More than a Mistress

"Trav? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"You sure? You don't sound okay."

"Listen, Gage, I'm—I'm kind of in the middle of something here. You want to know if you can stop Natalie from going through with this divorce? The answer is no, pal. 1'm sorry to tell you this but, if she wants out, she's out."

Gage nodded. "Yeah. I kind of figured..." He blew out a breath. "Thanks anyway."

"Gage? Don't let her go. Don't ever let the woman you love go, not if you have to turn cartwheels to keep her..."

The woman you love.

The phone fell from Travis's hand. The woman you love.

That was Alex. He loved her. Yes, he loved her. This was no affair that would end; it was forever...

Unless he let her go.

"Baron," he said aloud, "she was right. You really are an idiot."

Travis leaped to his feet and ran for the house. Halfway there, he stopped, raced back, grabbed the phone and punched in Slade's Boston number.

"Listen kid," he said, when his brother answered, "Gage is having a bad time."

Slade laughed. "Yeah. There's a lot of that going around lately."

"Just call him, okay? He isn't home but I got his number from my caller ID box. Take it down."

"Trav?" Slade cleared his throat. "Listen man, actually—actually, this isn't the best—"

"Tell him not to be an idiot, okay? No man should ever let a woman he loves get away from him."

"Love," Slade growled, "love? Who even knows what the word means?"

Travis banged open the door to the beach house. "You'll know," he said gruffly, "believe me, kid, when it happens, you'll know."

Slade said something, but Travis didn't wait to hear what it was. He hit the disconnect button, dumped the phone on the table, and began looking for his extra set of keys. Where in hell were they?

In the drawer, right where he'd put them the day he'd first bought the car.

He paused just long enough to glug down a cup of instant coffee and to leave a message on his answering machine.

"Alex," he said, "if this is you calling... just tell me where you are and stay there. You hear me, Princess? Stay there."

Except he was pretty sure he knew where she was, and that was where he was going, right now.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ALEX was exhausted by the time she reached the big Victorian house at Peregrine Vineyards in the Napa Valley.

And she was still furious, though she'd worked off some of her anger by taking every steep and tight curve on the way as if she'd driven them all her life.

Fantastic, she thought coldly, as she brought the car to a stand-on-the-brakes, skidding stop in the driveway. She'd had a red-hot affair with Travis Baron and all she had to show for it was a newfound talent for driving like a speed demon.

So much for finding herself as a woman.

Thunder rumbled across the valley, as if to underscore the thought. Alex grabbed her overnight bag from the seat beside her and ran for the house, just as the rain began.

"Great," she muttered, as she unlocked the door, then slammed it behind her.

A storm was just what she needed tonight. Sound and fury, courtesy of Mother Nature, to match the rage building inside her.

She tossed her car keys on the table, switched on the light and looked around. The house had looked more welcoming by daylight than it did now but where else could she have gone? Not to Thorpe House. Travis had been right about that, at least. The miserable old house was a mausoleum. The sooner she sold it, the better.

Alex went to the stairs and looked up. It was awfully dark up there. She hesitated, then made a face.

"You're an independent woman now," she muttered. "Are the shadows at the top of the stairs going to turn your knees to jelly?"

Maybe, especially if the thunder and lightning rolling over the valley got any closer.

She laughed nervously, took a deep breath and went upstairs.

There were lots of bedrooms, some of them still furnished. She picked one at random and dumped her overnight bag on the bed. There wasn't much in the bag, just some toiletries she'd picked up at a supermarket, her old robe, jeans, underwear, a T-shirt and sneakers. No real clothes, though. How could there be, when nothing of hers remained at Thorpe House? Travis had taken all of it, emptied her closets and drawers the day he had decided she was going to live with him.

Had he asked her? No. Had he even thought about asking her?

"No," she said, and her mouth thinned.

Arrogant, egotistical, self-centered bastard! Oh, she was far, far better off without him.

She peeled off her silk suit and blouse, her panty hose and pumps, all the things she'd worn today to mark what she'd thought would be her introduction into Travis's real life.