More than a Mistress

Oh, yeah. He was happy. And everybody knew it. Some, like Pete Haskell, teased him unmercifully.

"What's with you, Baron?" Pete kept asking. "That grin stuck on your face, or what?"

And Travis would chuckle and say, yeah, it probably was.

He knew Alex was happy, too, though there were some moments that happiness was put to the test. Like the time the phone rang, early one morning, and she reached across him to pick it up when he didn't hear it.

He woke up just as she said "hello" in a sleepy voice.

"Who is it?" he asked, but he knew it was trouble as he watched the expression on her face.

"Yes," she said coldly, "this is 555-0937." And then she thrust the phone at him, sat back against the pillows and glared.

Travis sat up. "Yeah?" he growled. "Oh. Right. Uh-huh. Sure. That's great, Emma. Thanks for calling." He put the phone back on the nightstand and reached for Alex, but she had slipped from the bed. "That was Emma," he said.

"Indeed," Alex said pleasantly. She put on her robe and went into the bathroom. When she returned, Travis was lying back against the pillows.

"She's my secretary."

"Did I ask?"

"You didn't have to."

"It's a free country, Travis. You don't have to—"

"But I do." He sat up. She looked at that expanse of tanned chest and muscle, swallowed dryly and looked away. "Dammit, Alex, do you really think I'd cheat on you?"

"No.

"Then, what was that all about?"

Alex picked up her brush and stroked it through her hair. "We have an agreement," she said calmly. "No sleeping with anybody else while we're together. Isn't that right?"

She looked at his reflection in the mirror, saw his mouth thin. "Is that why you think I wouldn't cheat on you?" he said gruffly. "Because we made some agreement?"

"I just wondered," she said, deciding to ignore the question, "whether your secretary knows who I am."

Travis could feel a headache starting just behind his eyes. "I don't know."

"She didn't seem to. I mean, she sounded surprised to hear my voice."

"I guess she was." He sat up, tossed the blanket aside, got to his feet, and walked to the bathroom. "I'm not in the habit of discussing my private life with my secretary."

"Who do you discuss it with, then?"

He came out of the bathroom, still naked, and stood just behind her. "Listen," he said carefully, "I'm not very good at games, first thing in the morning. If you want to tell me something, just say it, okay?"

Alex hesitated. She wasn't very good at games, anytime of day. What was wrong with her this morning? She'd answered the telephone, Travis's secretary had seemed startled to hear her voice. On the face of it, there was nothing to be upset about. On the contrary. It was nice to know that the women who danced in and out of his life either didn't spend the night with him very often or didn't feel secure enough to answer the phone.

Except, that didn't change the fact that she was just another one of those faceless women. Oh, she might last a little longer. He might even feel a twinge of regret when their affair ended but end it would. She'd gone into this, knowing that. Knowing, too, that Travis wouldn't really make her part of his life. He'd never introduce her to his family, or to the people he worked with. Not even his secretary would know she existed.

"Princess?"

Alex swallowed, lifted her gaze to the mirror and managed a smile.

"Sorry. I—I just ...I woke up with a headache this morning, that's all."

Travis smiled, put his arms around her and drew her back against him. "Me, too," he said softly. "And I know just the cure."

"No." Her voice was sharp, and she puffed out a breath and tried again. "No, really, Travis. What I need are a couple of aspirin." Their eyes met in the mirror, his narrowed, hers shadowed. "Okay?"

He went on looking at her for what seemed a long time. Then he shrugged and his arms dropped to his sides.

"Sure. I have to get going, anyway. Emma called to tell me a client wants to see me pronto." He moved toward the bathroom again, then paused in the doorway. "Alex?"

"Yes?"

He hesitated, and then he cleared his throat. "How about meeting me in town for dinner?"

She nodded. She'd done that before, driving in—she had a red Miata convertible, now—parking in the garage near his office and waiting for him in the lobby.

"What time shall I be there?"

"How about a little before five?" He cleared his throat again. "Come up to my office, and I'll introduce you around."

Her heart did a funny little stumble-step. "Fine," she said, as if this wasn't the very first time he'd even hinted at letting her into his world.