More than a Mistress

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Baron. I never had any intention of spending the weekend with you. Surely, you know that."

"What did you intend to do with me, then, Princess?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. "It was—that was for charity."

He laughed. "Charity, huh?" A smile, as cold and feral as any she'd ever seen, twisted across his mouth. "That's a charming sentiment, Princess. But I'm not in a charitable frame of mind this morning."

"Just—just stop right there, Mr. Baron." Alex swallowed hard as he started slowly toward her. "I swear, if you come any closer, I'll—"

"All that time," he said roughly, "everything that we did, and you still won't call me by my name."

Alex's throat constricted. She took a step back, then another and another. There was a heavy oak chair somewhere behind her; she put out a hand, felt for it and moved around it.

"Mr. Baron—"

Travis kicked the chair aside. Alex danced backward. "Mr. Baron. I don't know why you came here, sir, but—"

"Don't you?"

God, he was still coming! Still coming...

"Luisa! Luisa? Call the police."

His smile was, she thought, almost gentle. "Luisa?"

"My housekeeper. Yes. Luisa! Dial 9-1-1. Tell them there's an intruder. Tell them—"

"The lady driving the Volvo station wagon? The one who's probably halfway to the valley by now? You ought to tell her to be more careful about locking that gate, Princess."

"My—my chauffeur, then." Alex's voice quavered. "You don't want me to call him. He's—he's big. Very big. He's—he's a former wrestler. And he'll—"

"Call him, by all means. I used to wrassle steers. It's what us cowboys do for fun." Travis flashed a tight grin. "Call your chauffeur, if you've really got one." His eyes turned from green to black as he closed the distance between them. "It won't stop what's going to happen, Alex."

She took another step back. Her shoulders hit the tapestried wall.

"Travis," she said breathlessly, while a honeyed sweetness spread through her.

"Say it again."

Alex swallowed dryly. "Travis. Please..."

"You said that last night, too."

"Said what?" He was inches away from her now, so close that she could feel the heat of his body, smell the mingled scents of sea and soap and, under it all, another smell, one that was wild and primitive and made her pulse quicken. "The only thing I remember saying last night was that I never wanted to see you ag--"

"You said, 'please."' Desire thickened his voice. "Please, you said, when we were in that doorway, when we were making love."

"It wasn't love! It was-"

"Sex." He reached out and touched his hand to her cheek. His fingertips were rough and callused but his touch was gentle. She imagined herself turning her head, catching his fingers and sucking them into her mouth. The thought left her breathless. "That's fine, Princess. I don't believe in fairy tales that end with forever after."

"And I don't believe in—-in rape fantasies."

His quick, dangerous smile turned her bones to jelly. "Neither do I." His thumb rolled over her bottom lip. "I'm talking about a man, and a woman, and what both of them damn well know they want."

"No. Please, Travis, I beg you. If you've any decency at all—"

"Hell, no," he said roughly, "I don't. You pretty much saw to that, last night."

He reached for her. She kicked out, bruised her bare toes on his shin, ducked under his arm and ran. But there was no way to escape him. He caught her halfway across the hall and spun her toward him.

"There's no running away this time, Ms. Thorpe." His tone, and the curl of his fist into the high lace collar of her nightgown, made a mockery of the name. "You're mine, Princess. Or I'm yours. Bought and paid for..."

The fragile cotton tore under his hand. And then, oh then, she was in his arms.

His rage vanished at the touch of her mouth against his. He groaned, threaded his hands into her hair and held her captive to his kiss, but she was a willing prisoner. All that chilly restraint, the memories of her disdain that had kept him pacing the floor most of the night, vanished in a heartbeat.

She was wild in his arms, and what she'd given him last night was nothing compared to what she offered now.

She caught his shirt in her fists, rose on her toes to reach his mouth. He gathered her close, his legs spread so she was cradled against his hardness, and lifted her to him. She moaned; her mouth opened to his and her surrender drove his blood so it thundered in his veins.

She was warm and pliant as silk in his arms; she tasted of sunshine and of flowers. He knew he could take whatever he wanted and he took it all, without mercy. He wanted everything. Her kisses. Her body. Her need.