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More Than A Mistress
Sandra Marton
Surely Travis Baron is a man for whom any woman would want to bid! Blisteringly handsome and immensely successful, the corporate lawyer is the possible heir to Espada, his father's sprawling ranch–and he's up for grabs at a charity auction.But when Alexandra Thorpe wins Travis for the weekend, she doesn't claim her prize. Why has the cool blond beauty staked thousands of dollars on Travis…and then just walked away? Travis is determined to pursue the lady who bought him, and exact his own price!



“No. Not here.”
“Of course.” She stepped back. “I’m sorry, Travis. You’re right. I should never have…”
He hauled her into his arms again. He kissed her over and over, until she was clinging to him. “Don’t ever apologize for wanting me. Don’t you know how exciting that is, Princess? To know you feel the way I feel? I have a suite at the inn. It’s where I planned on spending the night. Will you come there with me, and let me make love to you as if this were our first time?”
He waited for her answer, knowing that giving her time to think was a gamble. He was asking her to admit her need for him, instead of being swept away by it, but he didn’t want her to come to him blinded by passion. Not tonight. Tonight he wanted to seduce her. Awaken her. And to know, after this, the only man she would remember would be him.
“Alex.” He ran his thumb over her parted lips. “I want to make love to you. Tell me it’s what you want, too.”
His answer was in the soft surrender of her kiss.


Four brothers:
bonded by inheritance, battling for love!
Jonas Baron is approaching his eighty-fifth birthday. He has ruled Espada, his sprawling estate in Texas hill country, for more than forty years, but now he admits it’s time he chose an heir.
Jonas has three sons—Gage, Travis and Slade, all ruggedly handsome and each with a successful business empire of his own; none wishes to give up the life he’s fought for to take over Espada. Jonas also has a stepdaughter; beautiful and spirited, Caitlin loves the land as much as he does, but she’s not of the Baron blood.
So who will receive Baron’s bequest? As Gage, Travis, Slade and Caitlin discover, there’s more at stake than just Espada. For love also has its part to play in deciding their futures….
Sit back now and enjoy Travis’s story, and be sure to look out next for Slade Baron’s Bride in November (Harlequin Presents
#2063), when you’ll get to know Slade a whole lot better!

More Than a Mistress
Sandra Marton





CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE
TRAVIS BARON stood in the wings of the improvised stage at the Hotel Paradise, a hint of defiance in the rake of his jaw, waiting to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.
And wasn’t that a hell of a thing for a man to be doing on a beautiful Thursday night in early June? Travis thought grimly.
He ran his fingers through his hair, then smoothed his hand down the lapel of his tux. He couldn’t see the crowd in the elegant ballroom but he could damn well hear it, every feminine hoot, whistle and catcall. This was the crème de la crème of L.A. society, Pete Haskell had said. Maybe so. But they sure sounded pretty down-and-dirty from where Travis stood.
The wheedling drone of the auctioneer’s voice oozed from the loudspeakers like honey from a comb on a hot Texas day.
“What’m-I-bid, what’m-I-bid, ladies, c’mon, c’mon, don’t be shy, don’t hold back. Win the man of your dreams for the weekend.”
Shy? Travis snorted. Based on what he’d been hearing for the past hour, the women gathered in the ballroom were about as shy as a herd of buffalo, and about as delicate in making their wants known. They cheered, they laughed, they hooted and hollered until the gavel came down and then they applauded and whistled until Travis figured the noise level was enough to have the riot cops bust the place. And then they started up all over again, when the next hapless victim was shoved out on stage.
Not that all the Bachelors for Bucks had to be pushed. Lots of them went willingly, grinning and throwing kisses to the crowd.
“Hey, man,” one guy had said, after a look at Travis’s glum expression, “it’s all for charity, right?”
Right, Travis thought, his scowl darkening. But the guy with the smile had probably volunteered for this nonsense. Travis hadn’t. And to make things even worse, the luck of the draw was sending him out on that stage last.
How, he thought, how had he let himself get talked into this mess?
“Sold!” The auctioneer’s triumphant shout and the smack of his gavel were drowned out in a burst of cheers and applause.
“Another one gone,” a voice mumbled, and Travis turned as a skinny blond guy stepped up beside him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he adjusted his tie. “Man, I’d rather be going for a root canal.”
“You got that right,” Travis said.
“Now, now, gentlemen.” Peggy Jeffers, who’d cheerfully introduced herself as “your friendly slave mistress for the evening” when they’d all been introduced, tweaked the skinny guy’s cheek. “You just relax, go on out there and have yourself some fun.”
“Fun?” the guy said, “Fun?”
“Fun,” Peggy repeated, and she put her hand in the middle of his back and gently pushed him out of the wings and onto the stage.
The roar of the audience sent the blood right to Travis’s head.
Peggy smiled. “Hear that?”
“Yeah,” Travis said, with what he hoped would pass for a smile. “Sounds like a pack of hyenas on a blood trail.”
Peggy giggled. “You got that right.” She took a step back, then eyeballed Travis from the top of his sun-streaked chestnut hair to the toes of his shiny black boots. “My oh my, handsome. They’re gonna go nuts when they spot you.”
She grinned, and Travis tried to return it.
“Don’t tell me a hunk like you is nervous,” Peggy said.
“No,” Travis said, lying through his teeth. “Why would I be nervous about going out on that stage in front of a million screaming women to get myself auctioned off?”
Peggy laughed. “It’s all for a good cause,” she said over her shoulder as she hurried away. “And you’ll get snapped up in a second.”
Yeah, Travis thought, oh, yeah. That’s what he’d been telling himself all night—that, and the fact that he was a sane man, a normal, healthy, sane, thirty-two-year-old attorney. A bachelor, yes…but a bachelor who liked to choose his own women.
And choose them, he did. All the time. If he had any problems with women, it was getting them to understand, when the moment of truth came, that all good things came to an end. Relationships between the sexes weren’t meant to last forever. A bad marriage and a worse divorce had finally taught him what the lessons of his childhood hadn’t, but those two blips in the road were long behind him.
It wasn’t as if he was opposed to women coming on to him. He liked a little aggressiveness in a woman, in bed and out. He found it sexy.
But a woman hitting on a guy she spotted at a party was one thing. Bidding for him, as if he were a slab of meat…
That was something else.
He’d been conned. And it had happened during a partners meeting at Sullivan, Cohen and Vittali a few months ago.
If only he’d realized that Pete Haskell was setting him up.
“Hey, Baron,” Pete had said casually, as he bit into a bagel, “I was talking about you the other day with some guys from Hannan and Murphy.”
“Ah,” Travis had said, with a smile, “were they telling you how much they wish I’d accepted a partnership there instead of here?”
Pete chuckled. “Actually, we were talking about the Bachelors for Bucks thing. You know, the annual charity auction?”
“That’s still going on?”
“Yup.” Pete buttered the other half of his bagel. “They’re figuring the new guy they hired is gonna come in at an all-time high bid.”
“No way,” one of the other partners said.
Pete shrugged. “They’re taking bets he will, John. They figure nobody can beat him, considering his record.”
“What record?” John reached for the sweetener. “The guy talks too much, you know what I mean? Any man blabs endlessly about all the broads in his life, well, right away, I have my doubts. No man has that much time, much less stamina.” John grinned. “Well, except for ol’ Travis, here.”
Pete nodded thoughtfully. “I agree.” He shot Travis a look. “But Travis never talks. Never lets us in on what he’s been doing, and who and how often he’s been doing it with.”
Travis looked up from his coffee and grinned. “I am a man of honor,” he said. “I never talk about my women.” His grin broadened. “And the silence just kills you, pal, doesn’t it?”
“But,” Pete said, undeterred, “we all know what a stud our Travis is. Talk about his latest conquest is a staple in the secretaries’ lunchroom. We spot the newest lady getting out of a taxi in front of the building at quitting time.” He grinned. “And we watch the bouquets of long-stemmed roses fly out of the florist’s shop next door, when Trav decides it’s time to dump a broad.”
“Please,” Travis said, his hand to his heart. “I’d never send roses. Everybody sends roses.”
“So, what do you send?”
The partners all looked up from their coffee. Old man Sullivan was the one who’d asked the question. It was the first time he’d said a word during a meeting in six months.
“Whatever flowers seem appropriate for that particular lady,” Travis said, and smiled. “And something small but tasteful, with a note that says—”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Sullivan suggested, and everyone laughed.
“The thing is,” Pete said, “I told the guys from Hannan and Murphy that they could boast all they like about their man getting the high bid, considering that our man didn’t even enter.”
“Which he hadn’t, and isn’t,” Travis said firmly.
“Oh, I know that. We all know that. Right, boys?”
Later, Travis would remember that everybody in the room, even the two female partners, nodded vigorously, then put their heads down as if on cue. But right at that moment, Pete’s comments had seemed casual.
“And they said?”
Pete sighed. “They said that we’re all lawyers, and we should know better than to present a case with nothing but hearsay evidence.”
Someone groaned. Someone else laughed, but old man Sullivan narrowed his rheumy eyes and leaned forward in his chair at the head of the boardroom table.
“And, Peter?”
“And,” Pete said, after a barely perceptible pause, “they challenged us. They said we should put our boy, Travis, on the block.”
“No way,” Travis said quickly.
“Then, they said, we’ll really see which guy wins.” He paused dramatically. “And the firm that loses has to treat the other to a golf weekend at Pebble Beach.”
“Cool,” somebody said, and then a wild cheer went up around the walnut-paneled room.
“Now, wait just a minute,” Travis had started to say, but old man Sullivan was already smiling across the table and assuring Travis that they all knew he’d carry their banner high into battle, and make them proud to be partners in Sullivan, Cohen and Vittali.
Trapped, Travis thought grimly. It had been a conspiracy. Old man Sullivan had probably been the only one not in on the scheme. Not that it mattered. There’d been no way out of the setup, not without hearing about it forever from the rest of the partners. And so now here he was, a man about to go onstage before a crowd of estrogen-crazed females like a lamb being led to the slaughter, and if he came in at a penny lower than five grand—which was what Hannan and Murphy’s entry had gone for—he’d never live it down.
“I didn’t really have a choice,” he’d said to his kid brother, over the phone. “Anyway, it’s for a good cause. All the money raised goes to children’s hospitals.”
“Sure,” Slade had said, and then he’d snorted.
“What?”
“Well, I was just thinkin’…” Slade’s voice took on the soft, Texas drawl of their childhood. “It’s kind of like a bull bein’ auctioned off to a herd of heifers.”
“It’s a legitimate auction,” Travis had said coldly, and slammed down the phone. Then he’d picked it up, punched in the code for Slade’s Boston number again and said, before Slade could say a word, that he should have known better than to have expected sympathy from his own flesh and blood.
“You got it, bro,” Slade had replied, and laughed until, at last, Travis had laughed, too, and said how bad would it really be…
Travis shuddered. “Bad,” he whispered, and closed his eyes.
All the senior partners and associates were in the audience. The clerks and the secretaries were waiting by their telephones, eager to hear how their entry did because this thing had taken on a life of its own, with side bets, pool bets…
How much would he go for? Would he top the Hannan and Murphy guy? Where would he place in the overall standings? Would the woman who “bought” him be good-looking? A ten, on the nutty scale the secretaries had drawn up? A five? Or, as his own secretary had explained, with a shudder, would a two or even a one be the winner?
Travis groaned.
Unless he went for the right price, to the right female, he’d never live it down. And there was just no way to tell how things would go, once he got on stage and put his fate in the hands of the auctioneer and the wild-women masquerading as solid citizens. Why hadn’t he had the brains to set things up? Bought a ticket for Sally—no, not Sally. He’d just sent her a bouquet of dog-toothed violets and an eight ounce bottle of Chanel. Okay, then. Bethany. He could have bought Bethany a ticket, told her to bid a thousand bucks more than whatever the Hannan and Murphy guy went for and he’d pay her back—with interest.
Except, what good was a bet, if you had to cheat to win it?
There was no choice except to leave the bidding up to fate. And he, of all people, knew that fate wasn’t always kind, not even for an event as silly as this.
“Your turn next, Cowboy.”
Travis jerked upright at the sound of Peggy’s voice.
“Great,” he said stiffly. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
“Want me to take a peek at the house? Tell you who hasn’t bought herself a hunk yet and looks as if she might be willing to pay a decent price for you?”
“It’s unimportant,” he said, with dignity, and she laughed.
“Move over, and let me look.”
“Look? Look where?”
“There’s a tiny crack, right here…” Peggy slipped up beside him and put her eye to the wall. “Aha!”
“Aha, what?” Travis asked, despite his best intentions to appear disinterested.
“There are definitely some—what do you guys call them now? Foxes? Babes?”
“Attractive women,” Travis said with dignity, and sent up a silent thank-you.
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Okay, then, handsome, there are some attractive women.” She sighed. “And some so-so’s.”
“Well,” Travis said valiantly, “that’s fine.”
“And…” Peggy stiffened. “Uh-oh.”
Travis froze. “Uh-oh, what?”
“Uh-oh, there’s a lady right in the center who, uh, who probably has a great personality. A terrific personality, you might say.”
“I’m sure she has,” Travis said bravely.
“And I’m sure the woman with the feather boa and the rhinestone tiara at the table right behind her will fascinate you no end.”
“Oh.” His shoulders slumped. “As bad as that?”
“And then there’s the blue-eyed blonde who just walked in. Oh, I hate her on sight! Great hair. Great face. Great bod, from what I can see of it. Mark my words, Cowboy. Any woman who looks like that probably has the intellect of a potato.”
Travis laughed. “Meow.”
“I’m just being honest. You get looks like that and, to compensate, you get empty space between your ears. And the disposition of a weasel.”
“A weasel, huh?” Travis grinned. “Whoever said women were the gentle sex didn’t know what he was talking about.”
“Well, it’s the truth.” Peggy stepped closer, smoothed down his lapels. “So you do yourself a favor, Cowboy. Go on out there and play to the crowd. To the—what’d you call ’em?—the ‘attractive women.’ Heck, if you’re feeling generous, maybe even to the, uh, the lady with the terrific personality.” She smiled. “Forget about the Ice Princess.”
Travis smiled, too. Suddenly, with the moment of truth upon him, he saw all his worries for the foolishness they were. And he owed the revelation to Peggy.
He took her hand and bowed over it.
“Ah, Slave Mistress, you have my heartfelt gratitude. To hell with Pebble Beach and my reputation.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” He lifted her fingers to his lips. “Too bad you’re not out there bidding, m’love. I’d be honored to be yours for the weekend.”
Peggy blushed furiously and pulled her fingers free of his just as the gavel sounded and the crowd roared.
“You’ll do lots better than me,” she said, and gently shoved him toward the stage. “Go on, handsome. Get out there and knock ’em dead.”
Which was exactly what Travis decided he’d do.
He went onstage at a brisk trot, arms high overhead, hands clasped in a winner’s pose, and did a fair imitation of Sylvester Stallone’s victory dance in Rocky, while flashing a thousand-watt grin.
The crowd loved it, and roared its approval.
Travis laughed. What he’d told Peggy was the truth. This wasn’t real life. It was for a good cause. And it was fun, or it was supposed to be. If the jerks in his office had made it into something else, that was their problem, not his.
So what if he went for five hundred bucks? So what if he wasn’t snapped up by a hot-looking babe? Let everybody at Sullivan, Cohen and Vittali have a laugh at his expense. Let ’em lose their crazy bets. He was going to get into the spirit of things, have some fun and do his best to raise a bundle of bucks for kids who really needed—
Uh-oh.
Travis’s smile dimmed just a little as he spotted the lady at the center table nearest the stage. Peggy had certainly nailed it right. The lady was certain to have a great personality. Well, so what? She had a nice smile. Hey, she was probably a nice person. The auctioneer was doing his intro, a bit about Travis Baron, Esquire, and Travis strutted a little more, grinned when somebody let out a piercing wolf whistle and shot a big smile to the lady in the front.
“Do I hear five hundred dollars to start?” the auctioneer said, and the lady with the smile and the personality whooped and said, “How about a thousand?”
A cheer went up and Travis smiled, and looked at her, looked past her…
And thought, just for a second, that his heart was going to leap straight out of his chest.
A woman was standing behind the last tables. He knew, right away, she was the latecomer Peggy had described.
She was also the most beautiful woman Travis had ever seen in his life.
Peggy had said she was blonde and blue-eyed. With great hair, a great face and a great body.
All correct. And all wrong, because those words didn’t come anywhere close to describing her.
Her hair was a cascade of silk the color of ripening wheat, her eyes the color of Texas bluebells. Her face was a perfect oval, with those incredible blue eyes darkly lashed and wide-set under slender, arched brows. She had a proud, straight nose, a sexy indentation above her mouth…
Oh, that mouth. The full upper lip. The softly curved lower one.
It was a mouth made for kissing.
His gaze dropped lower, to the tanned shoulders left bare by a halter-necked dress the color of garnets, to the generous lift of her breasts, the slender waist and rounded hips. Her skirt ended at midthigh, revealing a long length of shapely leg.
His blood hummed in his ears.
He wanted her. Wanted her with a primal need and desire that surpassed anything he’d ever known. He wanted to kiss that mouth, caress that body…and melt the coldness that clung to her like an invisible sheath of ice. He could see it in her posture. In the way she didn’t so much as blink when his eyes met hers again. In the defiant lift of her chin.
He knew she could see the frank, sexual appraisal in his gaze—and that it didn’t matter a damn to her.
Look all you like, she seemed to say, but don’t be foolish enough to think you can have what you see.
Travis felt his body tighten. The sounds of the cheering women, the drone of the auctioneer, faded to a dull roar.
He imagined himself coming down off that stage. Going to her. Taking her in his arms. No words. No niceties. Just taking her in his arms, carrying her out of the ballroom to a place where they’d be alone, ripping that piece of dark red silk from her body and burying himself deep inside her while she wrapped her arms and legs around him…
Oh, hell.
He was standing in front of hundreds of people, thinking things that could only bring a man public humiliation. Stop it, he told himself fiercely, and he tore his gaze from her, thought about cold showers and forced himself to focus on the delighted faces of the crowd.
“I have five thousand,” the auctioneer shouted. “Do I hear six?”
“Six,” the lady in the front yelled.
Travis fixed his attention on her. He flashed a sexy smile. She squealed. He turned his back to the audience, looked over his shoulder and pretended he was going to slip his jacket off.
The crowd whooped and cheered.
“Six-five,” a brunette shouted. Travis turned and blew her a kiss.
He didn’t need the blonde Ice Princess. He had a trio of women in a frenzied bidding war over him. What more could a guy ask?
“Seven,” a stunning redhead said.
“Hey,” he shouted, “I’m worth a lot more than that!”
The crowd stamped its well-shod feet in approval. The brunette laughed, and another redhead shot to her feet. “Seven-five,” she called, and everybody cheered and applauded.
Travis grinned. The guy from Hannan and Murphy had gone for five.
“I’m worth more than that, too,” he yelled.
The crowd loved it.
“Eight,” the lady in the front said.
“Eight-five,” the brunette shouted.
“Nine!”
Travis laughed. The evening he’d dreaded was turning out to be fun. One more glance at the blonde, that was all, before the gavel swung down. Not that it mattered. He’d probably overestimated her looks. If she’d walked farther into the room so that she was closer to the stage, he’d have seen her flaws.
What flaws?
She had come closer, while the bidding was raging. She was almost at the stage and Lord, she wasn’t beautiful, she was spectacular.
And she was looking at him. Her expression was difficult to read. Interested, yes, but it seemed…
Speculative. As if she were appraising him. And finding him wanting.
Travis’s hands knotted at his sides as the woman turned swiftly and started back up the aisle.
Who did this babe think she was, to check him out and then walk away? Turn around, he thought furiously, turn around!
The woman’s pace increased.
Travis took a step forward. To hell with the auction!
“Nine thousand,” the auctioneer shouted, and the crowd roared. “Nine thousand once. Nine thousand twice…”
“Ten,” the brunette screamed.
The blonde woman stopped. That’s it, baby, Travis thought. Turn around. Look at me.
And she did. Her eyes met his. Their gazes locked, and held. For one breathless moment, there was no one else in the room, no one else in the universe. It was only them. Travis, and the woman.
She knew it, too.
He saw her acknowledge it as her eyes widened, saw the impact of the understanding in the sudden, rapid rise and fall of her breasts. The tip of her tongue—a pale, silken pink—slipped over her soft-looking mouth.
Travis’s eyes bored into hers. Do it, he thought. Do it, do it…
“Going once,” the auctioneer said, “to the lady at table three, for ten thousand dollars. Going twice. Going—”
“Twenty thousand dollars.”
The crowd gasped. Every head swiveled toward the woman with the blond hair. Even the auctioneer leaned forward.
“Would you repeat your bid, please, madam?”
The woman took a deep breath. Travis thought he saw her tremble but he knew he must have been mistaken, because when she spoke again, her voice was cool, controlled, and touched with something that bordered on amusement.
“I said, I bid twenty thousand dollars.”
Bang went the gavel. “Sold,” the auctioneer said, triumphantly, “to the lady in red.”
And the crowd in the ballroom of the Hotel Paradise went wild.

CHAPTER TWO
THE bang of the gavel echoed through the ballroom, but it wasn’t as loud as the sudden thump of Alexandra Thorpe’s heart.
“Sold,” the auctioneer shouted. “Sold to the lady in red.”
The lady in red, she thought numbly…
Alex thought, for an instant, her legs would buckle. She bowed her head and gripped the chair in front of her. She’d come here to buy a man, and she had. A man named Travis Baron.
A stud named Travis Baron, a little voice inside her said coldly. It was true. The man onstage was every inch a stud, if looks and attitude were anything to go by…
And now, she owned him.
Why on earth had she done something so stupid? Carl’s words had hurt, yes, but so what? Their divorce was two years old. She didn’t miss Carl, or love him; she knew now that she never really had. So, why should anything he said, anything, still haunt her? And the rest of her plan, if you could call it that, was not just stupid but sick. A woman didn’t just—a woman couldn’t just—
Awareness sizzled thought her blood.
He was looking at her. Every nerve ending in her body was screaming it.
Don’t, Alex told herself, don’t lift your head….
Stopping the rotation of the planet would have been easier. Alex caught her bottom lip between her teeth and slowly raised her eyes to the stage.
Her heart did it again, just as it had when he’d first looked at her. It took that leap within her breast that made the room spin. Travis Baron hadn’t moved. Those hot green eyes were still fixed on her as if he was a hawk and she was his prey. There was a smile of pure masculine satisfaction, tilting across his mouth—that sensual mouth—she could almost feel on her own. Everything about him, from the set of his broad shoulders, the way he stood, with his long legs planted slightly apart, sent a message, and the message was unmistakable.
I am a man, he was saying. And you are a woman. And when you and I are alone…
Panic whispered along Alex’s skin. She would never be alone with this man, or with any other. She had learned that much from her marriage. Forgetting that lesson, tonight, had been an aberration, a foolish reaction to an overheard whisper that had called back painful memories.
What did she give a damn, if Carl had told his new wife she was frigid? Let him say what he liked, so long as he was no longer saying it to her.
Alex tore her gaze from Travis Baron’s. People were crowding around her, offering congratulations.
“What will you do with that gorgeous hunk for an entire weekend?” a woman said, and a roar of laughter went up.
She knew it was only a joke. The auction was a legitimate fund-raiser. What the winners did with their bachelors was play tennis, or golf, go dancing or to dinner…
Except, that wasn’t what she’d intended to do with him.
The thought was enough to send another wave of panic rolling through her blood. Alex smiled. She hoped she smiled, anyway, and laughed, and said she’d think of something…
With the laughter still ringing in her ears, she fled up the aisle toward the double doors that led to the lobby, and to sanity.
“Mrs. Stuart?”
Just keep walking, Alex. Smile, and keep…
“Mrs. Stuart.” A hand clasped her arm.
Alex shook off the hand. “No,” she said…and looked into the puzzled face of a gray-haired woman.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Stuart. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Alex swallowed, pulled her lips into another parody of a smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t—”
The woman smiled, too, and looped her arm through Alex’s. “We’ve met before, Mrs. Stuart. Perhaps you’ll recall? I’m Barbara Rhodes. Our husbands served on the water conservation committee together.”
“My ex-husband,” Alex said. “I use my maiden name. I’m Alexandra Thorpe now.”
The woman winced. “Yes, of course. Sorry. I’d forgotten.”
“That’s quite all right. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
“Oh, I know you’re in a hurry to pay for your purchase.”
“My purchase,” Alex said, and felt the color shoot into her face.
“Yes. We’ve set up a desk, in the lobby.” The woman led Alex toward the double doors. “But I wanted to take a moment to thank you, personally, for making tonight’s high bid.”
“Ah.” Alex smiled again and wondered if it were possible for your lips to stick to your teeth. “No need,” she said brightly. “I’m more than happy to—help out.”
“If only everyone felt that way. But let me tell you, Ms. Thorpe, they don’t. As chairperson of the auction these last two years, I know how rarely people make such generous donations.”
“Yes.” Someone batted the doors open and Alex and the chairperson stepped through them. “Well, I know—I know what fine work your organization does, Mrs. Rhodes…”
“Have you decided what you’ll do with your bachelor, Ms. Thorpe?”
Alex swallowed dryly. “No. No, I…Actually, I doubt if I’ll, ah, if I’ll use him at all, Mrs. Rhodes. I, uh, I already have plans for the weekend.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Alex came to a stop, opened her beaded purse and dug inside it. “Look, why don’t we do this right now? I’ll make out a check, give it to you—”
“Well, you’re supposed to pay at the desk…Oh, never mind. I’m happy to make an accommodation for you.”
Alex took out her checkbook. “The Children’s Hospital Fund, right?” Her hands were trembling. Could she write out the check and sign it so it was legible? She scrawled the name of the fund and the amount she’d bid—the incredible amount she’d bid, for a man she could only pray she’d never see again—signed her name, ripped out the check and handed it to the chairwoman, who beamed happily and clutched it to her ample breasts.
“Wonderful, Ms. Thorpe. And now…”
“And now,” Alex said with false gaiety, “I’ll just be on my way.”
“Certainly. But first, if we could just prevail upon you to stay for a few pictures, while you dance with Mr. Baron. For publicity purposes, you understand.”
Alex shook her head. “No! I mean, I just explained, I have plans…”
“For the weekend. Yes, but this will only take a few minutes.” The woman took Alex’s arm. “Do you know anything about him?”
“Not a thing,” Alex said briskly.
“Oh, he’s a fascinating man. So handsome! And those cowboy boots…” The chairwoman sighed. “Oh, if I were only twenty years younger. Unmarried. Well, and forty pounds lighter…”
She laughed gaily, and Alex tried to do the same.
“It will only take a minute, Ms. Thorpe.” She beamed a happy smile in Alex’s direction. “The TV people are here. If you and your bachelor could give them a few pictures. And a short interview? It would be wonderful publicity for the auction.”
“He’s not ‘my’ bachelor,” Alex said, rushing the words together. “You don’t understand, Mrs. Rhodes. I’ve no time to do any of this. Really, I can’t…”
“But you can, Ms. Thorpe,” a deep voice said. “And you will.”
Alex froze. The tempo of her heartbeat increased to something a rock-and-roll drummer would have envied. She took a quick step back and knew, too late, that she’d made yet another mistake because stepping back brought her into contact with the hard, male body that belonged to the voice.
Barbara Rhodes’s eyebrows flew toward her hairline, and Alex knew her fear must have shown in her face. So she took a deep breath, gave a wobbly smile and said, “Oh, dear, I can see that I’m trapped.” And then, still smiling, still feeling the race of her pulse in her throat, she turned and looked up into the face of Travis Baron.
“Hello, Sugar,” he said softly, and smiled.
Onstage, he’d looked handsome and masculine. But up close—up close…
Alex’s heartbeat ratcheted up another notch.
Up close, he was spectacular.
Tall. Tall enough so even she, at five-eight in her stocking feet, had to tilt her head back to look up to him, and she’d worn ridiculously high heels tonight, to go with the equally ridiculous dress. Tall, and gorgeous, with those hot eyes. And a nose that surely had once been broken. And that mouth. That sexy, almost cruel mouth.
Mrs. Rhodes was right. The man she’d won was handsome. He was gorgeous. He was the fulfillment of every wild, middle-of-the-night dream she’d ever had, in the long-ago days when she’d still been foolish enough to dream.
And he was dangerous. Even she could tell that.
What were you thinking tonight, Alexandra?
The chairwoman looked from Alex to Travis, and then she let out a girlish laugh. “Well. I can see I’m not needed anymore.”
“No,” Travis said bluntly, his eyes never leaving Alexandra Thorpe’s. “No, you’re not.”
“My.” Mrs. Rhodes fanned her face with Alex’s check. “My, oh my. Uh, thank you again, Mrs….Ms. Thorpe. And thank you, too, Mr. Baron. If you need anything, anything at all…”
Travis reached out, took Alex’s arm and drew her away from the chairwoman.
“Which is it?” he said.
Alex blinked. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“She called you Mrs. Then she called you Ms.”
His hand tightened on her arm. Alex looked down, saw the darkness of his fingers against the paleness of her skin. And forced herself to take a deep, deep breath.
“It’s…” Lie. Tell him you’re married. Tell him anything. Just get away. Get away, while you can…“It’s…” Her eyes met his. “If I said it was Mrs. would you go away?”
He smiled. The smile made his mouth tilt and his eyes get even darker. Most of all, it made her stomach drop toward her toes.
“Not until you introduced me to your husband, so I could see for myself what kind of man would be stupid enough to leave a woman like you so unsatisfied that she’d look at a stranger with so much hunger.”
Color flooded Alex’s cheeks. “Mr. Baron—”
“Are you married, or aren’t you?”
“I’m divorced. And if you think I looked—that I looked…”
“I don’t think, Sugar. I know.”
Travis slid his hand down her arm, to her wrist. He’d thought of all the things he’d say to this woman as he’d battled his way through the crowd toward her. Subtle things. Soft things. How beautiful she was. What he’d felt at the sight of her. But standing close to her, with the scent of her in his nostrils and the silken feel of her skin under his fingertips, he’d suddenly known that there was no reason to be subtle, or cautious. He was on fire, and so was she, and he’d be damned if he’d play games.
“You need me,” he said, very softly. “And I need you. And I promise you, we’ll satisfy our needs before this night ends.”
His words should have shocked her. Instead, they excited her. Alex felt her body turning molten with heat. His voice was like warm, heavy cream, pouring over her, through her. She looked into those deep green eyes and thought, yes, he could do that for me, he could…
Alex, the little voice within her said sharply, whatever are you thinking?
Carefully, politely, she disengaged her hand from his.
“I’m sure that line works wonderfully wherever it is you come from, Mr. Baron.”
Travis’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you think that was?”
“And an interesting one, I must admit.” Generations of good breeding, coupled with four years as Carl Stuart’s wife, made it possible to offer a cool smile. “But I’m afraid you’ve misread the situation.”
“You’re lying,” he said bluntly.
Alex gave a trilling laugh. “I’ll try not to take offense at that, Mr. Baron. Perhaps such comments are acceptable, in your part of the world.”
“That’s the second time you’ve made that reference.” Travis folded his arms and rocked back on his boot heels. “Is that the problem here? That you’re figuring me for a cowboy, and ladies like you don’t sleep with the hired help?”
Alex flushed. “If you’re trying to be obnoxious, Mr. Baron, let me assure you, you’re succeeding.”
“I’m being honest, Ms. Thorpe. Which is more than you’re doing.”
“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 attention 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.
“And what brought you here this evening, Ms. Thorpe?”
Alexandra hesitated for a second, then began talking about her lifelong commitment to charity. Travis pretended to listen, and smiled like an idiot. If she wasn’t lying, he was a monkey’s uncle.
Whatever had brought her here tonight didn’t have anything to do with charity. He’d seen the look on her face, the wildness in her eyes. Something had driven her to this auction, and he needed to know what that something was.
But what had made her bid on him was easy to figure.
It had been desire. A desire that raged so fiercely within her that he’d felt its force on the stage. The same desire that had made her melt in his arms moments ago when he’d kissed her.
That first rigidity of her body, and then the way she’d shuddered and come alive in his arms. The feel of her breasts, pressed against his chest. Her lips, parting to give him access to the honeyed essence of her mouth. The whisper of sound that had spoken of surrender…
He knew he’d never forget it. There was no point pretending he didn’t have a long history with women. Still, that kiss, that incredible kiss, was different from anything he’d ever known.
Travis shifted his weight. What was he doing to himself? Another couple of seconds, the TV camera and the crowd were going to be treated to a sight he’d never live down. It was time to take this strange little play to a private setting, where the next scene could be played out, in full.
He slipped his arm around Alexandra’s waist, his hand splaying against her hip in warning.
“Okay,” he said cheerfully, breaking into the middle of some inanity of the reporter. “Okay, folks, that’s it.”
The little knot of journalists groaned. One of them began to ask another question but Travis just kept smiling. And talking.
“Hey, guys, don’t you think Ms. Thorpe and I are entitled to a little time alone?”
“You have a three-day weekend to be alone,” one of them said, and they all laughed.
“And a weekend to plan,” Travis said. He looked down at Alex. “Right, Ms. Thorpe?”
“Right, Mr. Baron,” she said, flashing him a smile that was vaguely reminiscent of the snarl of an angry Doberman.
“I just love that old-fashioned formality,” the reporter gushed. “Mr., Ms…. So charming!”
Travis laughed merrily as he began backing Alex from the dance floor. “Well,” he said, “Ms. Thorpe is just an old-fashioned girl.”
As if on cue, the orchestra struck up another waltz. Come on, Travis thought, come on!
People surged onto the floor to dance.
Travis didn’t waste any time. He let go of Alexandra’s waist, grabbed her hand and all but sprinted for the door. She tried to tug free when they were halfway through the lobby but his fingers tightened on hers.
“Keep going,” he said, and led her out the main doors, past the doorman and down the wide marble steps. Anybody watching would figure they were making a romantic getaway. He almost imagined it, himself, until they reached the street and she dug in her spiked heels, wrenched her hand from his and spun toward him.
“Exactly what do you think you’re doing?” she said, turning her angry face up to his.
“Calm down, Sugar.”
Alexandra stamped her foot. “Kindly do not ‘sugar’ me!”
“My car is parked just up the street.”
“Do you really think I give a damn where your car is parked?” Alex tossed her head. “Listen to me, Mr. Baron, and listen well. You are, without question, the most horrible man I ever—”
Travis rolled his eyes, grabbed her wrist and tugged her down the street and into a doorway.
“Don’t you ever think before you make a scene, lady? Or do you like being in the spotlight?”
“I cherish my privacy.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve got a strange way of showing it.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the main entrance to the Hotel Paradise. “What makes you so sure that nitwit reporter and her bozo cameraman weren’t hot on our heels, huh?”
He could see her face pale a little, even in the darkness of the doorway.
“Were they?”
He leaned out and looked. “No,” he snapped. “But you didn’t even think about it before you started chewing me out. Just once, you might try thinking of the consequences before you act.”
“Me? Me, think of the consequences?” Alex threw back her head. “Ha,” she said, without the least touch of humor, “oh, ha, Mr. Baron, that is a good one! That’s really something, coming from you.”
Travis folded his arms. “I,” he said loftily, “am not the person who got us into this mess.”
And now that he thought about it, it was a mess. He’d made an idiot of himself, prancing around onstage. And then the Thorpe babe had made an idiot of herself, running away. And just now—he’d kissed her in front of a zillion people in a way he’d probably never, ever live down.
“I am the innocent party in this entire unfortunate affair, sir!”
“Hey, Sugar. Don’t you pull that Ice Princess bit on me.”
“Are you deaf, Mr. Baron? Do not call me ‘sugar.’”
“Forgive me, Ms. Thorpe!” His mouth thinned and he shoved his face toward hers. Despite herself, Alex took a hurried step back. “Princess suits you,” he muttered. “That little lady’ll never know how right she was!”
“What little lady?”
“Never mind.” A muscle knotted in Travis’s cheek. “The bottom line here is that I am tired of being the villain in this piece.”
“Are you suggesting that I am?”
“You bid on me, remember?”
Color shot into her face. “Permit me to refresh your memory, Mr. Baron. This was a bachelor auction. The whole purpose of the event was for women to bid on men.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you didn’t have to bid so much for me that you brought the house down.”
“I don’t have to listen to this—”
Travis grabbed her shoulder as Alex tried to brush past him. “And then,” he growled, “as if you hadn’t drawn enough attention to us already—”
“I drew attention?” Alex tossed back her head and laughed. “Oh, I love that, Mr. Baron. I wasn’t up on that stage, prancing around like a—a male stripper!”
A smile tilted across Travis’s mouth. He shifted his weight so that he blocked the doorway. All Alex could see were his broad shoulders and his ruggedly handsome face, only that and the dark night that surrounded them.
Her heart skipped a beat.
They were on a street in a busy city but she suddenly felt as if they were the last man and woman on Earth. It was the same way she’d felt when, with bravado in her blood and idiocy in her brain, she’d burst into the ballroom and spotted him onstage. The same way she’d felt on the dance floor, when he’d kissed her.
“Exactly how many male strippers have you watched in your time, Ms. Thorpe?” he said softly.
“Mr. Baron.” Her voice squeaked. She cleared her throat and began again. “Mr. Baron, really. I think we should just call it a night and—” Alex caught her breath. Travis had caught a strand of her hair between his fingers. She watched, wide-eyed, as he drew it to his nostrils. “What—what are you doing?”
“I like the smell of your hair, Princess. What is that? Opium? Joy?”
“It’s—it’s just…” She stepped back again as he moved closer. Her shoulders hit the closed door behind her. “I—I don’t remember.” She didn’t, either. She couldn’t think straight. Was that breathless little voice really hers? And was she really trembling? Alex shut her eyes, moaned as Travis touched his lips to her throat. “Mr. Baron…”
“Under the circumstances,” Travis said huskily, “I really think we might move on to first names. Don’t you, Ms. Thorpe?”
Didn’t she what? Alex shuddered as his breath warmed her skin. She couldn’t think, not while he was—while he was…
“Mr. Baron—”
“Travis.”
“Travis. Travis, really, I think—”
“Yeah. So do I.” His arms went around her. He gathered her against him, her breasts against the hard wall of his chest, her thighs against his. She put her hands out to ward him off. Instead, somehow, they curled into the lapels of his tuxedo. “I think it’s time I kissed you again, Princess, but without an audience.”
His mouth came down on hers.
“No,” she whispered, “please…”
“Let go, Princess.” He kissed her, soft, gentle kisses that made her lips cling to his. “Just let go and do what you want to do.”
His hand slid up, captured her breast, his thumb moving across the silk-covered nipple. And, for the second time that night—for the second time in her entire life—Alex did what she had never done before.
She let go.
She gave a little cry so wild and plaintive it made his blood quicken. And wrapped her arms around his neck as she rose on her toes and tilted her pelvis against his.
Travis groaned. His mouth slanted hungrily over hers, his tongue seeking and finding access to the silken sweetness of hers. He slipped his hands down her body, following the narrowness of her waist, the soft curve of her hips, and cupped her bottom, lifting her into the hardness of his arousal, moving against her as she cried out against his mouth.
“Alex,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she sighed, “oh, yes.”
He kissed her shoulder, bit the flesh, bent his head further and sucked the silk-covered center of her breast into his mouth. His hands swept up her thighs, under her skirt; she was wearing what he’d dreamed she was wearing, just those sexy stockings, a scrap of lace and nothing more. He said something she couldn’t understand, thrust his hand beneath the lace and cupped her.
She was hot. Wet. The aroused smell of her fueled him with desire. Her sobbing little breaths torched him with flame. And when she kissed his throat, sank her teeth into his flesh, he knew his need for this woman was greater than his need for breath.
He clasped her hand and brought it to him. She groaned and curved her fingers around him and he felt the blood begin to pool in his loins.
“Alex,” he said harshly.
“Please,” she whispered, “oh, please, please, please…”
He knew he could have her, now. Right here, right in this doorway. All he had to do was unzip his fly, rip away that bit of lace, bury himself deep inside her…
Someone laughed. Alex heard it, and froze. Travis did, too.
“Oh God,” she whispered.
He put his arms around her. She was trembling. “Easy,” he said softly.
The laughter came again, good-natured and distant. He realized it had nothing to do with them. It was coming from somewhere up the street, though it had gotten closer. And then the haze that clouded his brain cleared and he realized that he was standing in a doorway with a woman he’d met less than two hours ago, and there were cars passing by and pedestrians on the sidewalk and he was—he’d been about to—
She must have realized it, too. “Let me go,” she whispered frantically, and began struggling to free herself of his embrace.
Travis held her tighter.
“Damn you, let me—”
“Hold still!”
It was a command, not a request. And a logical one. People were coming; Alex could hear them. With luck, if neither she nor Travis moved, whomever was approaching would pass by without noticing them. So she stiffened in his arms and tried not to think about what this—this stranger had been doing to her, seconds ago, what she’d been letting him do.
And for what? To prove that Carl was wrong? That she wasn’t—wasn’t a frigid little rich bitch?
Alex’s stomach took a tumble. She closed her eyes. All right. She’d proved it, in the most humiliating way possible. Proved it to herself and to this man she didn’t know, a man who surely hadn’t turned her on, who’d simply been in the right place at the right time when she was in desperate need of pretending she could feel desire…
The footsteps and voices were just beyond the doorway. Alex trembled.
“It’s all right,” Travis whispered, and drew her against him.
And she let him do it. Let him stroke his hand up and down her spine, until she felt boneless. Let him thread his fingers into her hair and gently bury her face against his throat. Against the hot, masculine skin she’d tasted and wanted to taste again. Against that swift-beating pulse that mirrored hers. Against that hard, powerful body she yearned to explore, against that terrifying, exhilarating, exciting arousal…
A sound broke from Alex’s throat and she tore herself from Travis’s arms.
“I’m sure the women you usually keep company with enjoy this sort of thing, Mr. Baron.”
Travis blinked. “What?”
“The—the primitive approach. It must wow them, back in—in Little Rock. Or—or Dallas. Or wherever it is you come from.”
His eyes narrowed as they focused on her icy features. “Hey, babe, take it easy. I don’t know what your problem is, but don’t take it out on me.”
“Probably sweeps them off their feet, in cow country. But this is Los Angeles, sir. And I’d appreciate it if you’d just get out of my way.”
Travis’s mouth thinned. “Get out of your way?” he said, slowly and softly.
“How nice to know you don’t have a hearing problem, Mr. Baron. Yes. Get out of my way. Now.”
His vision grew dark. He felt the surge of his blood as the most primal of instincts took over, urging him to do what he longed to do to Alex Thorpe, what any man would want to do, and teach her a lesson she’d never forget.
“There’s a name for women like you,” he said. “And I’m sure you’ve heard it many times before.”
He watched her face go white, braced himself for the sting of her hand against his jaw…but it didn’t happen. She simply stood very still, her body as rigid as a marble column. Then, to his amazement, she smiled.
“Believe me,” she said softly, “I’ve been called worse.”
Her voice quavered on the last word but she kept smiling. It was that brave, sad smile that defeated him, made him wish to God he could call back the ugly words he’d used but it was too late. Alex Thorpe stepped past him, onto the sidewalk just as a cruising taxi came by.
“Alex,” Travis called, “Princess, wait…”
She stepped into the cab, the door shut and the taxi roared off into the night.

CHAPTER FOUR
TRAVIS paced the floor of his home on the beach at Malibu.
He was angry, restless—and frustrated.
What had made him think he owed Alexandra Thorpe an apology? Okay, he’d called her something pretty lousy but, dammit, it was a name she more than deserved. And what had made him behave like such a jerk? He’d acted like a monkey on a stick all night, jumping in whatever direction she’d wanted. Turn him on, turn him off…
“What does she think I am?” he muttered. “A light switch?”
He paced some more, opened the glass sliders that led from his bedroom to the deck and glowered at the Pacific Ocean.
The whole thing was ridiculous. The auction. The bidding. Her behavior, his behavior…
He swore and stomped back into the bedroom. He tugged off his boots, yanked off his tie, dumped his tux and everything that went with it on the floor and kicked the entire mess into the corner, in the process stubbing his toe on the corner of the bed.
“Bull-spit,” he roared, and danced around the room on one foot. He limped to the dresser, took out a pair of running shorts and a Texas Longhorns T-shirt and pulled them on. His toe still hurt but he didn’t much care. Pain was a part of running, anyway, he told himself grimly, and set out for a hard five miles on the packed sand.
He was panting when he got back, and sweat-drenched. But he felt better. Most definitely better.
“Goodbye, Ice Princess,” he said as he dumped his shorts and T-shirt on the tiled floor and stepped into the shower.
He loved this shower. Sybaritic, Slade had said, the first time he saw it, and yeah, it probably was. An overhead spray. Two side sprays. A marble bench. And room enough for two…
For two. For Alex, and for him. Travis closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to soap that beautiful body. To cup her naked breasts. To bend his head and taste them, to hear her breathy little sighs as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips, to pin her back against the glass wall while the water beat down like warm rain as he buried himself deep inside her slick heat…
He groaned, looked down at himself in dismay and turned the shower to icy-cold.
Dressed again, this time in jeans and a white T-shirt, his feet bare, Travis went into the kitchen and took a can of Coke from the refrigerator. It was late. Or early, depending on your point of view. The glass walls of his house looked out on a beach silent and deserted in the early morning.
Damn, he still felt restless. He needed a cigarette, but he’d given them up five years ago. He needed a cold beer or a glass of decent wine, but there was no beer in the fridge and he wasn’t in the mood to check the wine rack. He needed to talk to one of his brothers, but what would he say to them? That he was furious and frustrated, and pacing the floor like a teenage kid?
What he needed was a woman. One who wouldn’t turn him on and off like a faucet, who wouldn’t drive him crazy. Who’d be honest about wanting to share his bed. That would put Alex Thorpe out of his head, once and for all.
Travis reached for his address book and thumbed through the pages. He’d met a gorgeous brunette just last week and said he’d call her. She’d probably be surprised to hear from him at this hour but he’d invite her to breakfast on the beach. Champagne. Caviar and scrambled eggs…
Who was he kidding? Dammit, he thought, and tossed the book aside. He didn’t want a substitute for the Ice Princess. He wanted her.
Where was she now? He didn’t even have her address or her phone number. What was she doing? Was she sleeping, dreaming of him? Or was she going crazy, the way he was, remembering…
The doorbell rang. Travis had never been so glad to have his train of thought interrupted. He went to the door, opened it and found a kid in an olive-drab uniform on the porch.
“Morning, sir. I have a delivery for Mr. Travis Baron.”
“Great,” Travis said briskly, signed his name to a receipt and took five bucks out of his pocket. “Thanks.”
He shut the door, shot a puzzled glance at the package the kid had handed him and tore it open. A small vellum envelope, with his name elegantly scripted across the front, fell out.
Travis picked it up, frowned, examined it. He raised it to his nose and sniffed, but no perfume scent clung to the paper. What was inside? Something formal. An invitation? A thank-you? It might be either one, if Alex Thorpe…
Man, he was really losing it! No way the Thorpe babe would write him a note. The only envelope she’d send him would probably blow him to smithereens the second he opened it.
Smiling, he opened the vellum envelope and took out a note-card.
“Oh, hell,” Travis said, and groaned.

Your presence is requested at
The eighty-fifth birthday celebration
Of Mr. Jonas Baron
Saturday and Sunday, June 14 and 15
At the Baron Ranch
“Espada”
Brazos Springs, Texas
RSVP

The script was handwritten and elegant but the message was a bummer. The sender knew it, too. The note, scrawled beneath the RSVP, made that clear.
“Yes, Travis,” it read, “this means you!”
The words were followed by a bold capital C, and the drawing of a tiny heart.
He laughed. Caitlin. His little stepsister was some piece of work. Hard when she had to be, soft when she wanted to be. And, just now, she was going to be tough. This was no invitation, it was notice of a command performance. Just what he wanted, he thought wryly.

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