More than a Mistress

That was lots better. Some light. Some logic. Maybe even something to warm her bones. Wine. Surely, there'd be some here.

She searched the kitchen. The living room. The dining room. Perplexed, she stood in the foyer, trying to imagine where the wine, assuming there was some, would be kept. Her father, then Carl, had always kept spirits in the library.

She found the library easily enough. She'd missed it the first time but she came on it the second time, just off the living room. Actually, she thought as she shone the light around, actually, this was, as she'd always thought, a house with great possibilities. Too bad she'd agreed to sell it. Living here might be fun.

And she was due for some fun. Oh, it was good to be running her own life again instead of letting Travis do it for her.

That was how she'd ended up in this mess. She'd let him take over. He'd made arrangements, and she'd been stuck with them. If he'd asked her to move in with him the way any polite, civilized man would have done, she'd surely have said no. The arrogance of him, to have assumed she'd leap at the chance. Why would she have?

She was an attractive, capable, intelligent woman. She had no desire to tie herself to one man. She had interests. An income. A veritable empire to look after. She didn't need a man to mess around in her life and tell her what to do, certainly not one like Travis, who'd thought nothing of organizing her existence as if she were incapable of making her own choices.

Alex stood in the center of the library and shone the flashlight beam into each dark corner. Aha! There was a built-in bar. And some bottles—admittedly dusty but so what? Didn't wine improve with age?

Fine. She'd stay here until the lights came on again. Of all the rooms in the house, this one was the coziest—if you could call mahogany-paneled walls, overstuffed sofas, a desk the size of a baseball field and acres of leather-bound books cozy.

She padded to the bar, tucked the flashlight under her arm, checked over the bottles and selected a Cabernet Sauvignon with a Peregrine falcon on the label. She poured herself a healthy couple of inches. Then, light in one hand, glass in the other, she settled onto a bar stool.

No, she thought grimly, she had not appreciated having Travis commandeer her life but that was what he'd done, right from the beginning.

She took a sip of the wine.

He had swept her across that dance floor, the night they'd met, despite all her objections. He'd kissed her, in front of everybody. Come to her house, unasked, broken into it, forced himself on her...

The glass trembled in her hand.

"Oh, Alex," she whispered, "can't you at least be honest about that?"

He hadn't forced himself on her. She'd wanted him to make love to her but she'd lacked the courage to admit it, so she'd let him take the decision out of her hands.

And it had been wonderful. Even now, she could almost feel the touch of his mouth on hers. On her breasts. She could remember the excitement that had raced through her blood as he'd carried her up the stairs to the bedroom.

She set the glass down, carefully, on the bar.

Travis's kisses. His caresses. His body, hard against hers. Nothing had prepared her for the reality of making love with him. He'd known just how to please her. To make her cry out his name.

To make her lose her heart.

The wind moaned its sympathy. Alex frowned, lifted the glass, drank some wine and scolded herself for giving in to such self-serving, maudlin thoughts.

Rolling around in gloom and doom wasn't going to get her anywhere. Maybe it really had been a mistake to come here tonight. She might have done better to have sought out lights. People. Noise. She'd never liked the club scene—another of Carl's complaints—but she was a new woman now. Maybe the new Alex would enjoy some night life.

Okay. Tomorrow night, she'd go out. Alone. Women did that today. She'd drive to one of those restaurants she was always hearing about, order champagne, choose something unpronounceable from the menu. And she'd wear something sexy and feminine. Her white suit, maybe. Or that little black knit dress...

The heck she would.

The suit, the dress, everything she owned was back at the house in Malibu. She had no clothes left to speak of, thanks to Travis. He was impossible! What had given him the right to move her things into his house without asking her? Why hadn't it occurred to him that she might not have wanted to move in with him and give up her newfound freedom?

How could he have known she'd love living with him, sharing his days and nights? He certainly wouldn't know how heavy her heart was now, as she contemplated all the days and nights that lay ahead, without him.

"Oh, hell," she said weakly, and reached for the bottle.

The glass clinked as she poured herself more wine. Why not? It would make her unwind, get her tired enough to curl up on the sofa, get some sleep. Maybe she wouldn't dream about Travis, about how she would miss him...