More Than A Mistress. Sandra Marton

on the sidewalk and he was—he’d been about to—

      She must have realized it, too. “Let me go,” she whispered frantically, and began struggling to free herself of his embrace.

      Travis held her tighter.

      “Damn you, let me—”

      “Hold still!”

      It was a command, not a request. And a logical one. People were coming; Alex could hear them. With luck, if neither she nor Travis moved, whomever was approaching would pass by without noticing them. So she stiffened in his arms and tried not to think about what this—this stranger had been doing to her, seconds ago, what she’d been letting him do.

      And for what? To prove that Carl was wrong? That she wasn’t—wasn’t a frigid little rich bitch?

      Alex’s stomach took a tumble. She closed her eyes. All right. She’d proved it, in the most humiliating way possible. Proved it to herself and to this man she didn’t know, a man who surely hadn’t turned her on, who’d simply been in the right place at the right time when she was in desperate need of pretending she could feel desire…

      The footsteps and voices were just beyond the doorway. Alex trembled.

      “It’s all right,” Travis whispered, and drew her against him.

      And she let him do it. Let him stroke his hand up and down her spine, until she felt boneless. Let him thread his fingers into her hair and gently bury her face against his throat. Against the hot, masculine skin she’d tasted and wanted to taste again. Against that swift-beating pulse that mirrored hers. Against that hard, powerful body she yearned to explore, against that terrifying, exhilarating, exciting arousal…

      A sound broke from Alex’s throat and she tore herself from Travis’s arms.

      “I’m sure the women you usually keep company with enjoy this sort of thing, Mr. Baron.”

      Travis blinked. “What?”

      “The—the primitive approach. It must wow them, back in—in Little Rock. Or—or Dallas. Or wherever it is you come from.”

      His eyes narrowed as they focused on her icy features. “Hey, babe, take it easy. I don’t know what your problem is, but don’t take it out on me.”

      “Probably sweeps them off their feet, in cow country. But this is Los Angeles, sir. And I’d appreciate it if you’d just get out of my way.”

      Travis’s mouth thinned. “Get out of your way?” he said, slowly and softly.

      “How nice to know you don’t have a hearing problem, Mr. Baron. Yes. Get out of my way. Now.”

      His vision grew dark. He felt the surge of his blood as the most primal of instincts took over, urging him to do what he longed to do to Alex Thorpe, what any man would want to do, and teach her a lesson she’d never forget.

      “There’s a name for women like you,” he said. “And I’m sure you’ve heard it many times before.”

      He watched her face go white, braced himself for the sting of her hand against his jaw…but it didn’t happen. She simply stood very still, her body as rigid as a marble column. Then, to his amazement, she smiled.

      “Believe me,” she said softly, “I’ve been called worse.”

      Her voice quavered on the last word but she kept smiling. It was that brave, sad smile that defeated him, made him wish to God he could call back the ugly words he’d used but it was too late. Alex Thorpe stepped past him, onto the sidewalk just as a cruising taxi came by.

      “Alex,” Travis called, “Princess, wait…”

      She stepped into the cab, the door shut and the taxi roared off into the night.