More than a Mistress

He touched her. Her breasts. Her belly. The soft golden curls that nestled between her thighs, but none of it was enough. He needed to be inside her, deep inside her, and he couldn't wait for the niceties of a bed or even a carpet. He'd been starving, and she was his feast.

"Travis," she sobbed, "Travis, please..."

The plea, the hunger of it, finished him. He shoved her

back against the wall, his hands hard, his need desperate. "Now," he said, as he unzipped his fly and freed himself. "Yes. Oh, yes. Oh..."

She cried out as he drove into her. He felt her convulse around him almost instantly, and she cried out, again, shattering herself, shattering him, and he knew that this was only the beginning.

When he could draw breath again, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Then he lifted her into his arms and she clung to his neck, her open mouth pressed to his throat.

He carried her up the wide staircase to a room where the drapes were drawn. And in the artificial twilight of the spring morning, Travis put Alex down in the center of a high, four-poster bed that smelled, as she did, of sunshine and flowers. He undressed and came down on the bed beside her.

He told himself to go slowly this time, to touch her gently and learn all the places that brought her pleasure. He wanted to see her blue eyes turn dark, to watch her shudder with passion. But the sight of her lying beneath him, the tattered remains of her gown spread around her like the torn petals of a flower, her mouth swollen and rosy from his kisses, drove every rational thought from his head.

"Tell me," he demanded, taking her wrists in one hand and stretching her arms high over her head. "Tell me what you want, Princess. I need to hear the words."

He saw the movement of her throat as she swallowed and he knew that even now, after what had happened, she couldn't make the simple admission.

He bent his head and drew the pink tip of her breast into his mouth. She made a soft cry and writhed against him, but he was relentless.

"Say it, Alex."

Her lashes fell to her cheeks. "I can't," she whispered. "Travis, please..."

His free hand drifted down the length of her body and between her thighs.

"Say it," he said, and touched her.

"You," she sobbed, "you, Travis. I want—" A high, keening sound broke from her throat as he entered her. "Yes. Yes. Oh, yes..."

He told himself, again, that he wanted to watch her. And he did, for a moment; he watched as her eyes turned black and bottomless, as her body bowed and arched to his. She lifted her hand and touched his face. It was a gesture that was feminine and strangely gentle in the midst of the whirlwind they rode.

"Travis," she whispered, and touched his face. "Travis..."

Her voice broke, and he was lost. To sensation. To desire.

To Alexandra.

Alex came awake slowly and thought, at first, she was deep in her dream.

The hard, warm body pressed against hers. The powerful arm encircling her. The shoulder beneath her cheek...

And then Travis stirred, and murmured something in his sleep, and panic shot through her like an arrow.

What had she done?

Slept with a stranger, Alex, a voice inside said coldly, that's what you've done.

She held her breath, afraid that the slightest sound, the faintest motion, would wake him. Carefully, slowly, she eased from the bed.

Her nightgown-what was left of it-lay on the carpet. She burned with embarrassment as she remembered the way he'd torn it in half. The way he'd taken her, against the wall. The way she'd let him take her, let him carry her upstairs and take her again...

Let him, Alex? the voice said slyly.

Images flashed before her eyes. She saw herself wrapping her arms around Travis's neck. Kissing his mouth. Reaching for him, lifting her hips to him as he entered her. Begging him to take her, pleading with him...

A sound trembled in the back of her throat and she whirled around, her fist against her mouth, flew into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Shaken, she stood at the sink, head bowed, her hands curled over the white porcelain rim.

The truth was that Travis had taken only what she had been eager to give. She'd wanted him to make love to her, to do everything he'd done. She'd wanted to know what a man like him could make a woman feel...

Could make her feel.

Slowly, very slowly, Alex lifted her head and looked into the mirror over the sink.

The sight almost took her breath away.

The woman staring back at her was—was a wanton. It was an old-fashioned word but there wasn't any other way to describe her reflected self. The mass of golden hair, in a mad tangle over her naked shoulders. The eyes, shadowed and deep. The faint blue bruises on her throat and breast. The mouth that was red and-and swollen? Alex touched a fingertip to her lips. Swollen, yes. And tender, from Travis's kisses.