Under the Tycoon's Protection by Anna DePalo Page B

told the police she’d had to run? He’d have been happy munching on cardboard if it had kept her inside!
    The only good thing that had come out of the shooting was that the police would now be stationed outside the townhouse whenever Allison was home. They were taking the threats against her even more seriously.
    Still, Allison’s admission brought home an unpleasant truth: they’d both gotten more focused on exploring the new-found physical chemistry between them than on keeping her safe.
    Instead of thinking of him as a bodyguard whose orders should be followed to a T, Allison had been thinking of him as a lover who wouldn’t necessarily get furious with her for disregarding what he’d said. She’d gone out and risked her life because she’d been planning to surprise him with a romantic dinner, for God’s sake!
    For his part, as much as he’d tried to convince himself otherwise, sleeping with her had changed everything. He wasn’t the cool-headed expert he needed to be in dangerous situations. Instead, he was running on emotion because the thought of anything happening to her tied him up in knots.
    Aloud, he said, “That’s it? You ran out to the store so you could cook dinner?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Where was your judgment?”
    She folded her arms. “Obviously, in the wrong place,” she said sarcastically, “if I was thinking of cooking dinner for you. Clearly I was wasting my time.”
    Anger battled with relief inside him. “You’re still the rash, headstrong princess, aren’t you? When are you going to learn to think before you act?”
    â€œWell, I’m thinking now,” she said coldly, dropping her arms. “And what I’m thinking is that taking our relationship to a new level was a mistake.” She flashed him a look of disdain. “I should have known.”
    She should have known? Heck, he should have known. He should have known better than to get involved with her.
    He and Allison came from different worlds and he was a fool to have forgotten that for even a minute. She was the sheltered daughter of a wealthy family and he’d always be the guy who climbed out of rough-and-tumble, blue-collar South Boston.
    Even after Harvard, even after more than ten years building a multimillion-dollar business, he was still rough around the edges. His South Boston accent trickled in when he wasn’t careful. And, frankly, he didn’t blend with the country-club set and never would.
    Still, the fact that she’d brought up their different backgrounds in an argument riled him. “You can try chalking me up as a mistake,” he said silkily, “but we’re dynamite in bed together.”
    â€œGo to—”
    â€œI’m betting,” he said, cutting her off, “that the pretty boys over at the country club haven’t done nearly as good a job of satisfying you, have they, petunia? Otherwise you wouldn’t still be looking for a roll in the sack with a guy who’s seen the seedier side of life.”
    Her face had gone pale with anger. “That’s right, Rafferty, and I’m glad you realized it, because that’s all you were. A nice little frolic,” she said, her voice haughty with disdain, “but certainly not someone I’d contemplate having a real relationship with.”
    He grabbed her arm as she stalked by him, whirling her to face him, but she shrugged off his hand.
    â€œGive it up!” she said, her eyes flashing.
    Ignoring her request, he followed her down the corridor toward the back of the house. They weren’t done, not by a long shot. That she’d even try to dismiss him as nothing more than a quick fling had him seething.
    Entering the kitchen, she went over to the sink.
    â€œDammit, we’re not done.”
    â€œOh, we’re done all right,” she said without turning around, starting to rinse a glass.