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"It's not too late to change your mind, Princess," he said.
Alex shook her head. "Oh, no!" She looked at him, and he marveled at the rosy flush of pleasure in her cheeks. "I want to try everything, Travis, all the things people said were inappropriate." She laughed. "Even the things I said were inappropriate."
He grinned. "Like what?"
"Oh, I don't know. Everything. Eating a hot dog bought from a pushcart."
"Ah. Definitely a gourmet experience, not to be missed."
"Go on, laugh. But it's something I always wanted to do."
"I am not laughing, Princess." Travis grinned. "Why would a guy laugh, when he finds out his woman would rather have him spring for a two-buck hot dog than a two-hundred-dollar meal at the latest bistro?"
"Is that what I am?" Alex said, her color deepening. "Your—your woman?"
"Yes." His smile tilted. "I know what you said—what we both said—about not getting tied down, about not wanting commitment, but while you're with me—"
"For as long as it lasts, you mean."
"That's right. For as long as it lasts, you're mine."
The angle of his jaw dared her to argue. What would he do if she did? If she said, I'll sleep with as many men as I want...
Except, it would be a lie. How could she want any man, after Travis? How could she ever want...
"Alex? If you don't like the ground rules, tell me. Because I don't share." His voice roughened as their eyes met. "You see only me. You sleep only with me."
"Are the rules the same for you?"
His mouth twisted. "Yes."
She nodded. "All right."
"Okay, then. That's settled." A minute went by, and then Travis cleared his throat. "So, what else is on this Wish List of yours, Princess?"
She smiled. "Oh, lots of other dumb things."
"For instance?"
"Well ... driving a car like your Porsche."
"Aha. The lady has a hankerin' to put the pedal to the
metal, hmm?"
"I had a little convertible once," she said dreamily. "A red one..."
"And?"
Alex gave herself a brisk shake. "This is silly. I'm a grown woman, Travis. These are childhood wishes—"
He reached across the seat and took her hand. "My very first car was a red convertible."
She looked at him. "Really?"
"Uh-huh. It was a Mustang, so old it was damn near an antique." He flashed her a quick smile. "Took me a whole year of savin' up to buy it, too. What I got paid for workin' the barns. Rodeo money—"
"Rodeo...?" Alex laughed. "I was right! You are a cowboy."
"I rode bulls." He squeezed her hand, took his away and laid it back on the Comanche's yoke. "I had some crazy dream of becoming champion."
"Whoops," she said, "there's got to be a lawyer joke here somewhere. Like, it takes a lawyer to turn a bull into a steer..."
"Very funny," Travis said wryly. "What happened was, my second time out, I got two ribs busted and my nose broke. So I decided maybe there was a better way of making a dollar than getting my neck broke."
Alex clasped her hands in her lap. "Ah."
"Ah, what?"
"That explains the nose. I wondered how that had happened."
"Uh-huh." Travis touched his finger to the bump. "I was gonna have it fixed but Catie said—"
"Catie?"
"My stepsister. She said it would drive the girls wild." He chuckled. "So I let it alone."
Alex smiled. "Well, I'm glad you listened to Catie. She was right."
"Was she, now?"
"Stop fishing for compliments, Mr. Baron."
Travis laughed, reached for Alex's hand and brought it to his lips. "Okay, darlin'. Now you know I was once crazy enough to think I could be a bull rider. And that I had me a red Mustang."
"I love it when you lapse back into that drawl of yours."
"Me? Drawl? Why, darlin', whatever do y'all mean by that?" He smiled. "You going to tell me what else is on that list of yours, or do I have to guess?"
Alex sighed. "Honestly, it's all so silly... Okay. I always wanted to drive a fast car. And ride a roller coaster. Oh, and walk in the rain."
"You've never walked in the rain?"
"Not barefoot. Not without an umbrella. Not with my face turned up to the drops." She gave a little laugh. "I must sound like an idiot."
"You sound like a woman who's fallen into exactly the right hands, Ms. Thorpe," Travis said solemnly. "Here, right beside you, is a man who hates shoes—"
"That's because he prefers boots."
