More Than A Mistress. Sandra Marton
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the little voice within her said sharply, whatever are you thinking?
Carefully, politely, she disengaged her hand from his.
“I’m sure that line works wonderfully wherever it is you come from, Mr. Baron.”
Travis’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you think that was?”
“And an interesting one, I must admit.” Generations of good breeding, coupled with four years as Carl Stuart’s wife, made it possible to offer a cool smile. “But I’m afraid you’ve misread the situation.”
“You’re lying,” he said bluntly.
Alex gave a trilling laugh. “I’ll try not to take offense at that, Mr. Baron. Perhaps such comments are acceptable, in your part of the world.”
“That’s the second time you’ve made that reference.” Travis folded his arms and rocked back on his boot heels. “Is that the problem here? That you’re figuring me for a cowboy, and ladies like you don’t sleep with the hired help?”
Alex flushed. “If you’re trying to be obnoxious, Mr. Baron, let me assure you, you’re succeeding.”
“I’m being honest, Ms. Thorpe. Which is more than you’re doing.”
“Mr. Baron. I am, truly, sorry if you’ve misunderstood the purpose of the auction. It’s a charitable event. And I support a great many charities. I’ve already given the chairwoman my check. And now I’ve had the—” she paused, almost imperceptibly “—the pleasure of meeting you, sir.”
His eyes narrowed. Later, she’d remember that and realize it had been a warning. But right then, analytical thinking was beyond her. All she could think of was escape.
“What you’re sayin’, Ms. Thorpe, is that you’re givin’ me the brush-off.”
His voice had softened, picked up the faintest drawl. Well, that explained a lot. Cowboy, ranch hand, whatever. She’d missed the description of him, and she hadn’t seen the auction catalog, but it didn’t matter. She’d figured him right. He wasn’t from around here. The auction committee had probably recruited him from a modeling agency, or maybe from Actors’ Equity. Los Angeles was filled with men like him, men who’d come here with dreams of stardom.
Wherever he came from, he was accustomed to a macho swagger. It might help him make the cover of GQ. It would probably gain him admittance to a lot of L.A. bedrooms, but—
But not hers.
Her behavior back in the ballroom, all that thunder and lightning that had seemed to flash between them, had been the result of remembering how Carl had humiliated her. How even now, with him out of her life, he could still humiliate and infuriate her. Even hurt her.
It had nothing to do with Travis Baron, who was too handsome for his own good, and too untamed for hers.
“Am I right, Ms. Thorpe? Am I gettin’ the old heave-ho?”
Alex tilted her head and looked at him with polite interest. A cowboy, and with a dented ego.
Ah, how quickly things had changed.
This was her turf, not his. Too bad he’d learn it the hard way. Too bad she’d come close to forgetting it. She was Alex Thorpe. Buying a man, indeed. Thinking she’d take him to her bed, and for what? To prove something to an ex-husband she didn’t give a damn about? She had nothing to prove to anyone, certainly not to herself.
All right, so she’d come rushing to the auction in a mood that was foolish and potentially dangerous. And yes, she’d done a dumb thing, making that bid. But she’d almost done something even more foolish, fleeing. People would talk about her bid for days. Weeks, maybe, until some better bit of gossip came along. Did she want them to also talk about the way she’d run out of the hotel?
She knew what she had to do.
Play out the game. Coolly, with sophistication. A touch of wry humor would be nice. Make it obvious that she’d bid on this man for fun, that she’d done it because she’d wanted to do it, not because of anything more personal.
And not because of the way she’d suddenly felt—suddenly imagined she’d felt—when Travis Baron’s eyes had met hers.
The ballroom had emptied out. Those people who’d attended the auction were standing around the lobby in little knots, shooting glances at the two of them with barely concealed interest.
Well, she’d give them something to watch, but not something to remember.
Alex looked up. The cowboy hadn’t taken his eyes off her. His expression was still intent. Beyond that, she couldn’t read him at all. That troubled her a little, but not much. The balance of power had shifted. She had the upper hand now, and if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was how to use power.
“I’m not giving you the brush-off, Mr. Baron.” She lifted her arm, her brows drawing together as she glanced at the tiny gold-and-diamond watch on her wrist. “I do have another appointment. But—”
“Break it.”
She laughed gaily, as if he’d made a joke. “Oh, I can’t possibly do that. But I do understand my obligations.” Still smiling, she lay her hand lightly on his arm. “If you’d be good enough to lead the way into the room that’s been set aside for the after-auction party, I’ll give you one dance.”
“Give it to me?” he said, very softly.
She heard the edge in those simple words and felt the muscles in his arm bunch beneath her fingers. But she was still riding the heady rush that came of knowing both her feet were back on solid ground, and she heard what he said as she wanted to, as an affirmation of which of them had taken control.
“That’s right. Perhaps I’ll even permit a quick interview.” The sound of music drifted from a nearby doorway and she raised her voice, just a little, to be heard over it. “And then, of course, I’ll be on my way. You do understand, don’t you?”
Oh, yeah, Travis thought, he understood, all right. The Ice Princess had asked him to escort her to the party but it was only a formality. It had been an exercise of privilege and power; how could a man who’d grown up surrounded by such things not recognize it? She was in charge here; the arrogant smile on her face said as much. Without waiting for his reply, she turned and made her way toward the music, confident that he would follow.
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