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 she’d gotten: kidnapped and held “for a pretty penny.” Quentin had inadvertently hit the mark. Aloud, she said, “I’m not going to be boxed in by a whole set of rules just because of my last name.”
Quentin started to interrupt, but she went on, “And you can tell your friend Connor not to worry. I won’t be trying to cook dinner for him again anytime soon.”
If it were possible, she was even more annoyed with Connor by the time she got off the phone.
Ratted her out to her family again, had he? He hadn’t even waited for her to tell them in her own way. Instead, he’d lost no time in spilling the entire story to Quentin as if she were still a recalcitrant teen whose family he had to enlist to keep her in line.
Had he also had the gall to suggest to Quentin that she should be looking to move on from the DA’s Office because the prosecutor’s job had become too dangerous for her? Is that how the thought had occurred to Quentin?
She wouldn’t put it past Connor.
She narrowed her eyes. If Connor thought things were icy between them now, she fumed, he’d better get ready for a deep freeze.
Chapter Eight
Connor faced the mirror and attempted once again to work his tuxedo tie into a knot.
For the past week, he and Allison had avoided each other as much as it was possible to while still living under the same roof. That had not been as hard to accomplish as it might otherwise have been, since she’d been working late all week. As a result, he’d been able to catch up on things at the office and schedule some evening meetings.
Yet, the tension between them continued to mount, despite—or maybe because of—the fact he was back to sleeping in the bedroom down the hall from hers. He was still furious with her, but he was also suffering from a serious bout of sexual frustration.
They were like two tigers circling each other in the cage. And, unfortunately, their days of circling were about to come to an end.
Tonight was the Cortland Ball, and even he knew it was the biggest and oldest charity ball of the Boston social season.
Usually he avoided such events like the plague. His company was well-known enough that he didn’t have to hobnob with the rich and snooty. Business came to him.
But the Whittaker Foundation was one of the major sponsors of the Cortland Ball this year, so Allison had to attend. And if Allison had to attend, he had to attend.
Even if they were barely on speaking terms. Even if his damned bow tie was choking him, he thought irritably, running his finger around inside the collar of his shirt now that he had worked his tie into a perfect if slightly too-tight knot. He left his bedroom and headed downstairs.
The one perk to attending this shindig was that Hugh Kendall, the indicted business executive Allison was prosecuting, would be there. It would be a first-class opportunity to study one of the prime suspects in the threats against Allison.
When Connor got downstairs to the front hall, he checked his cell-phone messages again and resigned himself to waiting for Allison to come down the stairs.
Ten minutes later, a small sound alerted him to her presence moments before he glanced up. When he did, the sight of her stole his breath away.
She was wrapped in a strapless, sky-blue sheath that hugged all the right curves. The style of her hair, piled high on her head—thanks to the work of the stylist who had come to the door earlier—further accentuated her elegant décolletage.
As she came down the stairs, the deep slit in her gown parted like a curtain to reveal shapely legs and feet shod in silver, high-heeled pumps. She clutched a small silver purse in one hand and jewels glittered at her ears and wrist.
Diamonds, he noted with the modicum of his brain not given over to carnal lust. Yet her neck was bare.
If they’d been married, he thought, and preparing for tonight, he’d have given her diamonds to adorn her neck, too. He’d have trailed kisses along her neck, across her collarbone, and down to the cleavage revealed by the heart-shaped neckline of her gown. Eexactly, he realized, as her ensemble was designed to encourage him—or more precisely, any red-blooded male—to do.
She looked every inch the princess that he often taunted her as being. Except, instead of conjuring the mockery he often made a pretense of exhibiting, he felt every fiber within him tense with elemental attraction.
As she neared the last step, he mentally shook himself and held out his hand to her.
Her eyes flashed fire, but she let him assist her the rest of the way. And while the expression on her face said she was still displeased with him, her heightened color also
