More than a Mistress(13)

He reached for her. She kicked out, bruised her bare toes on his shin,  ducked under his arm and ran. But there was no way to escape him. He  caught her halfway across the hall and spun her toward him.

"There's no running away this time, Ms. Thorpe." His tone, and the curl  of his fist into the high lace collar of her nightgown, made a mockery  of the name. "You're mine, Princess. Or I'm yours. Bought and paid  for..."                       
       
           



       

The fragile cotton tore under his hand. And then, oh then, she was in his arms.

His rage vanished at the touch of her mouth against his. He groaned,  threaded his hands into her hair and held her captive to his kiss, but  she was a willing prisoner. All that chilly restraint, the memories of  her disdain that had kept him pacing the floor most of the night,  vanished in a heartbeat.

She was wild in his arms, and what she'd given him last night was nothing compared to what she offered now.

She caught his shirt in her fists, rose on her toes to reach his mouth.  He gathered her close, his legs spread so she was cradled against his  hardness, and lifted her to him. She moaned; her mouth opened to his and  her surrender drove his blood so it thundered in his veins.

She was warm and pliant as silk in his arms; she tasted of sunshine and  of flowers. He knew he could take whatever he wanted and he took it all,  without mercy. He wanted everything. Her kisses. Her body. Her need.

He touched her. Her breasts. Her belly. The soft golden curls that  nestled between her thighs, but none of it was enough. He needed to be  inside her, deep inside her, and he couldn't wait for the niceties of a  bed or even a carpet. He'd been starving, and she was his feast.

"Travis," she sobbed, "Travis, please..."

The plea, the hunger of it, finished him. He shoved her

back against the wall, his hands hard, his need desperate. "Now," he  said, as he unzipped his fly and freed himself. "Yes. Oh, yes. Oh..."

She cried out as he drove into her. He felt her convulse around him  almost instantly, and she cried out, again, shattering herself,  shattering him, and he knew that this was only the beginning.

When he could draw breath again, he cupped her face in his hands and  kissed her. Then he lifted her into his arms and she clung to his neck,  her open mouth pressed to his throat.

He carried her up the wide staircase to a room where the drapes were  drawn. And in the artificial twilight of the spring morning, Travis put  Alex down in the center of a high, four-poster bed that smelled, as she  did, of sunshine and flowers. He undressed and came down on the bed  beside her.

He told himself to go slowly this time, to touch her gently and learn  all the places that brought her pleasure. He wanted to see her blue eyes  turn dark, to watch her shudder with passion. But the sight of her  lying beneath him, the tattered remains of her gown spread around her  like the torn petals of a flower, her mouth swollen and rosy from his  kisses, drove every rational thought from his head.

"Tell me," he demanded, taking her wrists in one hand and stretching her  arms high over her head. "Tell me what you want, Princess. I need to  hear the words."

He saw the movement of her throat as she swallowed and he knew that even  now, after what had happened, she couldn't make the simple admission.

He bent his head and drew the pink tip of her breast into his mouth. She  made a soft cry and writhed against him, but he was relentless.

"Say it, Alex."

Her lashes fell to her cheeks. "I can't," she whispered. "Travis, please..."

His free hand drifted down the length of her body and between her thighs.

"Say it," he said, and touched her.

"You," she sobbed, "you, Travis. I want-" A high, keening sound broke from her throat as he entered her. "Yes. Yes. Oh, yes..."

He told himself, again, that he wanted to watch her. And he did, for a  moment; he watched as her eyes turned black and bottomless, as her body  bowed and arched to his. She lifted her hand and touched his face. It  was a gesture that was feminine and strangely gentle in the midst of the  whirlwind they rode.

"Travis," she whispered, and touched his face. "Travis..."

Her voice broke, and he was lost. To sensation. To desire.

To Alexandra.



Alex came awake slowly and thought, at first, she was deep in her dream.

The hard, warm body pressed against hers. The powerful arm encircling her. The shoulder beneath her cheek...

And then Travis stirred, and murmured something in his sleep, and panic shot through her like an arrow.

What had she done?

Slept with a stranger, Alex, a voice inside said coldly, that's what you've done.

She held her breath, afraid that the slightest sound, the faintest  motion, would wake him. Carefully, slowly, she eased from the bed.

Her nightgown-what was left of it-lay on the carpet. She burned with  embarrassment as she remembered the way he'd torn it in half. The way  he'd taken her, against the wall. The way she'd let him take her, let  him carry her upstairs and take her again...

Let him, Alex? the voice said slyly.

Images flashed before her eyes. She saw herself wrapping her arms around  Travis's neck. Kissing his mouth. Reaching for him, lifting her hips to  him as he entered her. Begging him to take her, pleading with him...                       
       
           



       

A sound trembled in the back of her throat and she whirled around, her  fist against her mouth, flew into the bathroom and shut the door behind  her.

Shaken, she stood at the sink, head bowed, her hands curled over the white porcelain rim.

The truth was that Travis had taken only what she had been eager to  give. She'd wanted him to make love to her, to do everything he'd done.  She'd wanted to know what a man like him could make a woman feel...

Could make her feel.

Slowly, very slowly, Alex lifted her head and looked into the mirror over the sink.

The sight almost took her breath away.

The woman staring back at her was-was a wanton. It was an old-fashioned  word but there wasn't any other way to describe her reflected self. The  mass of golden hair, in a mad tangle over her naked shoulders. The eyes,  shadowed and deep. The faint blue bruises on her throat and breast. The  mouth that was red and-and swollen? Alex touched a fingertip to her  lips. Swollen, yes. And tender, from Travis's kisses.

Those kisses. The heat of them. The way he'd parted her entered her  mouth with his tongue. The memory made her tremble. Made her breasts  ache. her feel hot, and wet.

She swallowed convulsively. What she'd wanted had happened. She wondered  now why she'd wanted it. What did it prove, that she could excite a  man, or that she could have an orgasm? That she could-color flooded her  face-that she could have one with a stranger. With an arrogant,  overbearing, dangerous stranger...

"Princess?"

She sprang away from the sink. The doorknob jiggled, and she stared at  it as if it were a rattlesnake that had come crawling up from the canyon  floor.

"Yes?" Good. Her voice was cool and self-assured. It didn't match the  face of the stranger in the mirror, but Travis didn't have to know that.  "I, uh, I'm going to shower. There's another bathroom next door that  you can-"

The door swung open.

"Showering alone can be dangerous, Alex."

He smiled into her eyes as he clasped her shoulders and looked at her,  his gaze slow and steamy as it moved the length of her body. Carl had  never looked at her like this. His eyes had never darkened with desire;  just watching his face had never made her weak with longing.

"Don't," she whispered, while heat rose in her cheeks.

"Don't what? Look at you?" Travis's eyes met hers. "I want to look at  you, Princess. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"No." She put her arms over her breasts. "Travis. I'm-I'm-"

Embarrassed. She was embarrassed. The realization stunned him but he  knew he was right. It was a long time since he'd seen a woman do  anything but preen under a man's admiring gaze but he was seeing  embarrassment now. Alex was blushing, and looking down at her toes.

"Princess." Gently, he put his hand under her chin, tilting her face up  to his. "You're beautiful. And I'm the luckiest man in the world, to be  able to see you like this." Her smile trembled. "Really?"

Was her world full of bozos? Or was she searching for compliments? A woman this lovely had to know it. "Yes. Really."

She smiled again; the shadows seemed to fade from her eyes but there was  still a hint of vulnerability in the soft curve of her mouth. Suddenly,  he remembered how she'd reacted to some of his kisses and caresses, how  she'd cried not only with pleasure but with what might have been  surprise at the things he'd done.