The Merciless Travis Wilde

Chapter FOUR



THE ’VETTE WOULD have been faster but Travis was driving his pickup tonight and the GMC Denali, modified to his specifications, was as fast as anything on the road that was street-legal.

Besides, his condo was only half an hour away.

Still, that half an hour seemed like an eternity.

Travis was having a tough time keeping his hands off the woman seated beside him.

Why wouldn’t he?

He was in the prime of life, a sexually active, heterosexual male, and their meeting had been just unusual enough to have an edge of excitement.

Still, there was something almost primal in his hunger for her—for Genevieve—and he knew it.

He’d come close to taking her against the truck, right there in the parking lot.

There was something to be said for spur-of-the-moment sex in unexpected places but sex outside a bar filled with a bunch of what might charitably be called yahoos wasn’t high on the list.

Besides, he wanted more than quick relief.

He wanted...

Who knew what he wanted tonight?

Had he gone into that bar looking for trouble?

As a boy, football had been an outlet for the anger he’d sometimes felt at his father for spending more time with the young men who served under him than with his own sons, even after their mother’s death.

In Afghanistan, once he’d figured out that he was fighting in a war governed by politics and not morality, he’d taken to long, punishing runs across the hot desert sand.

So, tonight, was he angry at his brothers for abandoning him? For the changes in his life...

Hell.

What kind of thoughts were those to have when a beautiful woman was with him, a woman whose feel and taste promised paradise?

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe what he needed was quick relief, that moment when you sank into a woman’s softness and heat...

Dammit.

He kept thinking like this, things would be over before they got started.

Ahead, a traffic light went from green to amber. He stepped down even harder on the gas and shot through the intersection before the light changed again.

Only another couple of blocks to go.

Genevieve was quiet. In fact, she hadn’t said a word since they’d gotten into the Denali.

He glanced at her. She was sitting up very straight in the leather bucket seat, eyes straight ahead, hands folded in her lap.

Hands that were trembling.

Was she having second thoughts?

“Hey,” he said softly.

She looked at him, then away. He reached over, put his hand over hers. Her skin was icy.

Was she frightened? It didn’t seem possible, not after the way she’d responded to him in the parking lot, but he’d lived long enough to know that anything was possible.

He wrapped his hand around hers, held on until her fingers unknotted and he could bring her hand to rest under his on the gearshift.

“We’re almost there.”

She nodded. And caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

His body tightened at the sight.

“I live in Turtle Creek. Near Lee Park.”

She didn’t answer. Why would she? What was he, a Realtor taking a client to see a property? If only she’d say something...

And how come he was taking her to his bed?

He wasn’t big on taking his lovers home with him. Not that this woman was going to be his lover but...

Why was he making this so complicated?

Travis cleared his throat.

“Did you—would you like to stop first? For a drink? For something to eat?”

She stared at him. Why wouldn’t she? He knew, she knew, what was going to happen next and in the middle of all that, he was going to, what, stop at a diner?

Maybe.

He flashed a quick smile.

“It just hit me, we blew past the ‘hello, how are you’ formalities. So, if you’d like to stop at a restaurant—”

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. His body tightened in response.

“No.”

Her voice was low, but her answer was clear.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

It was a good thing his place was directly ahead.

He slowed the truck. Hit the button that opened the garage doors. Drove inside. Hit the button that closed the doors...

And thought, to hell with waiting, undid his seat belt, reached over and undid hers and drew her into his arms.

“Genevieve,” he said, and he lifted her face to his. Her lips parted, and he kissed her.

It was like the parking lot all over again.

The kiss, the feel of her mouth under his, made his blood pound.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling a hunger this deep.

At first, he thought it wasn’t the same for her. She didn’t move, didn’t respond—until suddenly she made a soft little sound in the back of her throat and opened her mouth to his.

Now, he thought.

Right now. Right here. Get this out of the way so he could take her to bed without wondering if he could make it that far, but even in his fevered state, he knew the logistics—the cramped space—made it impossible.

Still, he had to touch her. Intimately.

Her skirt barely covered her thighs and he slid his hand under it, over the warmth of her skin.

She gasped.

“Wait,” she whispered, but he couldn’t wait, he had to at least do this, God, yes, do this, put his hand between her thighs, lay his palm over her silk thong...

She gave a sweet, breathless cry.

“Travis.”

It was the first time she’d spoken his name.

The way she said it, the sudden hot dampness that soaked the thong, almost undid him.

He kissed her again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She moaned, dug her hands into his hair and he shoved the thong aside, stroked her, stroked her...

She made high, incoherent little cries.

He could feel his muscles tensing.

If he didn’t stop now, it would be too late.

One last quick kiss. Then he stepped from the truck, went to the passenger side and gathered her into his arms, capturing her mouth with his as he carried her to the private elevator that led to his penthouse.

He set her on her feet, swiped his keycard. The doors opened, then whisked shut, and he clasped her face between his hands.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said gruffly, though he didn’t know what had made him say it. She hadn’t been shy about admitting she wanted to go to bed with him.

Still, there was something about her, a hesitancy...

“I’m not afraid,” Jennie whispered.

But it was a lie.

Almost as bad a lie as not telling him why she wanted to be with him.

All right.

It wasn’t a lie.

What he made her feel had nothing to do with what she’d planned to do tonight.

Well, it did, but not as—as quite a research project.

That was how she’d thought of it from the beginning. That was how she’d intended it, how she’d planned it.

How would he react if he knew that?

More to the point, how would he react if he knew all the rest? If he knew she had never been with a man before...

And almost certainly would never be with one again?

And yet—and yet, all of that had somehow slipped away.

What mattered was how he kissed her, touched her. The way he was kissing her now. The way his erection pressed into her belly.

He felt huge.

Would she be able to—to accommodate him?

She had read scholarly articles, she had seen films. Academic films—sociology majors and psychology majors, grad psych students, often sat through hours of that stuff.

Most people had no idea how graphic those films could be.

But nothing had prepared her for this.

The feel of his aroused sex against her. The promise of all that masculine power. The insistent demand of it.

His mouth was on her breasts now. He nipped lightly at her nipples through the silk of her dress and they hardened into pebbles.

Her breasts ached.

There was an ache low, low in her belly, too.

And she was wet. Wet and hot.

She whimpered as he pushed down the bodice of the dress; his lips closed around one nipple but the silk of her bra was between her flesh and his mouth. The feel of his lips and teeth on her wasn’t enough.

It was too much.

How could it be both?

He clasped her shoulders. Turned her, gently so that her back was to him. Her hair had come undone and he nuzzled it aside, kissed the nape of her neck, nipped the flesh, soothed the small, sweet torment with a stroke of his tongue.

She heard the hiss of her zipper.

“Wait,” she gasped, “someone might—”

“It’s a private elevator,” he said in that rough, sexy, gravel-and-velvet whisper. We’re all alone.”

Jennie trembled.

All alone, she thought, as her dress slid down her hips and pooled at her feet.

All alone, she thought, as he kissed his way down her spine.

All alone, she thought, as he slowly turned her to him in her black lace bra. Black silk thong. Black, thigh-high stockings. Red stiletto heels.

His gaze moved over her. Slowly, so slowly it made her skin tingle. She felt that tingle in her breasts, her pelvis, her legs.

His eyes lifted. Met hers.

What she saw in those dark depths made her knees go weak.

Her hands came up. One fluttered to her breasts. The other went to the apex of her thighs. Slowly he reached out, caught her wrists, brought her hands to his mouth and kissed the palms.

“Don’t hide from me, Genevieve,” he said thickly. “Let me see you. You’re beautiful. So incredibly beautiful...”

He released one of her wrists. Ran his hand lightly over her, from her lips to throat to her breasts, from her breasts to her belly, her belly to the vee of her thighs, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Travis,” she said in an unsteady whisper.

“Yes,” he said, “that’s right. It’s me, touching you. Me, wanting you.” His eyes were almost black with hunger as he reached around her, undid her bra, let it drop to the floor. “Beautiful,” he whispered, and then his mouth was on her flesh, her breasts, her nipples.

She was coming apart, coming apart, as she sobbed his name again.

“Genevieve. Spread your legs for me.”

The words, the way he said them, sent an arrow of longing through her.

“Baby. Spread your legs.”

Was it a request? Or was it a command? Either way, it was impossible.

She couldn’t. No. She couldn’t...

He kissed her again.

Heart pounding, she did what he’d asked.

He said something, low and hot with urgency. She couldn’t understand the words but the look on his face told her everything she needed to know.

Still, she wasn’t prepared for what happened next, the way he cupped her, the way it felt to know that the heat burning between her legs was now burning his palm.

A high, pealing sob of almost unbearable pleasure broke from her throat. She swayed. He scooped her into his arms just as the elevator stopped and the doors opened, and she buried her face in the hard curve where his throat and shoulder joined, inhaling the scents of sex, soap and man.

She’d never understood that thing about women liking the smell of male sweat. She knew some of them did, it was a well-researched fact, but it had never made sense until now as she drew the masculine scent of him inside her with every breath.

He carried her through an enormous living room. Light filtered through tall windows, illuminated low furniture, high ceilings, burnished wood floors.

Ahead, a glass and steel staircase angled toward the next level.

He climbed it with her still in his arms, his gait steady, his heart beating against hers. He paused on the landing, kissed her and whispered her name.

Moments later, they were in another enormous room.

His bedroom, with the bed—big, wide, covered with black and white pillows—centered under a star-filled skylight.

He carried her to the bed, stopped beside it and put her down slowly, very slowly, her body sliding against his.

He kissed her.

Sweet, light whispers of his lips on hers that gradually grew deep and hungry until her head was tilted back, her face was raised to his, his hands were deep in the tumble of her hair as he held her.

They were both gasping for air, their breath mingling.

But she was almost naked and he wasn’t. It made her feel...

She pulled back.

“What, baby?” he said.

“You haven’t—you haven’t taken off—”

“No. Not yet.” His slow smile raised the temperature a thousand degrees. “I like having you undressed while I’m still wearing my clothes.”

The truth was, she liked it, too.

There was something exciting about it.

He kissed her eyes, her mouth. When he swept his fingers over her nipples, she shimmered with heat. When his mouth followed the path his fingers had taken, she moaned.

Why hadn’t someone told her this was how it felt, to have a man suck on your breasts? To know that he wanted you and to want him in return with such hot need that it made you breathless?

She heard herself whimper when he drew back.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, and it was all right because now he was peeling away the narrow strip of silk that secured her thong, working it slowly, slowly down her hips. Her legs.

“Hold on to me,” he said gruffly.

She put her hands on his shoulders. He drew the thong to her ankles.

“Lift your foot,” he said.

She did.

She would do anything he asked, anything, anything...

Jennie cried out.

But not this!

His mouth, at the delicate curls that guarded her womanhood. His fingers, gently opening her to him. His tongue, licking, teasing...

She wanted to push him away.

Instead, she tangled her fingers in his hair. Her head fell back. She moaned. Something was happening to her. She was trembling. She was coming apart.

The orgasm took her by surprise.

She screamed. Screamed again. Started to fall, but he caught her and took her down to the bed with him.

“Now,” she heard herself plead, “please, Travis, please, please, please...”

He tore off his clothes, fumbled open the drawer in the low table beside the bed and took out a foil packet.

She had one quick glimpse of him naked as he tore the packet open.

He was beautiful, all that tanned skin stretched over layers of hard muscle.

And his sex.

She’d been right. He was big. So big.

She felt a moment of trepidation as he rolled the condom on.

“Genevieve.”

She blinked, lifted her eyes to his.

He kissed her. Clasped her hands. Brought them high above her head.

And entered her.

At first, she watched his face.

The darkness of his eyes. The tightening of the skin over his cheekbones. The way his lips drew back from his teeth.

Her vision blurred.

She stopped watching.

Started feeling.

And, dear Lord, nothing had ever felt like this.

He was filling her. Moving deeper and deeper into her. She was drowning, drowning in ecstasy, everything in her centered on the feel of him filling her.

Her fingers wove through his.

There was so much of him. Even when she thought she had taken all of him, she hadn’t. There was more of him.

More. More.

She gave an inadvertent gasp at a sudden flicker of pain.

He went completely still.

Her eyes flew open. Sweat glistened on his muscled shoulders, his chest, his arms.

“Genevieve?”

She saw the disbelief in his eyes. He was going to stop, she was sure of it, and she couldn’t let that happen.

“Genevieve,” he groaned, “goddammit, why didn’t you—”

She lifted herself to him and impaled herself on his erection.

For a heartbeat, the world stood still.

Then Travis plunged deep, deeper still.

Jennie cried out as a wave of sensation swept her up, lifted her higher than the night, than the stars.

He collapsed against her. She started to put her arms around him but the second she touched him, he jerked away and sat up.

Her throat tightened. Automatically she clutched the duvet to her chin and sat up, too.

“Travis?” She cleared her throat. “Listen, I—I know you didn’t expect—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I tell you?” she said in genuine confusion. “It’s not exactly a conversation starter.”

“I’d have done things differently.” He hesitated. “Dammit, I might not have done anything at all. No man wants to be responsible for—for—”

“Is that what’s worrying you? It shouldn’t. I wanted this to happen. To, you know, lose my, uh, my—”

Ridiculous, that after all of this, she couldn’t say the word.

But he could.

“Your virginity.” He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Wait a minute. Are you saying you planned this?”

Warning bells rang. Something in the way he’d said that...

Travis grabbed her by the shoulders.

“You did, didn’t you?”

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth.

His eyes narrowed.

“So, what was I? The lottery winner?”

“You were—you were a good choice. A very good choice,” she said quickly, but she saw his mouth thin.

“A very good choice,” he said in a soft, ominous voice. “Why? Did I meet some kind of criteria? Some—some list of protocols in a textbook?”

“No,” she said, and added the first stupid thing that came to mind. “I mean, the protocols I drew up were strictly my own...”

He rolled away, got to his feet.

“Get dressed,” he said, his tone not just flat but cold as he grabbed his discarded jeans from the floor and yanked them on.

“Would you just listen to—”

She was talking to an empty room.

Jennie began to shake.

Maybe she hadn’t handled this very well but she’d never imagined the man who completed her research would react this way. Weren’t men happy to deflower virgins? All the data said they were.

And what did that matter now?

What counted was getting out of here.

She dressed quickly but then, how long could it take to put on a thong and a pair of shoes? Travis Wilde had never gotten around to taking off her stockings.

The very thought sent a rush of humiliation through her bones.

Everything else—her bra, her dress, her purse—was still in the elevator.

She wanted to weep but no way was she going to let that happen.

His shirt was still on the floor.

She snatched it up, dragged it over her head. It fell to the bottom of her buttocks. That left her with the tops of her stockings showing but it would have to do.

She went down the stairs as rapidly as the miserable stiletto heels would permit. The lights were on. She hated their bright luminescence but at least she could see where she was going.

The man who’d taken her virginity was standing at the far end of the big living room, in front of the open doors of his private elevator. His dark hair was mussed; an overhead spot highlighted the planes and angles of his hard body. He was wearing only his jeans; he’d zipped the fly but he hadn’t closed the top button.

He was a gorgeous sight—

As if that mattered.

Her chin came up.

She stalked toward him, hoping she wouldn’t ruin her exit by stumbling in the damned shoes.

“Your clothes,” he said.

Her face heated. Her dress, her purse, her bra were in the hand he extended toward her. She snatched everything from him, pulled the dress on over the shirt because no way was she going to take it off and let him see her breasts again, and stuffed the bra into her purse, though it barely fit.

She started past him again. His arm shot out and barred her way.

“Excuse me,” she said coldly.

“I phoned down. The concierge will have a taxi waiting.”

“I can call a taxi by myself.”

“Don’t be a fool. And take this. It should cover the fare.”

She looked at the bills in his hand, then at him.

“I do not want your money, Mr. Wilde.”

“Take it.”

Jennie shoved his hand aside. “Are you deaf? I said—”

“Did you think this little escapade would be fun? Picking up a stranger. Turning him on. Getting him to take what it’s obvious you haven’t been able to get rid of in the usual way?”

“I am not going to have this conversation. Just step aside, please.”

Travis grabbed her wrist.

“You damned well are going to have this conversation! What in hell were you thinking?”

“You want to discuss this?” Jennie said, glaring at him. “Fine. Let’s set the record straight. I did not pick you up. You picked me up.”

“Like hell I did ! All I wanted—”

“All you wanted was to use me to save your precious self from getting beaten to a pulp! And I was kind enough to oblige.”

“You did a lot more than that, lady.”

“You’re right. I make the sad mistake of letting you—of letting you seduce me!”

He laughed. Laughed! Jennie balled her hands into fists.

“I seduced you? You were all over me, baby. What happened tonight was an act of charity on my part. I mean, even without knowing you were a virgin, I knew you were in desperate need of a good—”

Jennie slapped his face.

“You’re an unmitigated bastard,” she said, her voice trembling.

“And you’re a little fool,” Travis snarled. “You’re just lucky you didn’t end up in bed with a—a serial killer!”

“Bad enough I ended up in bed with a—a man who—who doesn’t know the first thing about—about sex and how to please a wo—”

Travis hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

She fought. She struggled. He caught her wrists in one hand, dragged her arms behind her and went on kissing her and kissing her until she moaned and her lips clung to his...

That was when he let go of her.

She stared at him, at the arrogant little smile curving his mouth, the I-told-you-so look in his eyes.

She wanted to say something pithy and clever, but her head felt as empty as her heart. The best she could manage was to spin away and stumble into the elevator.

The doors shut.

As soon as they did, she yanked down the straps of her dress, peeled off his T-shirt and dumped it on the floor. Seconds later, she emerged in a marble lobby the size of an airplane hangar. She marched through it, ignored the concierge calling after her, the taxi waiting at the curb. She wanted nothing, absolutely nothing, from Travis Wilde.

It was hotter than blazes, even at this late hour. She walked for endless blocks, sweated through the dress, took off her shoes and carried them because surely women’s feet were not meant for four-inch heels.

She knew she must look awful. Cabs slowed when she hailed them, then sped away.

At last, one pulled to the curb.

The driver stared as she climbed in, but she didn’t give a damn.

She was heading home, and Travis Wilde was exactly what he’d been intended to be.

An experience.

And if these last months had taught her anything, she thought grimly, as the cab rushed into the night, it was that not all experiences were good ones.

* * *

Alone in his condo, Travis paced like a caged tiger.

What kind of woman saw sex as research? What kind of woman thought she could use a man to rid herself of something she no longer wanted, and get away with it?

All those moans when she lay in his arms. The little cries of passion. Part of a plan...

Or real?

Real, judging by the way she’d responded to that last, furious kiss.

Yeah, but so what?

If he hadn’t walked over to her in that bar, if someone else had, she’d have ended up in another guy’s bed.

His jaw tightened.

And?

What did it matter? Why would he give a crap who Blondie slept with? Who took her virginity?

Who could make her tremble in his arms?

“You’re an idiot, Wilde,” he snarled.

A furious idiot, and the anger tucked away deep inside him, anger at a world that always seemed determined to prove he was unable to control it despite everything he tried, blazed hot and high.

He wanted to go back to that bar.

He knew the yahoos would be happy to see him, that he and they would step out into the night and trade blows until the darkness receded.

But he was Travis Wilde.

He was a man, not a yahoo. He was in control of his life, of himself, of his emotions.

And there was that trip coming up Monday. Not just for himself but for his clients, who had put their trust, and their millions, in his care.

He owed them better, although God only knew what he owed himself.

So he went, instead, to the workout room on the lower level of his penthouse. He ran miles on his treadmill, worked out on the Nautilus, lifted free weights until the sweat poured from his body.

Two hours later, exhausted, he showered, fell into bed and then into a dreamless sleep.