But Regan was barely aware of him. All she heard was the pounding of her heart and the slow, heavy steps moving deliberately toward her door. Trembling, the blood gone from her head and hands, she clutched at the edge of her desk and leaned toward Farrell’s strength.
The door to her office was pushed open with brutal force, slamming back against the wall.
“Why did you leave me?” Travis demanded in a low whisper, his eyes drilling into hers.
As he came closer she could not speak, could only look at him wildly.
“I asked you a question,” Travis said.
Farrell stepped between them. “Now see here. I don’t know who you are, but you have no right to anything from Regan.”
He didn’t finish what he had to say because Travis idly grabbed the smaller man’s shoulders and tossed him to the far side of the room.
Regan barely noticed, only aware of Travis coming ever closer to her.
When he was inches from her, he gently touched her temple with his fingertips, and Regan felt her knees go weak. Before she could collapse, he caught her, lifted her in his arms, and buried his face in her neck. Without a word exchanged, he carried her toward the door, turned right, and went toward her apartment at the end of the hall. After two days of talking to the man Farrell had hired, Travis knew the entire floor plan of the Silver Dolphin Inn.
Her mind too full to think at all, she never considered what she was doing or committing herself to. All she knew was that Travis held her, and, more than life itself, she wanted him to make love to her.
Gently, as if she might break, he laid her on the bed and then sat beside her, his hands holding her face, fingertips caressing her cheeks and temples. “I had almost forgotten how beautiful you are,” he whispered, “how delicately lovely you are.”
Her hands went up his arms. How magnificent it felt to feel his strength once again, to feel the nearness of him! Her trembling began again as desire flooded her, coursing through her blood hotly.
“Travis,” she managed to whisper before his mouth covered hers.
Desperate, frantic, turbulent, they began to tear at each other. There was no desire for sweetness, only a violent need that had to be fulfilled. Clothes tore away, buttons flew across the room, a handful of laces burst, and delicate stockings shredded. As they came together like a clap of thunder following a burst of brilliant lightning, they clawed and clung, drove each other deeper and deeper, trying to satisfy their overpowering, uncontrollable need of each other.
Violently, in a blinding flash, they arched together as spasms twisted their bodies. Clinging in a breathless crush for full minutes before their muscles relaxed, they finally surfaced and looked at each other, their eyes seeming to try to devour each other.
It was Regan who broke the spell—by laughing—for Travis, his chest and one arm bare, wore one shirt sleeve alone.
Glancing down at what she was laughing at, he grinned delightedly.
“The pot shouldn’t call the kettle black,” he said as he nodded pointedly toward the remnants of her attire.
A petticoat was bunched about her waist, while a torn one lay under them. Her stays, half on, half torn off, were crumbled under one arm, while her dress was about twelve feet across the room, dangling by a button from the corner of a picture frame. Rising on her elbows, she glanced down at her feet and saw that one stocking and its pretty lacy garter was intact while the other, with holes in it, was tangled in her toes.
Travis wore the one sleeve of his shirt and his boots and nothing in between.
With one look at Travis—his eyes dancing, his delicious body so near—she started laughing, her arms going out to him, pulling him to her as they began to roll about the bed, laughing gleefully, while Travis quite expertly tore away the remnants of her clothes. Never seeming to leave her, he took his boots off, and a loud crash of breaking china as one of the boots landed somewhere in the room caused new hilarity.
Sharp, teasing, nipping little bites on her shoulders and arms made her stop laughing and turn serious as she gave herself over to his lovemaking. Their first passion was gone, and they could spend more time reexploring, rediscovering each other. As Travis’s mouth traveled down her body, she closed her eyes, gave herself over to her senses. Running her hand down his arm, she caught his hand, raised it to her lips, and began to taste those broad fingertips that gave her so much pleasure. Scraping them against her teeth, gently chewing on the soft pads, running her tongue across his knuckles, she was so aware that this was the hand of a man—scarred, hard, callused, broad, yet delicate and sensitive. She bit hard in the palm, wanting to devour him.
Travis pulled his hand away to run it over her legs, to massage, to kiss and caress, until she kicked her legs in impatience, wanting him again. When he brought his head up again, she pulled his mouth down to hers and threatened to swallow him whole.
Travis gave a low, seductive laugh and pulled her to him, both of them on their sides, facing, as he manipulated her legs around him and groaned when he entered her softness. Holding him tightly, staying with him as he moved her body, he prolonged her ecstasy for minutes, days, weeks, years, a century, as her head lolled backward, rolling, unaware of who or where she was.
When she thought she would go insane, he abruptly pushed her to her back and thrust into her long and hard until their bodies at last found release.
Without a word, exhausted, sweaty, sated, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Regan was the first to awaken, surprised to see the sun setting outside her window. Stretching, moving away to look at Travis sprawled across the bed, she
wondered if she’d ever have any sense when it came to him. For the first time in years she’d completely forgotten her responsibilities to her daughter, her friend, and her business. Quietly, so as not to disturb him, she left the bed and dressed, grabbing what was left of her mutilated garments from the furniture. Before she left the room she planted a kiss on Travis’s hair and covered the lower half of him with a light quilt.
Silently, she left the room and headed toward the kitchen. Brandy must be wondering what had happened to her.
Travis awoke slowly, feeling as if he’d slept well for the first time in years. With a smile on his lips, he turned his head to look at his wife, but, instead of Regan, he encountered a pair of solemn brown eyes watching him intently.