“Mr. Baron. I am, truly, sorry if you’ve misunderstood the purpose of the auction. It’s a charitable event. And I support a great many charities. I’ve already given the chairwoman my check. And now I’ve had the—” she paused, almost imperceptibly “—the pleasure of meeting you, sir.”
His eyes narrowed. Later, she’d remember that and realize it had been a warning. But right then, analytical thinking was beyond her. All she could think of was escape.
“What you’re sayin’, Ms. Thorpe, is that you’re givin’ me the brush-off.”
His voice had softened, picked up the faintest drawl. Well, that explained a lot. Cowboy, ranch hand, whatever. She’d missed the description of him, and she hadn’t seen the auction catalog, but it didn’t matter. She’d figured him right. He wasn’t from around here. The auction committee had probably recruited him from a modeling agency, or maybe from Actors’ Equity. Los Angeles was filled with men like him, men who’d come here with dreams of stardom.
Wherever he came from, he was accustomed to a macho swagger. It might help him make the cover of GQ. It would probably gain him admittance to a lot of L.A. bedrooms, but—
But not hers.
Her behavior back in the ballroom, all that thunder and lightning that had seemed to flash between them, had been the result of remembering how Carl had humiliated her. How even now, with him out of her life, he could still humiliate and infuriate her. Even hurt her.
It had nothing to do with Travis Baron, who was too handsome for his own good, and too untamed for hers.
“Am I right, Ms. Thorpe? Am I gettin’ the old heave-ho?”
Alex tilted her head and looked at him with polite interest. A cowboy, and with a dented ego.
Ah, how quickly things had changed.
This was her turf, not his. Too bad he’d learn it the hard way. Too bad she’d come close to forgetting it. She was Alex Thorpe. Buying a man, indeed. Thinking she’d take him to her bed, and for what? To prove something to an ex-husband she didn’t give a damn about? She had nothing to prove to anyone, certainly not to herself.
All right, so she’d come rushing to the auction in a mood that was foolish and potentially dangerous. And yes, she’d done a dumb thing, making that bid. But she’d almost done something even more foolish, fleeing. People would talk about her bid for days. Weeks, maybe, until some better bit of gossip came along. Did she want them to also talk about the way she’d run out of the hotel?
She knew what she had to do.
Play out the game. Coolly, with sophistication. A touch of wry humor would be nice. Make it obvious that she’d bid on this man for fun, that she’d done it because she’d wanted to do it, not because of anything more personal.
And not because of the way she’d suddenly felt—suddenly imagined she’d felt—when Travis Baron’s eyes had met hers.
The ballroom had emptied out. Those people who’d attended the auction were standing around the lobby in little knots, shooting glances at the two of them with barely concealed interest.
Well, she’d give them something to watch, but not something to remember.
Alex looked up. The cowboy hadn’t taken his eyes off her. His expression was still intent. Beyond that, she couldn’t read him at all. That troubled her a little, but not much. The balance of power had shifted. She had the upper hand now, and if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was how to use power.
“I’m not giving you the brush-off, Mr. Baron.” She lifted her arm, her brows drawing together as she glanced at the tiny gold-and-diamond watch on her wrist. “I do have another appointment. But—”
“Break it.”
She laughed gaily, as if he’d made a joke. “Oh, I can’t possibly do that. But I do understand my obligations.” Still smiling, she lay her hand lightly on his arm. “If you’d be good enough to lead the way into the room that’s been set aside for the after-auction party, I’ll give you one dance.”
“Give it to me?” he said, very softly.
She heard the edge in those simple words and felt the muscles in his arm bunch beneath her fingers. But she was still riding the heady rush that came of knowing both her feet were back on solid ground, and she heard what he said as she wanted to, as an affirmation of which of them had taken control.
“That’s right. Perhaps I’ll even permit a quick interview.” The sound of music drifted from a nearby doorway and she raised her voice, just a little, to be heard over it. “And then, of course, I’ll be on my way. You do understand, don’t you?”
Oh, yeah, Travis thought, he understood, all right. The Ice Princess had asked him to escort her to the party but it was only a formality. It had been an exercise of privilege and power; how could a man who’d grown up surrounded by such things not recognize it? She was in charge here; the arrogant smile on her face said as much. Without waiting for his reply, she turned and made her way toward the music, confident that he would follow.
A muscle bunched in his jaw. Alexandra Thorpe figured she was playing him for a fool, playing Lady of the Manor to his Bumbling Cowboy. It made him angry as hell, but he wasn’t about to let her know that.
Not yet.
He set off after her, as if he’d accepted the part she’d given him.
None of what was happening surprised him. He’d known something was up, after she’d made the winning bid. He’d seen the look on her lovely face go from wanton desire to disbelief. When she’d turned to flee, he’d started to go after her but the other bachelors had rushed on stage to congratulate him and make jokes at his expense. He’d tried to break free but when he saw Barbara Rhodes stop Alex before she got away, he’d made himself stand still and endure the good-natured banter.
By the time he’d finally broken loose, he’d felt like an over-wound spring.
Peggy, the Slave Mistress, had come running up to him, as he started off the stage.
“You see?” she’d crowed happily. “What did I tell you, handsome? You didn’t have a thing to worry about.”
“What’s her name?” he’d asked, and Peggy must have heard the tightness in his voice because she hadn’t teased him or laughed, she’d simply said she’d asked the same question.
“Alexandra Thorpe.”
“Married? Or single?”
“I don’t know.”
He’d nodded his thanks and begun to turn away when Peggy put her hand on his arm.
“Handsome?”
“Yes?” he’d said, impatiently.
“She’s not for you.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the advice.”
“I’m serious. Remember what I said about her being an Ice Princess?”
Travis had looked squarely at Peggy. “You were wrong.”
“No. No, I wasn’t. Girl who told me the lady’s name said she’s got a freezer where her heart’s supposed to be.”
Travis had smiled. “It’s not the lady’s heart I’m interested in,” he’d said, and then he’d gone down into the crowd, barely acknowledging the slaps on the back and the cheers from Pete Haskell and the other guys he worked with, pushing through everybody until, at last, he’d reached the lobby—and saw Alexandra Thorpe.
She’d still been talking with the chairwoman. Her back was to him, and he’d treated himself to the pleasure of the view. All that golden hair, streaming over her shoulders. The straight, elegant back, naked almost to the base of her spine. The gently rounded bottom, outlined in the silk garnet skirt. And those legs, those endless legs, encased in black hose that tapered down to shoes with heels high enough to make a man’s mouth water.
He’d wondered what he’d find beneath that sinful excuse of a dress, when he took it off her later tonight. A black lace bra, with a matching garter belt? A scrap of silk that might be called a pair of panties?
Travis had felt his body tighten.
Or would there be nothing under that dress except the garter belt, and the sexy stockings?
His fingers itched with the need to find out.
He’
d started toward her, then slowed his pace.
Something was wrong. It was in the set of her shoulders, the tilt of her head. He’d looked past the Thorpe woman, to the gray-haired chairwoman. She was smiling but there was no mistaking the earnest look on her face. She was making some sort of pitch.
He got closer, and heard enough to know he was right.
“It will only take a few minutes,” she was saying. “If you and your bachelor could give the TV people a few pictures and a short interview, it would be wonderful publicity for the auction.”
“He’s not ‘my’ bachelor,” Alexandra Thorpe had said. “You don’t understand, Mrs. Rhodes. I’m not staying. Really, I can’t.”
Travis had stepped up behind her and told her that she could stay, that she would stay. For some reason, he’d gone heavy on the Texas drawl that was always just a heartbeat away. “Sugar,” he’d called her, liking the way her eyes flared a little at the name. She’d been off balance, fighting something inside her—and then, suddenly, it had all changed.
It had been like seeing a woman pull a veil over her face. Or a mask. Yeah, that was it. Alexandra Thorpe had disappeared behind a mask, and it wasn’t the first time it had happened tonight. It was just that he’d misread it, before. She hadn’t gone from naked longing to confusion, she’d gone from longing to disbelief. Either she didn’t know she was capable of that kind of desire or she didn’t want to know it. Now, she was covering it with her Lady of the Manor act.
Covering, and she’d blamed him for it.
Instinct, as well as anger, urged him to take her in his arms and kiss that haughty smile from her face. With an arrogance that was more than a match for hers, he knew he could not only make her want him again, but he could make her beg him for the release only he could bring her, once she was in his arms.
Intelligence—what little he had left of it, considering the way his hormones were pumping—warned him that to do so would be a mistake. The thing to do was play along and see where Alexandra Thorpe imagined this would end.
Polite applause sprang up as she led him to the center of the dance floor. Barbara Rhodes must have seen them coming. The orchestra stopped in midbeat, and the chairwoman took hold of the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to give you Ms. Alexandra Thorpe and her prize!”
Laugher, and more applause. Alex smiled and turned toward Travis, but her smile faltered when she saw the way he was looking at her. The orchestra began playing. The music was lush and romantic. Travis reached out and gathered her into his arms.
“Are you a good dancer, Ms. Thorpe?” he said softly. “Do you know how to let your body find the right rhythm?”
“I’m an excellent dancer. But I don’t like to be held so tightly.”
Travis smiled and drew her closer. “You seem stiff in my arms. Is it because you haven’t—” his pause was slow and deliberate “—because you haven’t—danced—enough, lately?”
Alex colored. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Maybe you haven’t had the right man. To dance with, I mean.”
Her color deepened. What pleasure it was, to chip away at that arrogant composure and autocratic veneer.
“I could lead you in steps you’ve only dreamed of, Ms. Thorpe. All you have to do is admit that you want me for your teacher.”
“That’s enough!”
Alex tried to pull back but Travis’s arm tightened around her. “Why did you pay twenty thousand bucks for me, Sugar?” He smiled through his teeth. “Your face is like an open book, Ms. Thorpe. You’re torn between wanting to sock me in the jaw and turning tail and running like a scared rabbit.”
“I never run from anything.” Alex’s voice hummed with fury. “But you’ve certainly got the first part right.”
“Either way, five hundred people are watching us. And there’s a TV camera pointed in our direction. Do you really want to make headlines, Ms. Thorpe?”
“You’re a horrible man!”
“I’m an honest one. You paid a lot of money for me, and it didn’t have a damned thing to do with charity.”
“You overestimate your charm, sir.”
“You paid it so you could go to bed with a man who’d make you feel something. And then you turned chicken.”
Alex stopped moving. Travis did, too. She looked up at him, eyes blazing. “I really, really despise you!”
Travis laughed. “Ah, darlin’, where’s all that hauteur gone to? I know that’s a mighty big word for a cowboy to use but I never said I was a cowboy, Ms. Thorpe. You were the one who decided that.”
The music changed, became a waltz. Travis began moving in time with it. There was no choice. Alexandra began moving, too.
He circled the room with her in his arms, faster and faster, holding her so that her body was pressed to his. Her breasts, her thighs…God, how he wanted her. He could almost feel the heat of her, burning his skin. Yes, hatred blazed in her eyes but he knew women, and desire. And he could see something more in those eyes, besides hatred.
“What are you afraid to admit, Alex?”
His whisper was velvet-soft. Alex felt breathless. How had this happened? How had he taken control?
“I’m not afraid of anything.” Even she could hear the tremor in her voice.
“Then tell me the truth,” he said roughly. “Admit that you want me.”
“I don’t!”
Travis laughed. “Liar,” he said, and whirled her faster and faster.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS a hell of a time to think of Jonas, but suddenly his father’s voice was in his head.
“So now you think you’re gonna fight for truth and justice,” he’d said, the day Travis had been admitted to the Bar. “Well, lemme tell you somethin’, boy. Only winners get justice, and liars never see the truth until you rub their noses in it.”
For the first time, Travis decided Jonas might be right. There was only one thing to do, and he did it. He danced Alexandra Thorpe into a corner, bent her over his arm, and crushed her mouth beneath his.
He heard the insulted hiss of her breath, felt her first frantic struggles…and then, with a little sigh, she parted her lips and let him in.
He whispered her name, drew her up, gathered her into his arms. Her heart raced against his; her slender arms were cool as she looped them around his neck. She tasted like honey; she smelled like springtime. God, how he wanted her. How he needed her…
A cheer. A smattering of applause. Appreciative, pleasant laughter.
He heard them, but he didn’t give a damn. Alex did. She tore her mouth from his, dropped her arms and flattened her palms against his chest.
“Stop it,” she hissed.
He lifted his head and gave her a sexy smile that said the kiss was only the beginning. And why wouldn’t he? Alex shuddered. She’d been kissing him the way she’d never kissed a man in her life, but he had no way of knowing that. Kissing him right here, in front of all these people.
He smiled into her eyes. “It’s going to be one hell of a weekend, Sugar.”
His voice was low, rough, and filled with promise. He was still holding her, his hands at her waist, which was a good thing because she felt boneless. Dizzy. She felt—she felt…
“Alex? Travis? Could you look this way, please?”
Alex swung around blindly. The TV camera was pointed at her; a smiling reporter poked a microphone into her face. She had always thought it was horrible, how intrusive reporters could be. Now, she welcomed the woman as if the microphone were a lifeline.
“Yes,” she said brightly, and stepped free of Travis’s grasp, “certainly. We’d be delighted.”
* * *
The interview went on for what seemed to be hours, though Travis knew it could not have been more than a few minutes.
He didn’t like reporters. There’d always been somebody poking a nose and a camera where it didn’t belong when he was growing up on Espada. His father relished being the center of attentio
n but neither Travis, his brothers nor his stepsister enjoyed it at all.
Tonight, Travis found himself welcoming—well, almost welcoming—the stupid questions and the phony smiles.
Alexandra Thorpe was doing most of the talking. She made it sound as if their kiss had been a clever piece of theatrics, hinting, with smiles and girlish laughter, that the two of them had planned it while they’d been talking in the lobby.
Whatever spin she wanted to put on it was fine with him. If she could come up with something clever, amen. Hey, he wasn’t thinking at all. Near as he could tell, his brain had ceased to function as soon as he’d taken his first look at her.
He liked women, liked to come on to them. The delicacy of their bones. The subtlety of their scent. The way they laughed, and smiled. He enjoyed their company, their conversation. And making love with a woman was the closest to paradise a man could come.
The thing was, though, he never made love with an audience watching.
What was the sense in kidding himself? He wasn’t just brain dead, he was being led around by the part of his anatomy that was the least reliable, to do what he’d been doing to Alexandra Thorpe, right in the middle of the dance floor. That kiss had been as erotic as anything he’d ever shared with a woman in the privacy of a bed.
Be honest, Baron. Some of the things he’d done in bed hadn’t been as erotic as that kiss.
It had been that way for her, too. He knew what that sexy little moan had meant, knew from the feel of her in his arms that she’d been as ready as he’d been. He understood the touch of her tongue against his, the gentle pressure of her teeth…
“…Mr. Baron?”
He blinked. The ditzy reporter was talking to him, holding out her mike as if it were the Holy Grail.
“Excuse me?” he said, and she smiled even more brightly and repeated her question.
He smiled back. Yes, uh-huh, he’d had a great time tonight. No, of course he hadn’t been nervous. Who could be nervous, when it was all for charity?
They were going to love this interview, at Sullivan, Cohen and Vittali.
Now it was Alexandra’s turn. The reporter turned her painted-on smile in her direction.
More Than a Mistress Page 3
