Kitabı oku: «More Than A Mistress», sayfa 3

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS a hell of a time to think of Jonas, but suddenly his father’s voice was in his head.

“So now you think you’re gonna fight for truth and justice,” he’d said, the day Travis had been admitted to the Bar. “Well, lemme tell you somethin’, boy. Only winners get justice, and liars never see the truth until you rub their noses in it.”

For the first time, Travis decided Jonas might be right. There was only one thing to do, and he did it. He danced Alexandra Thorpe into a corner, bent her over his arm, and crushed her mouth beneath his.

He heard the insulted hiss of her breath, felt her first frantic struggles…and then, with a little sigh, she parted her lips and let him in.

He whispered her name, drew her up, gathered her into his arms. Her heart raced against his; her slender arms were cool as she looped them around his neck. She tasted like honey; she smelled like springtime. God, how he wanted her. How he needed her…

A cheer. A smattering of applause. Appreciative, pleasant laughter.

He heard them, but he didn’t give a damn. Alex did. She tore her mouth from his, dropped her arms and flattened her palms against his chest.

“Stop it,” she hissed.

He lifted his head and gave her a sexy smile that said the kiss was only the beginning. And why wouldn’t he? Alex shuddered. She’d been kissing him the way she’d never kissed a man in her life, but he had no way of knowing that. Kissing him right here, in front of all these people.

He smiled into her eyes. “It’s going to be one hell of a weekend, Sugar.”

His voice was low, rough, and filled with promise. He was still holding her, his hands at her waist, which was a good thing because she felt boneless. Dizzy. She felt—she felt…

“Alex? Travis? Could you look this way, please?”

Alex swung around blindly. The TV camera was pointed at her; a smiling reporter poked a microphone into her face. She had always thought it was horrible, how intrusive reporters could be. Now, she welcomed the woman as if the microphone were a lifeline.

“Yes,” she said brightly, and stepped free of Travis’s grasp, “certainly. We’d be delighted.”

The interview went on for what seemed to be hours, though Travis knew it could not have been more than a few minutes.

He didn’t like reporters. There’d always been somebody poking a nose and a camera where it didn’t belong when he was growing up on Espada. His father relished being the center of attention but neither Travis, his brothers nor his stepsister enjoyed it at all.

Tonight, Travis found himself welcoming—well, almost welcoming—the stupid questions and the phony smiles.

Alexandra Thorpe was doing most of the talking. She made it sound as if their kiss had been a clever piece of theatrics, hinting, with smiles and girlish laughter, that the two of them had planned it while they’d been talking in the lobby.

Whatever spin she wanted to put on it was fine with him. If she could come up with something clever, amen. Hey, he wasn’t thinking at all. Near as he could tell, his brain had ceased to function as soon as he’d taken his first look at her.

He liked women, liked to come on to them. The delicacy of their bones. The subtlety of their scent. The way they laughed, and smiled. He enjoyed their company, their conversation. And making love with a woman was the closest to paradise a man could come.

The thing was, though, he never made love with an audience watching.

What was the sense in kidding himself? He wasn’t just brain dead, he was being led around by the part of his anatomy that was the least reliable, to do what he’d been doing to Alexandra Thorpe, right in the middle of the dance floor. That kiss had been as erotic as anything he’d ever shared with a woman in the privacy of a bed.

Be honest, Baron. Some of the things he’d done in bed hadn’t been as erotic as that kiss.

It had been that way for her, too. He knew what that sexy little moan had meant, knew from the feel of her in his arms that she’d been as ready as he’d been. He understood the touch of her tongue against his, the gentle pressure of her teeth…

“…Mr. Baron?”

He blinked. The ditzy reporter was talking to him, holding out her mike as if it were the Holy Grail.

“Excuse me?” he said, and she smiled even more brightly and repeated her question.

He smiled back. Yes, uh-huh, he’d had a great time tonight. No, of course he hadn’t been nervous. Who could be nervous, when it was all for charity?

They were going to love this interview, at Sullivan, Cohen and Vittali.

Now it was Alexandra’s turn. The reporter turned her painted-on smile in her direction.

“And what brought you here this evening, Ms. Thorpe?”

Alexandra hesitated for a second, then began talking about her lifelong commitment to charity. Travis pretended to listen, and smiled like an idiot. If she wasn’t lying, he was a monkey’s uncle.

Whatever had brought her here tonight didn’t have anything to do with charity. He’d seen the look on her face, the wildness in her eyes. Something had driven her to this auction, and he needed to know what that something was.

But what had made her bid on him was easy to figure.

It had been desire. A desire that raged so fiercely within her that he’d felt its force on the stage. The same desire that had made her melt in his arms moments ago when he’d kissed her.

That first rigidity of her body, and then the way she’d shuddered and come alive in his arms. The feel of her breasts, pressed against his chest. Her lips, parting to give him access to the honeyed essence of her mouth. The whisper of sound that had spoken of surrender…

He knew he’d never forget it. There was no point pretending he didn’t have a long history with women. Still, that kiss, that incredible kiss, was different from anything he’d ever known.

Travis shifted his weight. What was he doing to himself? Another couple of seconds, the TV camera and the crowd were going to be treated to a sight he’d never live down. It was time to take this strange little play to a private setting, where the next scene could be played out, in full.

He slipped his arm around Alexandra’s waist, his hand splaying against her hip in warning.

“Okay,” he said cheerfully, breaking into the middle of some inanity of the reporter. “Okay, folks, that’s it.”

The little knot of journalists groaned. One of them began to ask another question but Travis just kept smiling. And talking.

“Hey, guys, don’t you think Ms. Thorpe and I are entitled to a little time alone?”

“You have a three-day weekend to be alone,” one of them said, and they all laughed.

“And a weekend to plan,” Travis said. He looked down at Alex. “Right, Ms. Thorpe?”

“Right, Mr. Baron,” she said, flashing him a smile that was vaguely reminiscent of the snarl of an angry Doberman.

“I just love that old-fashioned formality,” the reporter gushed. “Mr., Ms…. So charming!”

Travis laughed merrily as he began backing Alex from the dance floor. “Well,” he said, “Ms. Thorpe is just an old-fashioned girl.”

As if on cue, the orchestra struck up another waltz. Come on, Travis thought, come on!

People surged onto the floor to dance.

Travis didn’t waste any time. He let go of Alexandra’s waist, grabbed her hand and all but sprinted for the door. She tried to tug free when they were halfway through the lobby but his fingers tightened on hers.

“Keep going,” he said, and led her out the main doors, past the doorman and down the wide marble steps. Anybody watching would figure they were making a romantic getaway. He almost imagined it, himself, until they reached the street and she dug in her spiked heels, wrenched her hand from his and spun toward him.

“Exactly what do you think you’re doing?” she said, turning her angry face up to his.

“Calm down, Sugar.”

Alexandra stamped her foot. “Kindly do not ‘sugar’ me!”

“My car is parked just up the street.”

“Do you really think I give a damn where your car is parked?” Alex tossed her head. “Listen to me, Mr. Baron, and listen well. You are, without question, the most horrible man I ever—”

Travis rolled his eyes, grabbed her wrist and tugged her down the street and into a doorway.

“Don’t you ever think before you make a scene, lady? Or do you like being in the spotlight?”

“I cherish my privacy.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got a strange way of showing it.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the main entrance to the Hotel Paradise. “What makes you so sure that nitwit reporter and her bozo cameraman weren’t hot on our heels, huh?”

He could see her face pale a little, even in the darkness of the doorway.

“Were they?”

He leaned out and looked. “No,” he snapped. “But you didn’t even think about it before you started chewing me out. Just once, you might try thinking of the consequences before you act.”

“Me? Me, think of the consequences?” Alex threw back her head. “Ha,” she said, without the least touch of humor, “oh, ha, Mr. Baron, that is a good one! That’s really something, coming from you.”

Travis folded his arms. “I,” he said loftily, “am not the person who got us into this mess.”

And now that he thought about it, it was a mess. He’d made an idiot of himself, prancing around onstage. And then the Thorpe babe had made an idiot of herself, running away. And just now—he’d kissed her in front of a zillion people in a way he’d probably never, ever live down.

“I am the innocent party in this entire unfortunate affair, sir!”

“Hey, Sugar. Don’t you pull that Ice Princess bit on me.”

“Are you deaf, Mr. Baron? Do not call me ‘sugar.’”

“Forgive me, Ms. Thorpe!” His mouth thinned and he shoved his face toward hers. Despite herself, Alex took a hurried step back. “Princess suits you,” he muttered. “That little lady’ll never know how right she was!”

“What little lady?”

“Never mind.” A muscle knotted in Travis’s cheek. “The bottom line here is that I am tired of being the villain in this piece.”

“Are you suggesting that I am?”

“You bid on me, remember?”

Color shot into her face. “Permit me to refresh your memory, Mr. Baron. This was a bachelor auction. The whole purpose of the event was for women to bid on men.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you didn’t have to bid so much for me that you brought the house down.”

“I don’t have to listen to this—”

Travis grabbed her shoulder as Alex tried to brush past him. “And then,” he growled, “as if you hadn’t drawn enough attention to us already—”

“I drew attention?” Alex tossed back her head and laughed. “Oh, I love that, Mr. Baron. I wasn’t up on that stage, prancing around like a—a male stripper!”

A smile tilted across Travis’s mouth. He shifted his weight so that he blocked the doorway. All Alex could see were his broad shoulders and his ruggedly handsome face, only that and the dark night that surrounded them.

Her heart skipped a beat.

They were on a street in a busy city but she suddenly felt as if they were the last man and woman on Earth. It was the same way she’d felt when, with bravado in her blood and idiocy in her brain, she’d burst into the ballroom and spotted him onstage. The same way she’d felt on the dance floor, when he’d kissed her.

“Exactly how many male strippers have you watched in your time, Ms. Thorpe?” he said softly.

“Mr. Baron.” Her voice squeaked. She cleared her throat and began again. “Mr. Baron, really. I think we should just call it a night and—” Alex caught her breath. Travis had caught a strand of her hair between his fingers. She watched, wide-eyed, as he drew it to his nostrils. “What—what are you doing?”

“I like the smell of your hair, Princess. What is that? Opium? Joy?”

“It’s—it’s just…” She stepped back again as he moved closer. Her shoulders hit the closed door behind her. “I—I don’t remember.” She didn’t, either. She couldn’t think straight. Was that breathless little voice really hers? And was she really trembling? Alex shut her eyes, moaned as Travis touched his lips to her throat. “Mr. Baron…”

“Under the circumstances,” Travis said huskily, “I really think we might move on to first names. Don’t you, Ms. Thorpe?”

Didn’t she what? Alex shuddered as his breath warmed her skin. She couldn’t think, not while he was—while he was…

“Mr. Baron—”

“Travis.”

“Travis. Travis, really, I think—”

“Yeah. So do I.” His arms went around her. He gathered her against him, her breasts against the hard wall of his chest, her thighs against his. She put her hands out to ward him off. Instead, somehow, they curled into the lapels of his tuxedo. “I think it’s time I kissed you again, Princess, but without an audience.”

His mouth came down on hers.

“No,” she whispered, “please…”

“Let go, Princess.” He kissed her, soft, gentle kisses that made her lips cling to his. “Just let go and do what you want to do.”

His hand slid up, captured her breast, his thumb moving across the silk-covered nipple. And, for the second time that night—for the second time in her entire life—Alex did what she had never done before.

She let go.

She gave a little cry so wild and plaintive it made his blood quicken. And wrapped her arms around his neck as she rose on her toes and tilted her pelvis against his.

Travis groaned. His mouth slanted hungrily over hers, his tongue seeking and finding access to the silken sweetness of hers. He slipped his hands down her body, following the narrowness of her waist, the soft curve of her hips, and cupped her bottom, lifting her into the hardness of his arousal, moving against her as she cried out against his mouth.

“Alex,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she sighed, “oh, yes.”

He kissed her shoulder, bit the flesh, bent his head further and sucked the silk-covered center of her breast into his mouth. His hands swept up her thighs, under her skirt; she was wearing what he’d dreamed she was wearing, just those sexy stockings, a scrap of lace and nothing more. He said something she couldn’t understand, thrust his hand beneath the lace and cupped her.

She was hot. Wet. The aroused smell of her fueled him with desire. Her sobbing little breaths torched him with flame. And when she kissed his throat, sank her teeth into his flesh, he knew his need for this woman was greater than his need for breath.

He clasped her hand and brought it to him. She groaned and curved her fingers around him and he felt the blood begin to pool in his loins.

“Alex,” he said harshly.

“Please,” she whispered, “oh, please, please, please…”

He knew he could have her, now. Right here, right in this doorway. All he had to do was unzip his fly, rip away that bit of lace, bury himself deep inside her…

Someone laughed. Alex heard it, and froze. Travis did, too.

“Oh God,” she whispered.

He put his arms around her. She was trembling. “Easy,” he said softly.

The laughter came again, good-natured and distant. He realized it had nothing to do with them. It was coming from somewhere up the street, though it had gotten closer. And then the haze that clouded his brain cleared and he realized that he was standing in a doorway with a woman he’d met less than two hours ago, and there were cars passing by and pedestrians 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.

CHAPTER FOUR

TRAVIS paced the floor of his home on the beach at Malibu.

He was angry, restless—and frustrated.

What had made him think he owed Alexandra Thorpe an apology? Okay, he’d called her something pretty lousy but, dammit, it was a name she more than deserved. And what had made him behave like such a jerk? He’d acted like a monkey on a stick all night, jumping in whatever direction she’d wanted. Turn him on, turn him off…

“What does she think I am?” he muttered. “A light switch?”

He paced some more, opened the glass sliders that led from his bedroom to the deck and glowered at the Pacific Ocean.

The whole thing was ridiculous. The auction. The bidding. Her behavior, his behavior…

He swore and stomped back into the bedroom. He tugged off his boots, yanked off his tie, dumped his tux and everything that went with it on the floor and kicked the entire mess into the corner, in the process stubbing his toe on the corner of the bed.

“Bull-spit,” he roared, and danced around the room on one foot. He limped to the dresser, took out a pair of running shorts and a Texas Longhorns T-shirt and pulled them on. His toe still hurt but he didn’t much care. Pain was a part of running, anyway, he told himself grimly, and set out for a hard five miles on the packed sand.

He was panting when he got back, and sweat-drenched. But he felt better. Most definitely better.

“Goodbye, Ice Princess,” he said as he dumped his shorts and T-shirt on the tiled floor and stepped into the shower.

He loved this shower. Sybaritic, Slade had said, the first time he saw it, and yeah, it probably was. An overhead spray. Two side sprays. A marble bench. And room enough for two…

For two. For Alex, and for him. Travis closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to soap that beautiful body. To cup her naked breasts. To bend his head and taste them, to hear her breathy little sighs as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips, to pin her back against the glass wall while the water beat down like warm rain as he buried himself deep inside her slick heat…

He groaned, looked down at himself in dismay and turned the shower to icy-cold.

Dressed again, this time in jeans and a white T-shirt, his feet bare, Travis went into the kitchen and took a can of Coke from the refrigerator. It was late. Or early, depending on your point of view. The glass walls of his house looked out on a beach silent and deserted in the early morning.

Damn, he still felt restless. He needed a cigarette, but he’d given them up five years ago. He needed a cold beer or a glass of decent wine, but there was no beer in the fridge and he wasn’t in the mood to check the wine rack. He needed to talk to one of his brothers, but what would he say to them? That he was furious and frustrated, and pacing the floor like a teenage kid?

What he needed was a woman. One who wouldn’t turn him on and off like a faucet, who wouldn’t drive him crazy. Who’d be honest about wanting to share his bed. That would put Alex Thorpe out of his head, once and for all.

Travis reached for his address book and thumbed through the pages. He’d met a gorgeous brunette just last week and said he’d call her. She’d probably be surprised to hear from him at this hour but he’d invite her to breakfast on the beach. Champagne. Caviar and scrambled eggs…

Who was he kidding? Dammit, he thought, and tossed the book aside. He didn’t want a substitute for the Ice Princess. He wanted her.

Where was she now? He didn’t even have her address or her phone number. What was she doing? Was she sleeping, dreaming of him? Or was she going crazy, the way he was, remembering…

The doorbell rang. Travis had never been so glad to have his train of thought interrupted. He went to the door, opened it and found a kid in an olive-drab uniform on the porch.

“Morning, sir. I have a delivery for Mr. Travis Baron.”

“Great,” Travis said briskly, signed his name to a receipt and took five bucks out of his pocket. “Thanks.”

He shut the door, shot a puzzled glance at the package the kid had handed him and tore it open. A small vellum envelope, with his name elegantly scripted across the front, fell out.

Travis picked it up, frowned, examined it. He raised it to his nose and sniffed, but no perfume scent clung to the paper. What was inside? Something formal. An invitation? A thank-you? It might be either one, if Alex Thorpe…

Man, he was really losing it! No way the Thorpe babe would write him a note. The only envelope she’d send him would probably blow him to smithereens the second he opened it.

Smiling, he opened the vellum envelope and took out a note-card.

“Oh, hell,” Travis said, and groaned.

Your presence is requested at

The eighty-fifth birthday celebration

Of Mr. Jonas Baron

Saturday and Sunday, June 14 and 15

At the Baron Ranch

“Espada”

Brazos Springs, Texas

RSVP

The script was handwritten and elegant but the message was a bummer. The sender knew it, too. The note, scrawled beneath the RSVP, made that clear.

“Yes, Travis,” it read, “this means you!”

The words were followed by a bold capital C, and the drawing of a tiny heart.

He laughed. Caitlin. His little stepsister was some piece of work. Hard when she had to be, soft when she wanted to be. And, just now, she was going to be tough. This was no invitation, it was notice of a command performance. Just what he wanted, he thought wryly.

The old man, eighty-five? Wow. It was hard to believe. The last time he’d seen his father a year, two years ago, when Catie had conned them all into coming to the ranch for Thanksgiving or Christmas, some sort of holiday, Jonas had looked as tough and spare as ever. He certainly hadn’t looked old. But he was; eighty-five years on this earth said it all.

But the party would just have to go on without him. No way was he flying to Texas in the middle of June for the privilege of subjecting himself to a weekend’s worth of Jonas’s sharp tongue…

A weekend with Catie, and Slade and Gage. A couple of days of reminiscing about the past, of maybe taking a swim down in the creek. Los Lobos style. Travis grinned. Well, Los Lobos style, pre-Catie. In those days, the Baron brothers used to swim bare-assed, proving their manhood by surviving the zillions of bloodthirsty, buzzard-size mosquitoes that swarmed from the banks along the stream.

A weekend like that might just clear his head.

Travis reached for the phone before he could change his mind, hit a speed dial button. Slade answered on the first ring.

“Slade, my man. How you doin’?”

In Boston, Slade Baron plucked a duplicate vellum invitation from the top of his desk and grinned.

“I was doin’ fine, until a messenger turned up at my door this mornin’.”

Travis chuckled. “Our Catie, efficient as always. She even took the time difference into consideration. I’ll bet Gage is lookin’ at this bombshell right about now, same as us.”

“Yeah. Well, I’d have called you, anyway. That auction was last night, wasn’t it?”

Travis frowned. “So?”

“Whoa, Trav, my man, don’t be so testy. “

“I’m not being anything. I just want to discuss this invitation.”

“Discuss it all you like, Trav. I ain’t goin’.”

“I’ll just bet your high-priced architectural clients love that down-home talk,” Travis said, and grinned.

“They’re never lucky enough to hear it, and stop changing the subject. How’d the auction go?”

“It went. Somebody bought me.”

“Lucky lady. She have a name?”

“Alexandra. And that’s the end of the story.”

“How much did you go for? More than the dude from that other law firm? Was this Alexandra good-lookin’?”

“I went for enough, I beat the pants off the other guy, the lady was okay, if you like the type.”

“Oh, my.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, sounds to me as if my big brother struck out for a change.”

“Think again, pal,” Travis said, tossing off the lie with ease. It was better than having Slade pursue the subject, as he damned well knew he would. His kid brother could be worse than a hound on a trail, when he got started on something.

“Ah. So, she’s there with you, huh?”

“You could say that, yeah.”

Hell, it wasn’t a lie. The Princess was inside his head, wasn’t she? As real as a woman could be, without being in a man’s arms?

“Trav, you old dog, you.”

Travis sighed. “Slade, do you think you could get your mind on something else?”

“You really want to talk about this birthday party, huh? Well, there’s nothing to talk about. I’m not going. I already told you that.”

“Jonas is coming up on eighty-five. It’s a milestone.”

“I don’t care if it’s a century stone. Why would any of us subject himself to a weekend of misery?”

“It won’t be so awful.”

“Says you.”

“There’ll probably be a couple of hundred people there. The old boy won’t have the time to chew us up. Besides, I hate to disappoint Caitlin.”

“What’s with you, Trav? It almost sounds as if you’re lookin’ to get out of town.”

Travis shut his eyes. If life had taught him anything, it was that there wasn’t much one brother could hide from another.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a change of scene.”

“Woman trouble,” Slade said, and sighed.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“I might have known.”

“You? No way,” Travis said, with forced lightness. “Gage and I are the ones who know about women, except Gage doesn’t really count, considering that he’s the only one who’s still married.”

“You’re trying to change the subject, Trav.”

Travis gave a little laugh. “Right. I am. And before you ask, trust me, kid. You don’t want to hear the gory details. Look, about this party—”

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I’m not going. I really don’t have time to go back to Espada right now, okay?”

“That’s that, then. Heck, you’re too big for me to lock in the feed bin anymore.” The brothers chuckled, and then Travis cleared his throat. “Do me a favor, will you? Stay on the line while I phone Gage.”

“Two against one won’t do it anymore,” Slade said, and laughed. “Even if Gage says he’s going, with bells on, I’m not changing my mind.”

“Fair enough, but say ‘hello’ to him anyway,” Travis said, and punched in his other brother’s private number.

Gage picked up on the first ring. “Baby,” he said gruffly, “Natalie, I love you so—”

Travis laughed. “I love you, too, precious,” he said in a high falsetto, “but my husband’s starting to get suspicious.”

“Travis? Is that you?”

“And me,” Slade said lazily. “How are you, bro?”

“I don’t believe this! What are you guys doin’? Havin’ a reunion out there in California? Or are you both in Boston, livin’ it up in that mansion my little brother calls home?”

Travis chuckled. “This three-way brotherly phone call is comin’ to you courtesy of the marvels of modern-day science.”

“And it’s probably the only three-way ever done by telephone,” Slade said, with a wicked grin at the pretty young secretary who’d just brought him his coffee. “Thank you, darlin’.”