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"And I'll bet you've never been to a flea market, either."
"What on earth are you talking about?" she demanded irritably.
"Whether you've buying a rug in the Casbah, Princess, or a painting of Elvis on velvet at the Swap Meet—"
"A painting on velvet?"
"Yeah. Don't you have one of those, in that castle you call home?"
Alex's eyes met Travis's. He was laughing. She told herself there was nothing funny happening here but a laugh burst from her throat, anyway.
"No. No, I can't say that I have."
"I can see where your education in the arts has been sadly neglected. The thing is, the first rule of selling is that you have to convince the buyer that he absolutely, positively must have the thing you want to sell him."
Alex smiled. "Ah. Then, I have something you want?"
Travis's smile tilted. "Yeah," he said softly, "you definitely do."
"I meant Peregrine," she said quickly.
"Of course." His tone was bland. "So did I. Well, then. Dinner, Ms. Thorpe?"
She hesitated. Her heart was dancing; she felt as if all the air were being drawn out of the room. But she'd come here to make a deal, and what kind of businesswoman would shy away from something so simple as dinner?
"Certainly," she said, and tried not to think too hard about the tingle that shot through her as Travis took her elbow and led her from the farmhouse.
He drove the Porsche too fast.
She'd driven almost this fast only once, a long time ago. It was when she'd owned a little convertible, a present for her eighteenth birthday from her father. His secretary had phoned, asking what she wanted as a gift, and Alex had taken a deep breath and said she'd love a red Miata. The secretary—a new one, which probably explained how it had happened, said fine. And, on the day she turned eighteen, the car was in the driveway with a Happy Birthday card from her from her father.
Within the first month of driving it, she'd gotten a speeding ticket. As soon as her father found out, the red convertible disappeared and the first in a long line of big, safe Mercedes had taken its place.
Even that one time she'd pushed the convertible to its limits, she'd never driven as fast as Travis was driving now.
She had no idea what road they were on. It was narrow and curving, completely unlike the straight, boring highway she'd taken from the airport in San Francisco. Travis took the turns easily, tucking the Porsche into the curves so that it held the road as if it was nailed to it. And on the occasional straight stretches, she saw the speedometer needle skyrocket.
He glanced over, once, and caught her peering at the dash.
"Is this too fast for you?" he said, and she shook her head and said no, it was fine, when what she wanted to say was that it was wonderful, and was it at all possible he'd pull over and switch places with her?
She sat back and folded her hands in her lap.
What was the matter with her, that she got such crazy ideas when she was around this man? Going to dinner with him, when every instinct screamed it was a mistake. Yearning to get behind the wheel of his car and stand on the gas pedal until the car flew for her as it was flying for him. Doing what she'd done two weeks ago, letting him make love to her, making love to him when she didn't know him at all, didn't even like him.
Well, maybe she did like him, just a little. He was arrogant, yes. And too darned sure of himself. But he was all-fire gorgeous. And sexy. He had a nice sense of humor. And she already knew what a fantastic lover he was.
Not that she'd ever go to bed with him again. Her one and only one-night stand was history. Besides, she had about as much in common with Travis Baron as a sparrow had with a cat.
Alex's pulse quickened.
It was just that cats, especially the big ones, were so beautiful, so lithe, so powerful and so incredibly exciting.
She sat back. Stop that, she told herself, but she knew she was blushing.
What could Alex be thinking, to put that sudden crimson stain on her beautiful cheekbones?
Travis sneaked a quick look at her again, then looked back at the road.
The more he saw of her, the deeper an enigma she became. Her on-and-off sexuality had almost driven him crazy, but there was more than that about her that he just couldn't figure out. From what he'd been able to gather, neither could her lawyers.
He'd been trying to figure a way to wangle a meeting with Alex, but things had fallen into place with surprising ease.
"Ms. Thorpe wishes to meet with you, Mr. Baron," one of her attorneys had said.
"Does she know who I am?" Travis had asked, with quickened interest.
"Oh, no. She never even thought to ask your name. It's probably her divorce that makes her think she wants to take some small role in her business affairs."
