The Merciless Travis Wilde

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 a little scary. His mouth—she knew all about his mouth, the warmth of it, the possessive feel of it, the taste—his mouth was curved in what was surely a phony smile, and he was hustling her along at breakneck speed.

Still, he’d deserved that last little jibe.

Saving him from being torn apart by that bunch 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 come out tonight in search of a man. And she’d found one. But he was—he was more than she’d anticipated.

More than handsome.

More than sexy.

More than macho.

And more than everything you’d want in bed, her alter-ego purred.

Jennie tried to step back again.

“Well,” she said brightly, “it’s been—it’s been interesting, Mr. Wilde. Now, if you don’t mind—”

“About those protocols,” he said, his voice low, his tone husky, “have we met them all?”

“The what?”

“The protocols. The ones needed before any kind of intimacy.”

The woman named Genevieve blushed.

Again.

She did that, a lot.

Travis liked it.

Would her face and breasts turn that same shade of soft pink during sex? Would her eyes lock on his the way they were now, dark and wide but filled with passion instead confusion?

Crazy as it was, the fate of the world seemed to hinge on learning the answer.

“Because if we’ve met those protocols,” he said, moving closer, flattening his palms against the cab of the truck so that his arms encased her, “I’d like to take the next step.”

“What next—what next—”

He looked into her eyes. Looked at her lips. Gave her a second to figure out what was coming.

“No,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said, and in what seemed like slow motion, he, lowered his head to hers and took her mouth.

Her lips parted. His tongue slipped between them. Her heart banged into her throat. The taste of him, the feel of him inside her mouth …

Ohmygod, she thought, oh—my—God!

He groaned.

His arms went around her.

Hers rose and wound around his neck.

She pressed herself against him. And gasped.

He was hard as a rock.

She wanted to rub against him. Wanted to move her hips against his. Wanted to—to—

He lifted her off the ground, one arm around her waist, the other just below her backside. Her face was on a level with his; he kissed her slowly, caught her bottom lip between his teeth and sucked on her flesh, and—and—

A dazzling jolt of pure desire shot through her, the same as it had for one amazing moment in the bar, when her fear and indignation had given way to something very, very different. Something she’d refused to admit, even to herself.

“Wait,” she whispered, but he didn’t and she didn’t want him to wait, didn’t want anything to wait even though this wasn’t going according to plan.

He set her down, slowly, on her feet.

Don’t stop, she thought.

He didn’t.

He put his hands on her.

On her hips, bringing her, hard, against his erection.

On her breasts, oh, on her breasts, his thumbs dancing with tantalizing slowness over her nipples.

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