“What do you mean, what am I doing here?” he said calmly. He leaned back against the wall and tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “I’m here to talk about buying a vineyard.”
“And the moon is made of green cheese.”
“Is it?” he said pleasantly. “I’ve always wondered.”
Alex drew herself up. “Look, I don’t know how you managed to fool my attorneys into thinking you were really interested in—”
“I am,” he said.
Her smile was icy. “You’re interested in buying a vineyard?”
“Well, no. Not exactly.”
“But you thought nothing of lying to my people, of dragging me up here on a fool’s errand—”
“I represent Baron Enterprises.”
“Baron Enter…”
She blinked, and a flush rose in her cheeks. Damn, it was good to see her take the first step toward a plate filled with crow.
“That’s right,” Travis said coolly. He took out his wallet, extracted a business card and held it out. “I’m a partner in the firm of Sullivan, Cohen and Vittali. I represent my father, Jonas Baron, who wants to buy your vineyard.”
She took the card. Her eyes flashed from its heavy engraving to him, and Travis felt a curl of satisfaction in his belly as that disdainful look was replaced by confusion.
“You’re an attorney?”
“Yes. I specialize in corporate law.” He smiled, leaned away from the wall and folded his arms over his chest. “Perhaps you recognize the name of my firm.”
She did. It was a law firm with a reputation and influence the equal of the one that represented her.
“And—and you say your father…”
“Is interested in buying this vineyard.” Travis strolled past her, to the open door, and stepped onto the porch. “Maybe I should say he was interested.”
Alex swung around and looked at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Only that from what I’ve seen so far, I’m not inclined to recommend he continue with the purchase.”
Those were the last words she’d expected to hear, and she couldn’t keep her surprise from showing.
“Why not?”
“Do you know anything about viniculture?”
Her eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Well, it’s too complicated to explain, but—”
“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped.
Travis’s brows rose. The Princess might not know anything about wine-making. From what he’d been able to learn during the past week, he doubted she knew much about half of what she’d inherited. Still, the tilt of her chin, coupled with that arrogant tone, said she was damned if she wasn’t determined to learn.
Or maybe the only thing she wanted was to give him a hard time. Either way, it didn’t matter. Peregrine Vineyards was a handsome place. It had charm. It even had possibilities. But it sure as hell wasn’t worth the price her attorney had quoted.
“Well? I’m waiting to hear why my vineyard doesn’t meet your high standards, Mr. Baron.”
On the other hand, it was worth almost anything to see her eyes flash that way. Travis tried to look thoughtful as he glanced at his watch.
“I could fill you in on some of my thoughts over an early supper.”
“I didn’t come here for supper!”
“What did you come here for, then?” He looked up, his gaze noncommittal. “Do you want to sell this vineyard or don’t you?”
“You just said there isn’t going to be any sale.”
Travis couldn’t help it; he grinned. “I take it you’ve never been to Morocco.”
Alex looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What does Morocco have to do with this?”
“And I’ll bet you’ve never been to a flea market, either.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” she demanded irritably.
“Whether you’ve buying a rug in the Casbah, Princess, or a painting of Elvis on velvet at the Swap Meet—”
“A painting on velvet?”
“Yeah. Don’t you have one of those, in that castle you call home?”
Alex’s eyes met Travis’s. He was laughing. She told herself there was nothing funny happening here but a laugh burst from her throat, anyway.
“No. No, I can’t say that I have.”
“I can see where your education in the arts has been sadly neglected. The thing is, the first rule of selling is that you have to convince the buyer that he absolutely, positively must have the thing you want to sell him.”
Alex smiled. “Ah. Then, I have something you want?”
Travis’s smile tilted. “Yeah,” he said softly, “you definitely do.”
“I meant Peregrine,” she said quickly.
“Of course.” His tone was bland. “So did I. Well, then. Dinner, Ms. Thorpe?”
She hesitated. Her heart was dancing; she felt as if all the air were being drawn out of the room. But she’d come here to make a deal, and what kind of businesswoman would shy away from something so simple as dinner?
“Certainly,” she said, and tried not to think too hard about the tingle that shot through her as Travis took her elbow and led her from the farmhouse.
* * *
He drove the Porsche too fast.
She’d driven almost this fast only once, a long time ago. It was when she’d owned a little convertible, a present for her eighteenth birthday from her father. His secretary had phoned, asking what she wanted as a gift, and Alex had taken a deep breath and said she’d love a red Miata. The secretary—a new one, which probably explained how it had happened, said fine. And, on the day she turned eighteen, the car was in the driveway with a Happy Birthday card from her from her father.
Within the first month of driving it, she’d gotten a speeding ticket. As soon as her father found out, the red convertible disappeared and the first in a long line of big, safe Mercedes had taken its place.
Even that one time she’d pushed the convertible to its limits, she’d never driven as fast as Travis was driving now.
She had no idea what road they were on. It was narrow and curving, completely unlike the straight, boring highway she’d taken from the airport in San Francisco. Travis took the turns easily, tucking the Porsche into the curves so that it held the road as if it was nailed to it. And on the occasional straight stretches, she saw the speedometer needle skyrocket.
He glanced over, once, and caught her peering at the dash.
“Is this too fast for you?” he said, and she shook her head and said no, it was fine, when what she wanted to say was that it was wonderful, and was it at all possible he’d pull over and switch places with her?
She sat back and folded her hands in her lap.
What was the matter with her, that she got such crazy ideas when she was around this man? Going to dinner with him, when every instinct screamed it was a mistake. Yearning to get behind the wheel of his car and stand on the gas pedal until the car flew for her as it was flying for him. Doing what she’d done two weeks ago, letting him make love to her, making love to him when she didn’t know him at all, didn’t even like him.
Well, maybe she did like him, just a little. He was arrogant, yes. And too darned sure of himself. But he was all-fire gorgeous. And sexy. He had a nice sense of humor. And she already knew what a fantastic lover he was.
Not that she’d ever go to bed with him again. Her one and only one-night stand was history. Besides, she had about as much in common with Travis Baron as a sparrow had with a cat.
Alex’s pulse quickened.
It was just that cats, especially the big ones, were so beautiful, so lithe, so powerful and so incredibly exciting.
She sat back. Stop that, she told herself, but she knew she was blushing.
What could Alex be thinking, to put that sudden crimson stain on her beautiful cheekbones?
Travis sneaked a quick look at her again, then looked back at the road.
The more he saw of her, the deeper an
enigma she became. Her on-and-off sexuality had almost driven him crazy, but there was more than that about her that he just couldn’t figure out. From what he’d been able to gather, neither could her lawyers.
He’d been trying to figure a way to wangle a meeting with Alex, but things had fallen into place with surprising ease.
“Ms. Thorpe wishes to meet with you, Mr. Baron,” one of her attorneys had said.
“Does she know who I am?” Travis had asked, with quickened interest.
“Oh, no. She never even thought to ask your name. It’s probably her divorce that makes her think she wants to take some small role in her business affairs.”
“How long ago was the divorce?”
“Two years.” The attorney had sighed. “But I’m sure the stress lingers.”
“Was she in love with her husband?”
If the attorney thought the question rather personal, he was too well-trained to show it.
“Of course,” he’d replied.
Travis eased the car down to the speed limit as the road began its descent, and glanced at Alex again. Was that why she’d come on to him the way she had? Because she was heartbroken over the loss of her husband? It was possible; he could imagine a woman, in the depths of despair, trying to erase the memories of another man by going to bed with a stranger.
His jaw tightened.
Hell, he didn’t want to think he’d been a second-best substitute for some guy who’d been stupid enough to lose this woman.
“Your husband,” he said abruptly.
Alex swung her head toward him. “My ex-husband.”
“Yeah.” Travis’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Who divorced who?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Did you leave him, or was it the opposite way around?”
Alex touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. “I don’t see what that has to do with Peregrine Vineyards.”
Travis wrenched the wheel, hard, to the right. The brakes protested as he swung onto the narrow gravel shoulder and let the car idle.
“I was married,” he said harshly. “I found my wife in bed with another man and realized I’d known for a long time, that I really didn’t love her and maybe I never had.” His green gaze caught hers and held it. “I wasn’t trying to get rid of ghosts when I made love to you.”
Alex’s eyes widened. “I never said—”
“Were you?”
She swallowed dryly. “Was I—was I thinking about Carl when we—when you and I—”
“When you cried out, in my arms,” Travis said, his eyes never leaving hers. “Were you thinking of him, wishing he was in your bed instead of me?”
She stared at him. It was a question he had no right to ask, one she had every right to refuse to answer. At the very least, she could lie, tell him yes, she’d been thinking about her ex when she’d been with him…
“Alex?”
Travis wasn’t touching her but she could almost feel the strength of his hands on her. She wanted to feel them, to feel him against her.
She thought, for a second, she’d spoken the words aloud because he muttered a low curse, undid his seat belt, drew her to him in a rough embrace and kissed her. It was a long, deep kiss that made her heart race. When it ended, she was shaken.
“I need to know,” he said, cupping her face and looking deep into her eyes. “Was it me, in your bed, or was it him?”
The lies, and the protection they offered, disappeared like a magician’s rabbit.
“It was you,” she whispered. “From the second you first kissed me, it was you.”
They sat staring at each other, Travis’s body hardening with need, Alex’s softening with it. Then he drew away from her and reached for the gearshift.
“And a damn good thing it was,” he said roughly, and the car fishtailed as he accelerated onto the road.
He took her to a little restaurant in a handsome inn perched by the seaside, and settled her at a table for two in an outdoor garden. The sun was just starting to droop against the cloudless sky.
Alex couldn’t think straight. She let Travis order for the both of them and after their salads arrived, she bent her head and tried to concentrate on hers but the silence screamed at her and, at last, she looked up.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said.
“Why?” Travis said.
She tried to smile. “Why is it beautiful?”
“Why did you tell me to leave that night?” A muscle knotted in his jaw. “I wanted to make love to you again, Princess. And everything about you told me it was what you wanted, too.”
Alex colored. “Please. I don’t want to—”
“I can’t get it out of my head. The way it was between us. The feel of you. The taste…”
Her fork clattered to the tabletop. “Travis,” she whispered, “don’t. What happened, what I did, was wrong. It embarrasses me to think about it, much less to discuss it.”
He reached for her hand and caught it in his. “Listen to me, Princess. I’m not a kid. I’ve been with a lot of women. And I’m telling you, something incredible happened between us. How in hell can you say it was wrong?”
“Because…” She tugged her hand free of his. “Because it was. I’ve never—I know you won’t believe this, but I’ve never done anything like that before.”
His mouth curved in a smile. “You mean, you never paid twenty thousand dollars for a date before?”
“Go ahead,” she said fiercely. “Laugh. But it isn’t funny. I never picked up a man in my entire life. And I certainly never went to bed with a stranger I’d just…” She flung back her chair and shot to her feet. “I can’t talk about this,” she said, and ran from the restaurant.
Travis pulled some bills from his wallet, stuck them under the pepper mill and went after her. She was halfway down the deserted beach, walking with her arms wrapped around herself, her face turned to the sea, when he caught up to her.
“All right,” she said, before he could speak. “Okay, Travis. You want to know what happened that night?” She swung towards him, her face pale. “I’ll tell you.”
“Alex.” He wanted to take her in his arms but the look in her eyes warned him not to. “Princess, all you have to tell me was that I wasn’t a guy standing in for somebody else.”
Alex gave a bitter laugh. “I found my husband in bed with the woman I’d thought was my best friend. That was more than two years ago, and I remember thinking, almost calmly, that now, at least, I had a legitimate reason for ending a marriage I hated. No, Travis. you weren’t standing in for a man I’d loved and lost. I—I bid on you that night to—to prove something to myself.”
That look of ferocity was still in her eyes but there was a vulnerability to her mouth that made him ignore all the little warning lights going off in his head. He reached out and gently pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, and then he let his hands drift to her shoulders. He held her gently, afraid that if he held her the way he wanted to, she’d run off again.
“What?” he said softly. “That you were beautiful? Desirable? That any man who’d choose another woman over you ought to have his head examined?”
She rewarded him with a faint smile but when he tried to draw her closer, she pulled away.
“My husband said I was frigid. His exact words for me were that I was a frigid little rich bitch.”
Travis’s eyes narrowed. “And you believed him?”
“I didn’t really care. It meant—it meant he left me alone. Sex had been—it had been unsatisfying.”
“Unsatisfying,” Travis repeated softly, in a way that made her shudder.
“Travis.” She put her hand on his arm. The muscles were like stone under her fingers. “Travis, I’m only telling you this because—because I’ve finally admitted the truth to myself, that you deserve an explanation.”
He caught her hand in his, held it so tightly that she caught her breath.
“Go on,” he said harshly. “Tell me more about this h
usband of yours.”
“There isn’t much more to tell. As I said, I found him with another woman. And I divorced him.”
“And?”
“And,” Alex said quietly, “that Friday afternoon, before the auction, I was in the ladies’ room at a restaurant and I overheard two women talking about me. They said—they said they could tell just from looking at me that everything Carl’s wife—”
“Your ex’s wife?”
She nodded. “They said everything she’d been telling them was true, that I was a spoiled little rich girl with too much money and not enough libido. And I could tell, from how they said it, that all the people who were supposed to be my friends were probably scurrying around behind my back, discussing my sex life, too.”
Travis’s hand fell from hers. “Go on.”
“I went shopping. I bought that dress. The underwear. The shoes.” She closed her eyes against the memory. “Then I burst into that stupid auction and I saw you.”
“And you bought me.”
Alex winced. “I—I made that bid, yes,” she said, her voice as brittle as paper.
“I see.”
The coldness of the words sliced through her self-pity. Alex looked up and saw the darkness in Travis’s eyes.
“I was right, then,” he said. “Your husband was in that bed with us.”
“No! Oh, no.”
“Maybe not because you were mourning his loss, but he was there, just the same.” His mouth twisted. “So he could see you perform, and know what he was missing.”
Alex hissed through her teeth and took a step back.
“It’s amazing,” she said, her voice trembling, “how I seem to specialize in making myself look stupid in front of you. Is that all you can think of? Your own pathetic ego? Yes, I bid on you out of anger. And yes, maybe it was anger that drove me to—to respond to you, in that doorway.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “But what happened when you came to my home had nothing to do with anger, or with Carl, or with those witches in the ladies’ room at L’Orangerie.” Angry tears glittered in her eyes. “And I don’t know why I thought I owed this explanation to you, Mr. Baron, because, frankly, I hate—”
Travis’s mouth came down on hers.
More Than a Mistress Page 11
