More than a Mistress(30)

He drew back and smiled politely. "Of course. Actually, so have I. How about dinner tomorrow evening?"

"Call me," she said brightly. "And we'll see."

She reached for the door and he reached for her, the pressure of his hand viselike. "Don't play games with me, Alex."

She looked at him. "Games?"

"And don't play dumb, either. I told you yesterday, I don't share."

"Yes." Her smile was quick. "Yes, you did. While it lasts, you said, you'll be faithful to me."

"And I expect the same of you."

"Certainly. It's just that I do have a life of my own, Travis. You reminded me of that this morning. And I'm glad you did."                       
       
           



       

His eyes darkened. "You mean that, don't you."

It wasn't a question, not the way he said it. But she did mean it. Of course, she meant it...

A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed once, twice, then pasted a smile to her lips.

"Yes. Yes, I do. I told you, Travis, I want to enjoy my freedom."

"Fine." The muscle in his cheek ticked as he slid behind the wheel, then  slammed the door. "I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow evening."

"But I asked you to call me first."

Her protest came too late. Travis had already put the car in gear and  roared away. She stood looking after him until nothing remained but  plumes of dust. Then she sighed and climbed the steps to the house.



He came for her, every evening. Drove her home, in the small hours of  each following morning, as if they'd never discussed not spending all  their time together. They were together weekends, too, at Malibu-except  for the weekend they flew up to the Napa Valley and walked the vineyards  at Peregrine.

"I've given my approval to the sale," Alex said, as they sat on the  steps of the veranda of the big Victorian house on the hill. "You can  tell your father Peregrine is his, whenever he wants it."

"Fine," Travis said, lifting her fingers to his lips. He smiled at her,  rose to his feet and tugged her up beside him. "I made reservations at  that inn on the coast."

"Mmm." Alex winced.

"What's the matter, Princess?"

"Headache," she said, then smiled. "I'll be fine, as soon as we reach  the inn. Staying there sounds wonderful." It would have been, but by  early evening, she felt exhausted. By nightfall, her teeth were  chattering and her bones ached. And by morning, she had a fever of 102.

Over her protests, Travis phoned for a doctor.

"Flu," the doctor said matter-of-factly. "It's going around. She needs rest, plenty of liquids, aspirin..."

Alex moaned, sat up and tried to get out of bed. Travis put his arm around her.

"Going to be sick," she whimpered.

"Not without me," he said, and carried her to the bathroom.

To her dismay, he stayed with her, supported her while she retched,  gently wiped her face with a cool, wet cloth and carried her back to  bed.

"As I was saying," the doctor continued, "she needs rest, liquids,  aspirin for the fever, light foods when her stomach can hold them.  She'll be fine in a few days."

Travis looked at Alex. "What can I do to make you feel better, darlin' ?"

"You can take me home," she whispered. "As nice as this place is, I'd really rather be sick in familiar surroundings."

Travis looked at the doctor. "We live in Malibu, but we came by plane. Can I fly her home?"

"I don't live in Malibu," Alex said wearily, "I live in-"

"Sure," the doctor said. "I'll give her something to control the nausea,  you get that fever down with the aspirin, wrap her up in blankets, and  you can take her to Malibu."

"But I don't live in-"

"Shut up," Travis said gently, and then he smiled and shook the doctor's hand. "Thanks, Doc."

"No problem." The doctor grinned. "Just be sure and take a bucket with you, just in case."



Alex said she felt like a Red Cross package.

Travis said she looked like a disaster area.

But he said it tenderly, as he strapped her into the seat beside him in  the Comanche. She did, too. Her face was pale, her eyes huge and dark.  Her hair was lank, after two days without shampooing, and the bucket she  held clutched in her lap didn't do much to improve the picture.

She looked tired and ill and fragile, and in that moment, he knew that  he felt something for this woman he had never felt before.

It scared the hell out of him.

"What?" she said, as a furrow appeared between his eyes.

"Nothing," he said briskly, and turned his attention to the plane.



She was sick for five days.

She threw up. She sweated. She moaned. She shivered. And Travis took care of her.

He held her head when she was sick, bathed her when she was hot. He  soothed her when she moaned and warmed her with his body when she  shivered. And then, on the morning of the sixth day, Alex woke up,  stretched, yawned-and announced that she could eat a horse.

Travis sat up, too. "Does that mean you're feeling better?" he said, with a hopeful smile.

She grinned. "I feel wonderful." Her grin faded. "Were you here, all the time? Or did I dream it?"

"Well," he said modestly, "not all the time. I took five minutes off,  every now and then, for things like showering and making coffee."

"Yes, but you were with me all the rest of the time." Her eyes met his.  "You didn't have to do it, you know. You could have taken me home. I  have a housekeeper."                       
       
           



       

His smile tilted. He cupped her face, smoothed her hair back from her temples and kissed the tip of her nose.

"Yes," he said softly. "I know."

The look on his face was gentle, as was the touch of his hands, and the  warmth of his smile made her want to lean into his arms and cling to  him-cling to him, forever-proof, surely, that she was still under the  weather. Otherwise, she'd never have wanted such a thing.

"I wanted to take care of you, Princess. It's as simple as that."

Alex nodded gravely. "Thank you."

Their eyes met, their glances held. Travis wanted to gather her into his arms, hold her, tell her-tell her...

Instead, he cleared his throat. "There's nothing to thank me for," he  said lightly. "Just be sure and put me in for the Nobel Prize and we'll  call it an even trade."

She laughed-until she looked past him and glimpsed herself in the mirror. "Oh my goodness! Is that me?"

"Is what you?"

"That-that creature I see in the mirror. Whoa. What a mess!"

Travis leaped for her as she flung back the covers. "Hey. Not so fast, darlin'. You're liable to fall on your face."

"We'll all fall on our faces, if I don't get hold of some soap and  water." She rose from the bed, wrapping the sheet around herself. She  knew it was silly to be so modest now but this had nothing to do with  modesty and everything to do with the sudden realization that something  had changed between them. "Travis? If you could just lend me something  to wear, until I get home...?"

A funny look came and went on his face, so quickly that she thought she'd imagined it.

"Sure." He rose from the bed and came toward her. "After we shower, I'll lay out something for you to put on."

"No. I mean-I mean, I think I'd better shower alone." She managed a  quick smile. "I've got lots of secret little feminine things to do,  after all. Wash my hair. Shave my legs..."

Travis eyed her warily, and then he nodded. "Okay. But if you feel the least bit woozy-"

"I'll yell, I promise."

The shower felt wonderful. Alex stood under the stream, eyes closed,  soaping, shampooing, scrubbing and rinsing until she felt clean. Images  came and went: Travis, holding her. Helping her. Urging her to drink  cool juices.

I wanted to take care of you, Princess. It's as simple as that.

Her lover had become her friend. For some reason, the thought was as frightening as it was exhilarating. "Princess?"

She took a breath, shut off the water and cracked open the shower door.  Travis stood outside-at least, she thought, as she began to laugh, an  enormous white towel stood outside, with a man's denim-clad legs peeping  out from under it.

She stepped onto the mat and let him enfold her in the towel.

"Mmm," she sighed, as he drew her close, "that feels lovely."

Travis nodded. "Yeah," he said, and sternly warned his body to behave  itself. Alex had been ill. She was still fragile-and heaven only knew  how she'd react, when she saw what he'd done. He wrapped the towel  snugly around her, stepped back and motioned her ahead of him, into the  bedroom. "Well," he said briskly, "I've laid out something for you to  wear. If it's not what you want, just tell me."