More than a Mistress

A muscle bunched in his jaw. Alexandra Thorpe figured she was playing him for a fool, playing Lady of the Manor to his Bumbling Cowboy. It made him angry as hell, but he wasn't about to let her know that.

Not yet.

He set off after her, as if he'd accepted the part she'd given him.

None of what was happening surprised him. He'd known something was up, after she'd made the winning bid. He'd seen the look on her lovely face go from wanton desire to disbelief When she'd turned to flee, he'd started to go after her but the other bachelors had rushed on stage to congratulate him and make jokes at his expense. He'd tried to break free but when he saw Barbara Rhodes stop Alex before she got away, he'd made himself stand still and endure the good-natured banter.

By the time he'd finally broken loose, he'd felt like an over-wound spring.

Peggy, the Slave Mistress, had come running up to him, as he started off the stage.

"You see?" she'd crowed happily. "What did I tell you, handsome? You didn't have a thing to worry about."

"What's her name?" he'd asked, and Peggy must have heard the tightness in his voice because she hadn't teased him or laughed, she'd simply said she'd asked the same question.

"Alexandra Thorpe."

"Married? Or single?"

"I don't know."

He'd nodded his thanks and begun to turn away when Peggy put her hand on his arm.

"Handsome?"

"Yes?" he'd said, impatiently.

"She's not for you."

"Yeah. Thanks for the advice."

"I'm serious. Remember what I said about her being an Ice Princess?"

Travis had looked squarely at Peggy. "You were wrong."

"No. No, I wasn't. Girl who told me the lady's name said she's got a freezer where her heart's supposed to be."

Travis had smiled. "It's not the lady's heart I'm interested in," he'd said, and then he'd gone down into the crowd, barely acknowledging the slaps on the back and the cheers from Pete Haskell and the other guys he worked with, pushing through everybody until, at last, he'd reached the lobby and—saw Alexandra Thorpe.

She'd still been talking with the chairwoman. Her back was to him, and he'd treated himself to the pleasure of the view. All that golden hair, streaming over her shoulders. The straight, elegant back, naked almost to the base of her spine. The gently rounded bottom, outlined in the silk garnet skirt. And those legs, those endless legs, encased in black hose that tapered down to shoes with heels high enough to make a man's mouth water.

He'd wondered what he'd find beneath that sinful excuse of a dress, when he took it off her later tonight. A black lace bra, with a matching garter belt? A scrap of silk that might be called a pair of panties?

Travis had felt his body tighten.

Or would there be nothing under that dress except the garter belt, and the sexy stockings?

His fingers itched with the need to find out.

He'd started toward her, then slowed his pace.

Something was wrong. It was in the set of her shoulders, the tilt of her head. He'd looked past the Thorpe woman, to the gray-haired chairwoman. She was smiling but there was no mistaking the earnest look on her face. She was making some sort of pitch.

He got closer, and heard enough to know he was right.

"It will only take a few minutes," she was saying. "If you and your bachelor could give the TV people a few pictures and a short interview, it would be wonderful publicity for the auction."

"He's not `my' bachelor," Alexandra Thorpe had said. You don't understand, Mrs. Rhodes. I'm not staying. Really, I can't."

Travis had stepped up behind her and told her that she could stay, that she would stay. For some reason, he'd gone heavy on the Texas drawl that was always just a heartbeat away. "Sugar," he'd called her, liking the way her eyes flared a little at the name. She'd been off balance, fighting something inside her-and then, suddenly, it had all changed.

It had been like seeing a woman pull a veil over her face. Or a mask. Yeah, that was it. Alexandra Thorpe had disappeared behind a mask, and it wasn't the first time it had happened tonight. It was just that he'd misread it, before. She hadn't gone from naked longing to confusion, she'd gone from longing to disbelief. Either she didn't know she was capable of that kind of desire or she didn't want to know it. Now, she was covering it with her Lady of the Manor act.

Covering, and she'd blamed him for it.

Instinct, as well as anger, urged him to take her in his arms and kiss that haughty smile from her face. With an arrogance that was more than a match for hers, he knew he could not only make her want him again, but he could make her beg him for the release only he could bring her, once she was in his arms.

Intelligence—what little he had left of it, considering the way his hormones were pumping—warned him that to do so would be a mistake. The thing to do was play along and see where Alexandra Thorpe imagined this would end.