The Merciless Travis Wilde. Sandra Marton

hands into her hair. Kissed her a little harder.

      She tasted like sunshine on a soft June morning, smelled like wildflowers after a summer rain.

      His arms went around her; he gathered her against the hardness of his body, felt the softness of her breasts and belly against him.

      The crowd cheered.

      Travis barely heard them.

      He was lost in what was happening, the feel of the woman in his arms, the race of her heart against his.

      An urgency he’d never felt before raced through him.

      He was on fire.

      So was she.

      She was trembling. Whimpering. She was—

      Sweet Lord.

      The truth hit. Hard. She wasn’t on fire for him, she was terrified.

      She hadn’t acquiesced to his kisses, she’d stopped fighting them.

      What kind of SOB did this to a woman? Scared the life out of her, and all to save his own sorry ass?

      All at once, the trip to Frankfurt lost its meaning. He was a financial wizard but what he really was, was a gambler. He’d lost money before; he’d lose it again.

      Millions were on the line.

      So what?

      When had winning become so important he’d use someone—not just “someone” but a woman—to make sure the dice rolled the way he wanted?

      He lifted his head. Looked down into the face of the woman in his arms.

      His gut twisted.

      Her skin was pale, the color all but completely drained away. Her breathing was swift; he could see the rapid pulse fluttering in her throat. Her eyes—her eyes, he knew, would haunt him forever. They were beautiful eyes, but now they had turned dark with fear.

      “Oh, honey,” he said softly.

      She shook her head. “Don’t,” she said in a tiny whisper. “Please. Don’t—”

      He kissed her again, but lightly, tenderly, his lips barely moving against hers.

      “I’m sorry,” he said. “I never meant to frighten you.”

      There was a whisper of sound behind him. He was giving the game away. Screw it. Screw whatever would happen next. All he wanted was to get that look of fear off the blonde’s lovely face.

      “Lovely” didn’t come close.

      That cloud of silken hair. The dark blue eyes. The soft, rosy mouth.

      She was still shaking.

      No way was he going to let that continue.

      “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I never intended to hurt you.” Her face registered disbelief, and Travis shook his head. “It’s the truth, honey. This was never about you. Not the way you think.” He framed her face with his hands, raised it just a little so he was looking directly into her eyes. “I ran into a problem. With some people here.”

      “Damn right,” the Mountain growled.

      Travis heard him hawk up a glob of spit, heard it hit the floor.

      The blonde looked past his shoulder, her eyes widening. She looked at Travis again. Two slender parallel lines appeared between her eyebrows.

      “See, I told them I was waiting for my date—”

      “Thass what he said,” one of the Mountain’s pals said. “But we knew he was lyin’—an’ we know what to do with liars.”

      A loud rumble of assent greeted the proclamation.

      The blonde’s gaze swept past Travis again. Her eyes filled with comprehension.

      “And then,” Travis said, ignoring the interruption, “then, the door opened and you walked in. One look and I knew that you were right for me, that you were perfect, that you were—”

      “The woman you’d been waiting for,” the blonde said, very softly.

      He smiled, a little sadly because there was no question how this was going down. The only thing he needed to do now was get her safely out of here because however she’d come to be at this bar tonight, she was definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time.

      “Exactly right, honey. You were just the woman I’d have waited for, and—”

      The blonde put her finger over his lips.

      “Of course I was,” she said, her voice louder now, loud enough to carry to the men behind Travis. “How foolish of you to think that I wasn’t going to keep our date, just because I showed up a bit late.”

      This time, Travis was the one whose eyes widened.

      “What?”

      “I was angry, I admit. That quarrel we had last week? About—about me thinking you’d been with another woman?” She smiled. “I know I was wrong. You wouldn’t cheat on me, not ever.”

       For mercy’s sake, man, say something!

      “Uh—uh, no. I mean, you’re right. I wouldn’t. Cheat on you. Ever.”

      She nodded.

      “But I couldn’t just admit that.” Another smile, this one half-vixen, half-innocent. “It’s against all the precepts of male-female genetically-transmitted courtship behavior.”

       The what?

      “So I decided to keep you waiting tonight. Let you cool your heels a little, kind of wonder if I was going to show up.” Another smile, this one so hot and sexy Travis felt his knees go weak. “And you did wonder, didn’t you? About me and how I’d deal with our date this evening.”

      Travis tried to answer. Nothing happened. He cleared his throat and tried again.

      “Yes. Right. I surely did. Wonder, I mean, about how you’d deal with our—”

      “And you reacted to perfection! Every single DNA-coded response was in evidence. Machismo. Dominance. Aggression. Even an attempt at territorial marking.”

       Territorial marking. Wasn’t that about male dogs peeing on trees?

      “I am so pleased,” she said, “that you’ve proved the tenets of my paper.”

      “Your paper.”

      “Oh, yes, exactly! The way you reacted on seeing me, the way you dealt with my less-than-warm greeting …”

      There was a hum behind him. Whispers. Snorts. Laughter.

      It was, without question, time to move on.

      Travis nodded. “That’s great. It’s terrific. But I really think we should discuss the rest of it out—”

      “Why, sugar,” the blonde all but purred, “don’t tell me you’re upset by learning you’ve helped my research!”

      Not just laughter, but a couple of deep guffaws greeted that pronouncement.

      Definitely time, Travis thought, holding his smile as he took the blonde by the elbow and marched her to the door.

      Halfway there, Jennie’s alter-ego snickered.

      Should have quit while you were ahead, Genevieve, it said.

      Indeed, Jennie thought. She should have.

      The stranger who’d kissed her was hurrying her toward the door.

      Maybe she’d taken this a bit too far.

      She had, if the look on the man’s face was any indication.

      His eyes were cool. Slate-cool, and