More Than A Mistress

“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—