More than a Mistress

"Oh, damn."

"What?"

"The gate's just ahead, and it's closed. I'll have to stop and punch in the code."

"Thank goodness," Travis breathed, but he was grinning.

Once through the gate, Alex accelerated again. She brought the car to a squealing stop in front of Thorpe House and turned toward Travis.

"Well?"

He looked at her. They'd driven with the windows open and the wind had tousled her hair. He hadn't given her time to put on any makeup, so the color in her face came from excitement. And she was wearing an old T-shirt of his along with a washed out pair of his jeans, the cuffs rolled to mid-calf. She was, in other words, a rumpled mess...and she

was so beautiful that it made him ache just to see her. "Travis?" She laughed and tossed back a strand of hair

that had fallen over her cheek. "Don't tell me my driving was so awful that it left you speechless!"

"Well," he said, "I don't think Michael Andretti has anything to worry about, just yet..." He grinned when she made a face. "Okay, okay. The truth is, you weren't bad."

"The truth is, I was terrific!"

"Yeah, you were pretty good."

"I was great!"

Travis laughed, leaned forward and brushed his mouth lightly over hers. "Another couple of lessons, you'll be ready to go out and buy yourself a red convertible."

They smiled at each other and then Alex cleared her

throat. "Well..."

"Well."

"Thank you for a wonderful day."

"You're welcome." He curved his hand around her jaw, bent to her and kissed her again, lingering over the shape and taste of her mouth. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"No," she said quickly. "l, ah, I have things to do tomorrow."

He drew back and smiled politely. "Of course. Actually, so have I. How about dinner tomorrow evening?"

"Call me," she said brightly. "And we'll see."

She reached for the door and he reached for her, the pressure of his hand viselike. "Don't play games with me, Alex."

She looked at him. "Games?"

"And don't play dumb, either. I told you yesterday, I don't share."

"Yes." Her smile was quick. "Yes, you did. While it lasts, you said, you'll be faithful to me."

"And I expect the same of you."

"Certainly. It's just that I do have a life of my own, Travis. You reminded me of that this morning. And I'm glad you did."

His eyes darkened. "You mean that, don't you."

It wasn't a question, not the way he said it. But she did mean it. Of course, she meant it...

A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed once, twice, then pasted a smile to her lips.

"Yes. Yes, I do. I told you, Travis, I want to enjoy my freedom."

"Fine." The muscle in his cheek ticked as he slid behind the wheel, then slammed the door. "I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow evening."

"But I asked you to call me first."

Her protest came too late. Travis had already put the car in gear and roared away. She stood looking after him until nothing remained but plumes of dust. Then she sighed and climbed the steps to the house.

He came for her, every evening. Drove her home, in the small hours of each following morning, as if they'd never discussed not spending all their time together. They were together weekends, too, at Malibu—except for the weekend they flew up to the Napa Valley and walked the vineyards at Peregrine.

"I've given my approval to the sale," Alex said, as they sat on the steps of the veranda of the big Victorian house on the hill. "You can tell your father Peregrine is his, whenever he wants it."

"Fine," Travis said, lifting her fingers to his lips. He smiled at her, rose to his feet and tugged her up beside him. "I made reservations at that inn on the coast."

"Mmm." Alex winced.

"What's the matter, Princess?"

"Headache," she said, then smiled. "I'll be fine, as soon as we reach the inn. Staying there sounds wonderful." It would have been, but by early evening, she felt exhausted. By nightfall, her teeth were chattering and her bones ached. And by morning, she had a fever of 102.

Over her protests, Travis phoned for a doctor.

"Flu," the doctor said matter-of-factly. "It's going around. She needs rest, plenty of liquids, aspirin..."

Alex moaned, sat up and tried to get out of bed. Travis put his arm around her.

"Going to be sick," she whimpered.

"Not without me," he said, and carried her to the bathroom.

To her dismay, he stayed with her, supported her while she retched, gently wiped her face with a cool, wet cloth and carried her back to bed.

"As I was saying," the doctor continued, "she needs rest, liquids, aspirin for the fever, light foods when her stomach can hold them. She'll be fine in a few days."