The Merciless Travis Wilde. Sandra Marton

of—of stone-age savages was one thing, but she couldn’t just let him get away with what he’d done.

      He’d scared the life half out of her, grabbing her, kissing her, dragging her up against his body.

      And, yes, she’d come out tonight for—for that knowledge of men, of kisses, of hard bodies but she’d wanted it done on her own terms, at her own pace, with her doing the choosing of the man who’d—who’d complete her research.

      A man in a suit. A successful executive, someone who could be trusted to be gentle with a woman. Not a—a rough-and-ready cowboy in boots and a T-shirt and faded jeans.

      Stop complaining. You wanted gorgeous, and gorgeous is what he is.

      Yes. But still—

      “Y’all come back soon,” a voice called.

      A roar of laughter followed the words.

      She felt the cowboy stiffen beside her. His fingers dug into her elbow hard enough to make her gasp.

      “Hey,” she said indignantly, “hey—”

      He flung the door open, stepped outside, but he didn’t let go of her. Instead he frog-marched her through the parking lot to the enormous black pickup parked next to her Civic.

      “Mister. I am not—”

      “Are you okay?”

      Jennie blinked. There was concern in his voice, and it wasn’t what she’d expected.

      “No. Yes. I guess …”

      “That was a close call. You were doin’ fine, until the end.” He grinned. “Had to zing me a little, right? Not that I blame you.”

      “You? Blame me?” Indignation colored her voice. “Listen, mister—”

      “Truth is, we probably got out just in time.”

      So much for indignation, which didn’t stand a chance against confusion.

      “In time for what?” Jennie said. “What was going on back there?”

      “It’s kind of complicated.” The cowboy smiled. This time, that smile was real. “Thanks for digging me out of a deep, dark hole.”

      “Well, well, you’re welcome. I guess. I just don’t understand what—”

      “It’s not worth going into. It was a mix-up, was all.”

      He smiled again. Jennie’s heart leaped. Did he have any idea how devastatingly sexy that smile was?

      She told herself to say something. Anything. Gawking at him wasn’t terribly sophisticated. But then, what would he know about sophistication? The boots, the jeans, the hard muscles …

      Everything about him was hard.

      The muscled chest. The taut abdominals. The—the male part of him that she’d felt press against her belly just before he’d stopped kissing her …

      That’s the girl, her alter ego said.

      Jennie swallowed dryly.

      Her brain was going in half a dozen directions at once.

      “You—you really had no right to—to just walk up to me and … and—”

      “—and kiss you?”

      She felt herself blush.

      “Yes. Exactly. Even in the most highly sexualized primitive cultures, there’s a certain decorum involved in expressing desire …”

      His smile tilted.

      “Is there,” he said.

      It wasn’t a question—it was a statement. And the way he was looking at her …

      She took a quick step back.

      Or she would have taken a quick step back, but the shiny black truck was right behind her.

      “The point is,” she said, trying to focus on why she was angry at him, “you shouldn’t have done what you did.”

      “Kissed you, without so much as a ‘hello.’”

      “Right. Precisely. The proper protocol, prior to intimacy—”

      Jennie stopped in mid-sentence. She sounded like an idiot. Even her alter-ego had crept away in embarrassment.

      “Never mind,” she said quickly. “It’s late. And I—”

      “Travis,” he said. “Travis Wilde.”

      She stared at him. “Pardon me?”

      He smiled. Again. And her heart jumped again.

      “My name.” His voice had gone low and husky. “I’m introducing myself. That would have been the proper protocol, wouldn’t it?”

      “Well, yes, but—”

      “And your name is …?”

      “Oh.”

      She swallowed hard. Again. She was not good at this. At male-female banter. At any of it.

      “I could call you Blondie.” He reached out, caught a strand of her hair between his fingers, smoothed its silken length. “Or Neiman Marcus.”

      “What?” Jennie looked down at herself. “Is the dress tag show—”

      “That’s how you look,” he said softly. “As if you just stepped out of their catalogue. Their Christmas catalogue, the one that always has the prettiest things in it.”

      Her knees were going to buckle.

      His voice was like a caress.

      His eyes were like hot coals.

      He was—he was just what she’d been looking for, hoping for—

      “But I’d rather call you by your real name, if you’ll tell it to me.”

      “It’s Jen … It’s Genevieve,” she whispered. “My name is Genevieve.”

      “Well, Genevieve, you did a foolish thing tonight.”

      God, she could feel herself blushing again!

      “Listen here, Mr. Wills—”

      “Wilde. Travis Wilde.”

      “Listen here, Mr. Wilde. I only let you kiss me after I realized you were going to get killed if I didn’t!”

      He chuckled.

      Even his chuckle was sexy.

      “I was talking about you going into that bar in the first place.”

      “Oh.”

      “Oh, for sure. You have any idea what kind of bunch you were dealing with back there?”

      “I—I—” Jennie sighed. “No.”

      “I didn’t think so. But it’s lucky for me you walked in.”

      “It certainly is,” she said, lifting her chin. “Or you’d be just another stain on that already-stained floor.”

      He grinned. “Yeah, but a happy stain.”

      “That’s so typical! Men and their need to assert power through dominance—”

      “Men and their need to save their tails, honey. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have bothered, but I have something going down Monday, and the last thing I need is to show up lookin’ like the winner of a bare-knuckles fight.”

      “You couldn’t have won. There were too many of them.”

      “Of course I could have won,” he said, so easily that she knew he meant it.

      A little tremor went through her.

      She’d