More Than A Mistress. Sandra Marton

tion>

      

      “No. Not here.”

      “Of course.” She stepped back. “I’m sorry, Travis. You’re right. I should never have…”

      He hauled her into his arms again. He kissed her over and over, until she was clinging to him. “Don’t ever apologize for wanting me. Don’t you know how exciting that is, Princess? To know you feel the way I feel? I have a suite at the inn. It’s where I planned on spending the night. Will you come there with me, and let me make love to you as if this were our first time?”

      He waited for her answer, knowing that giving her time to think was a gamble. He was asking her to admit her need for him, instead of being swept away by it, but he didn’t want her to come to him blinded by passion. Not tonight. Tonight he wanted to seduce her. Awaken her. And to know, after this, the only man she would remember would be him.

      “Alex.” He ran his thumb over her parted lips. “I want to make love to you. Tell me it’s what you want, too.”

      His answer was in the soft surrender of her kiss.

      Four brothers:

       bonded by inheritance, battling for love!

      Jonas Baron is approaching his eighty-fifth birthday. He has ruled Espada, his sprawling estate in Texas hill country, for more than forty years, but now he admits it’s time he chose an heir.

      Jonas has three sons—Gage, Travis and Slade, all ruggedly handsome and each with a successful business empire of his own; none wishes to give up the life he’s fought for to take over Espada. Jonas also has a stepdaughter; beautiful and spirited, Caitlin loves the land as much as he does, but she’s not of the Baron blood.

      So who will receive Baron’s bequest? As Gage, Travis, Slade and Caitlin discover, there’s more at stake than just Espada. For love also has its part to play in deciding their futures….

      Sit back now and enjoy Travis’s story, and be sure to look out next for Slade Baron’s Bride in November (Harlequin Presents^® #2063), when you’ll get to know Slade a whole lot better!

      More Than a Mistress

      Sandra Marton

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER ONE

      TRAVIS BARON stood in the wings of the improvised stage at the Hotel Paradise, a hint of defiance in the rake of his jaw, waiting to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

      And wasn’t that a hell of a thing for a man to be doing on a beautiful Thursday night in early June? Travis thought grimly.

      He ran his fingers through his hair, then smoothed his hand down the lapel of his tux. He couldn’t see the crowd in the elegant ballroom but he could damn well hear it, every feminine hoot, whistle and catcall. This was the crème de la crème of L.A. society, Pete Haskell had said. Maybe so. But they sure sounded pretty down-and-dirty from where Travis stood.

      The wheedling drone of the auctioneer’s voice oozed from the loudspeakers like honey from a comb on a hot Texas day.

      “What’m-I-bid, what’m-I-bid, ladies, c’mon, c’mon, don’t be shy, don’t hold back. Win the man of your dreams for the weekend.”

      Shy? Travis snorted. Based on what he’d been hearing for the past hour, the women gathered in the ballroom were about as shy as a herd of buffalo, and about as delicate in making their wants known. They cheered, they laughed, they hooted and hollered until the gavel came down and then they applauded and whistled until Travis figured the noise level was enough to have the riot cops bust the place. And then they started up all over again, when the next hapless victim was shoved out on stage.

      Not that all the Bachelors for Bucks had to be pushed. Lots of them went willingly, grinning and throwing kisses to the crowd.

      “Hey, man,” one guy had said, after a look at Travis’s glum expression, “it’s all for charity, right?”

      Right, Travis thought, his scowl darkening. But the guy with the smile had probably volunteered for this nonsense. Travis hadn’t. And to make things even worse, the luck of the draw was sending him out on that stage last.

      How, he thought, how had he let himself get talked into this mess?

      “Sold!” The auctioneer’s triumphant shout and the smack of his gavel were drowned out in a burst of cheers and applause.

      “Another one gone,” a voice mumbled, and Travis turned as a skinny blond guy stepped up beside him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he adjusted his tie. “Man, I’d rather be going for a root canal.”

      “You got that right,” Travis said.

      “Now, now, gentlemen.” Peggy Jeffers, who’d cheerfully introduced herself as “your friendly slave mistress for the evening” when they’d all been introduced, tweaked the skinny guy’s cheek. “You just relax, go on out there and have yourself some fun.”

      “Fun?” the guy said, “Fun?”

      “Fun,” Peggy repeated, and she put her hand in the middle of his back and gently pushed him out of the wings and onto the stage.

      The roar of the audience sent the blood right to Travis’s head.

      Peggy smiled. “Hear that?”

      “Yeah,” Travis said, with what he hoped would pass for a smile. “Sounds like a pack of hyenas on a blood trail.”

      Peggy giggled. “You got that right.” She took a step back, then eyeballed Travis from the top of his sun-streaked chestnut hair to the toes of his shiny black boots. “My oh my, handsome. They’re gonna go nuts when they spot you.”

      She grinned, and Travis tried to return it.

      “Don’t tell me a hunk like you is nervous,” Peggy said.

      “No,” Travis said, lying through his teeth. “Why would I be nervous about going out on that stage in front of a million screaming women to get myself auctioned off?”

      Peggy laughed. “It’s all for a good cause,” she said over her shoulder as she hurried away. “And you’ll get snapped up in a second.”

      Yeah, Travis thought, oh, yeah. That’s what he’d been telling himself all night—that, and the fact that he was a sane man, a normal, healthy, sane, thirty-two-year-old attorney. A bachelor, yes…but a bachelor who liked to choose his own women.

      And choose them, he did. All the time. If he had any problems with women, it was getting them to understand, when the moment of truth came, that all good things came to an end. Relationships between the sexes weren’t meant to last forever. A bad marriage and a worse divorce had finally taught him what the lessons of his childhood hadn’t, but those two blips in the road were long behind him.

      It wasn’t as if he was opposed to women coming on to him. He liked a little aggressiveness in a woman, in bed and out. He found it sexy.

      But a woman