Ah, how quickly things had changed.
This was her turf, not his. Too bad he’d learn it the hard way. Too bad she’d come close to forgetting it. She was Alex Thorpe. Buying a man, indeed. Thinking she’d take him to her bed, and for what? To prove something to an ex-husband she didn’t give a damn about? She had nothing to prove to anyone, certainly not to herself.
All right, so she’d come rushing to the auction in a mood that was foolish and potentially dangerous. And yes, she’d done a dumb thing, making that bid. But she’d almost done something even more foolish, fleeing. People would talk about her bid for days. Weeks, maybe, until some better bit of gossip came along. Did she want them to also talk about the way she’d run out of the hotel?
She knew what she had to do.
Play out the game. Coolly, with sophistication. A touch of wry humor would be nice. Make it obvious that she’d bid on this man for fun, that she’d done it because she’d wanted to do it, not because of anything more personal.
And not because of the way she’d suddenly felt—suddenly imagined she’d felt—when Travis Baron’s eyes had met hers.
The ballroom had emptied out. Those people who’d attended the auction were standing around the lobby in little knots, shooting glances at the two of them with barely concealed interest.
Well, she’d give them something to watch, but not something to remember.
Alex looked up. The cowboy hadn’t taken his eyes off her. His expression was still intent. Beyond that, she couldn’t read him at all. That troubled her a little, but not much. The balance of power had shifted. She had the upper hand now, and if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was how to use power.
“I’m not giving you the brush-off, Mr. Baron.” She lifted her arm, her brows drawing together as she glanced at the tiny gold-and-diamond watch on her wrist. “I do have another appointment. But—”
“Break it.”
She laughed gaily, as if he’d made a joke. “Oh, I can’t possibly do that. But I do understand my obligations.” Still smiling, she lay her hand lightly on his arm. “If you’d be good enough to lead the way into the room that’s been set aside for the after-auction party, I’ll give you one dance.”
“Give it to me?” he said, very softly.
She heard the edge in those simple words and felt the muscles in his arm bunch beneath her fingers. But she was still riding the heady rush that came of knowing both her feet were back on solid ground, and she heard what he said as she wanted to, as an affirmation of which of them had taken control.
“That’s right. Perhaps I’ll even permit a quick interview.” The sound of music drifted from a nearby doorway and she raised her voice, just a little, to be heard over it. “And then, of course, I’ll be on my way. You do understand, don’t you?”
Oh, yeah, Travis thought, he understood, all right. The Ice Princess had asked him to escort her to the party but it was only a formality. It had been an exercise of privilege and power; how could a man who’d grown up surrounded by such things not recognize it? She was in charge here; the arrogant smile on her face said as much. Without waiting for his reply, she turned and made her way toward the music, confident that he would follow.
A muscle bunched in his jaw. Alexandra Thorpe figured she was playing him for a fool, playing Lady of the Manor to his Bumbling Cowboy. It made him angry as hell, but he wasn’t about to let her know that.
Not yet.
He set off after her, as if he’d accepted the part she’d given him.
None of what was happening surprised him. He’d known something was up, after she’d made the winning bid. He’d seen the look on her lovely face go from wanton desire to disbelief. When she’d turned to flee, he’d started to go after her but the other bachelors had rushed on stage to congratulate him and make jokes at his expense. He’d tried to break free but when he saw Barbara Rhodes stop Alex before she got away, he’d made himself stand still and endure the good-natured banter.
By the time he’d finally broken loose, he’d felt like an over-wound spring.
Peggy, the Slave Mistress, had come running up to him, as he started off the stage.
“You see?” she’d crowed happily. “What did I tell you, handsome? You didn’t have a thing to worry about.”
“What’s her name?” he’d asked, and Peggy must have heard the tightness in his voice because she hadn’t teased him or laughed, she’d simply said she’d asked the same question.
“Alexandra Thorpe.”
“Married? Or single?”
“I don’t know.”
He’d nodded his thanks and begun to turn away when Peggy put her hand on his arm.
“Handsome?”
“Yes?” he’d said, impatiently.
“She’s not for you.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the advice.”
“I’m serious. Remember what I said about her being an Ice Princess?”
Travis had looked squarely at Peggy. “You were wrong.”
“No. No, I wasn’t. Girl who told me the lady’s name said she’s got a freezer where her heart’s supposed to be.”
Travis had smiled. “It’s not the lady’s heart I’m interested in,” he’d said, and then he’d gone down into the crowd, barely acknowledging the slaps on the back and the cheers from Pete Haskell and the other guys he worked with, pushing through everybody until, at last, he’d reached the lobby—and saw Alexandra Thorpe.
She’d still been talking with the chairwoman. Her back was to him, and he’d treated himself to the pleasure of the view. All that golden hair, streaming over her shoulders. The straight, elegant back, naked almost to the base of her spine. The gently rounded bottom, outlined in the silk garnet skirt. And those legs, those endless legs, encased in black hose that tapered down to shoes with heels high enough to make a man’s mouth water.
He’d wondered what he’d find beneath that sinful excuse of a dress, when he took it off her later tonight. A black lace bra, with a matching garter belt? A scrap of silk that might be called a pair of panties?
Travis had felt his body tighten.
Or would there be nothing under that dress except the garter belt, and the sexy stockings?
His fingers itched with the need to find out.
He’d started toward her, then slowed his pace.
Something was wrong. It was in the set of her shoulders, the tilt of her head. He’d looked past the Thorpe woman, to the gray-haired chairwoman. She was smiling but there was no mistaking the earnest look on her face. She was making some sort of pitch.
He got closer, and heard enough to know he was right.
“It
