Sandra Marton - More Than A Mistress

“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.

TRAVIS paced the floor of his home on the beach at Malibu.

He was angry, restless—and frustrated.