a man who wouldn’t be as easy to handle as any of the ones she’d dated in the past. Connor would challenge her, and there’d be no smug assurance that she was in control.

      When she still hadn’t said anything, the light went out of Connor’s eyes and his hand dropped away from her mouth. She hadn’t voiced an invitation—and he hadn’t read one in her eyes—so he was backing off.

      In that instant, however, she knew she couldn’t let this moment pass. He offered comfort and safety in a world that had become a much scarier place. And, while she knew she could always stand on her own two feet if she had to, she also knew that now—tonight—she wanted that comfort.

      Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to dive in to his arms. The possibility that she wouldn’t be in control was more of a temptation than a risk to be avoided.

      She slid off the stool, bringing them nearly flush up against each other.

      His usual cocky facade was not on display. Instead, what she saw was raw hunger and naked desire.

      Her breath caught in her throat. “Connor…”

      She placed her hands on his chest and felt the strong, rhythmic beat of his heart. He held himself very still as she went up on tiptoe, searched his face, and then, slowly, very slowly, pressed her lips to his.

      His mouth opened under the pressure of her lips, his lips rubbing, stroking against hers. He took his time—as if he had all the time in the world—letting her lead, then demanding more. Yet, he held his arms at his sides, his mouth the only part building a response from her.

      Yes, she thought, the man definitely knew how to kiss.

      Just when she was on the point of making sounds of frustration, however, he appeased her need and wrapped his arms around her.

      The kiss deepened, his tongue slipping between her lips to swirl within her mouth and duel with hers.

      She moaned and her fingers threaded through his hair. She couldn’t get close enough to him—couldn’t get enough of him.

      When he finally tore his mouth from hers, he said huskily, “Wrap your legs around me.” She readily complied and his hands splayed across her bottom, supporting her weight.

      In this position, his erection pressed into the most intimate part of her and, instinctively, she rubbed against him.

      He muttered an oath as he headed for the stairs leading to the bedrooms. “Do that again and we won’t make it to the bed.”

      She laughed breathlessly. “What about the couch down here?”

      He stopped for a second and gave her a smoldering look. “I want to see you lying in my bed. I want to see your thick, dark hair spread out across my pillow.” He leaned forward so his forehead rested against hers, then added, his voice deep, “I want to see you, I want to hear you and, most importantly, I want to taste you while you’re lying on my bed.”

      “Is that an order?” she quipped.

      He straightened and started up the stairs, hoisting her higher and giving her a wry grin. “No, but I hope I’ve answered your question. There is a couch down here, but we won’t be using it.”

      “Can you hurry then?” she joked, almost hurting with the wanting. It seemed as if she’d been waiting for this moment forever and now need threatened to sweep her away.

      At the end of the hallway upstairs, he kicked open the door to his bedroom and, in two strides, crossed the room to the bed, coming down half on top of her.

      There was almost no thought then: need consumed them. They were like two people who had crossed the desert and finally come to a stream of water.

      She was dimly aware of kicking off her sandals and of Connor helping her slide her top over her head. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he undid the front clasp of her bra.

      “You’re perfect,” he groaned, his gaze hot on her breasts, which were capped by nipples that were tight and hard and peaked. Under his gaze, they became even more so.

      “They’re just average breasts,” she muttered, embarrassed.

      “Perfect,” he repeated in a low voice. Then, with his eyes never leaving hers, he slowly lowered his head to one breast. She sighed when his mouth closed around her nipple.

      Waves of sensation threatened to take her under as she watched him use his mouth on her.

      When he moved his mouth to her other breast, she threaded her fingers through his hair and let her eyes close. A restless longing had taken hold of her, making her limbs quiver and suffusing her with a liquid warmth.

      His mouth left her breast and seized her lips and she wound her arms around his neck, meeting his questing mouth kiss for kiss until he finally pulled back with a groan and sat up.

      She opened her eyes and nearly moaned in protest until she saw the desire written on his face. Raising herself on her elbows, she watched as he quickly rid himself of his plaid shirt and then yanked his white undershirt over his head.

      His chest had only a sprinkling of hair, so there was little to conceal the muscles that defined his chest and upper arms.

      She’d seen him shirtless several times over the years, when he’d come to pool parties at the Whittakers’, and, memorably, when she’d spied him in the process of removing his sweat-stained shirt and putting on a fresh one during a school-break construction job in Carlyle.

      She’d fantasized about touching him then. Now, she sat up to run her hands along the sculpted muscles.

      “Yes, touch me,” he muttered. “Make me burn, petunia.”

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