That Wild Stallion by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0000000000000
Published: 2023-02-18T12:35:40+00:00

Chapter Seven

Travis lived in another cloud-scraping edifice, huge and overpowering in white stone and glass, with clay pots stacked by the front door that would have held coffee for the bunkhouse boys for a year. The pots contained flagred geraniums thriving profusely, the blossoms’ color intensified by the bright Midwest sun. In the distance, Lake Michigan sparkled like a sapphire.

The plush elevator took Liz’s stomach for an ascending ride that continued after she stepped out at the fourteenth floor. Travis, darn him, seemed not to be bothered by having his abdominal cavity fly up his throat. His careless dexterity as he unlocked his condo underscored his easy acceptance of an environment that felt as hostile to Liz as if she’d been plunked down in a swarm of angry bees. At least that was what she told herself. She’d concentrate on bees, or any other bizarre country image that would keep her from feeling the electrifying intimacy of following Travis to the place he slept.

So this was the kind of opulence Travis lived in, the cool, in-your-face kind of luxury, with a pale cream rug sweeping away to every corner of a sunken living room, a wall painting of a desert bloom that covered one wall with exploding eroticism, a leather couch the color of French vanilla ice cream, broken into six pieces and reassembled in an arching curve in front of a fireplace that surely must have been described in the brochures as a “symphony of glass and brass.”

He was watching her look around, those dark eyes catching every nuance that crossed her face.

A mirror the size of the south pasture reflected back her image. It wasn’t encouraging. After two encounters with Chicago’s wind and humidity, her hair was getting curlier by the microsecond, and her blouse had been rumpled. She was as out of place in this elegant room as a common Holstein in a barn full of DNA-identified champions.

“Well, tie me up and throw me in the hog pen. This sure shoots your cowboy image right in the foot.”

Her attempt to be flippant didn’t fool him. He flashed her that charming, indulgent smile that he reserved for children, elderly ladies and demented young women who were nervous about coming into his condo. “I never had a cowboy image. Too much for you, is it? Actually, I didn’t have anything to do with the decor, except for the couch. The place belonged to the company when I took over. It seemed easiest to move in without doing anything.”

Sweeping an expansive hand toward the fireplace, she asked brightly, “Where’s the bear rug?”

“On the bear.”

She didn’t like the way he was holding his mouth, as if he were barely able to contain that smile.

It struck her then that this place was not much different from his room on the ranch. It had nothing to do with him—or he with it. “You may not have picked out the decor, but you like this impersonal henhouse. It keeps you from entertaining thoughts of hatching out chicks.

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