Brown-Eyed Girl (Travis Family #4)(27)

Feeling how solid he was, the strength of him all around me, I began to relax. One of my palms pressed against his chest, riding the steady rhythm of his breath.

“You look beautiful in that dress,” Joe said quietly. His hand moved gently through the soft waves of my hair. “And I like this.”

I kept my eyes closed, remembering the way he had gripped his hands in my hair that night, holding my head back while he’d kissed my throat —

I felt the movement of his arm as he gestured to someone.

“What are you doing?” I asked weakly.

“My brother Jack and his wife just got off the elevator.”

“Don’t call them over here,” I begged.

“You’ll get nothing but sympathy from Ella. She got stuck out on this floor when she was pregnant, and Jack ended up having to carry her off.”

An affable voice entered the conversation. “Hey, bro. What’s going on?”

“My friend has vertigo.”

I opened my eyes cautiously. It was obvious that the striking man standing next to Joe was from the same supernally blessed Travis gene pool. Dark hair, alpha charisma, a raffish quality in his grin. “Jack Travis,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

I began to turn to shake his hand, but Joe’s arms tightened.

“No, keep still,” he murmured. He told his brother, “She’s trying to get her bearings.”

“Fuckin’ glass floor,” Jack said ruefully. “I told Hollis to add a layer of smart glass, and then she could turn the whole thing opaque just by flipping a switch. People should listen to me.”

“I listen to you,” a woman said, approaching us with small, painstaking steps.

“Yeah,” Jack replied, “but only so you can argue.” He smiled down at her and slid an arm around her shoulders. She was slim and pretty, with chin-length blond hair, her eyes denim blue behind a delicate pair of cat’s-eye glasses. “What are you doing, tiptoeing out here?” Jack asked her in a gently scolding tone. “You’re going to get stuck again.”

“I can handle it now that I’m not pregnant,” she told him. “And I want to meet Joe’s friend.” She smiled at me. “I’m Ella Travis.”

“This is Avery,” Joe said. “Let’s put off the rest of the introductions for now. The floor’s making her dizzy.”

Ella gave me a sympathetic look. “The same thing happened to me the first time I walked out on it. A see-through floor is such a ridiculous idea – do you realize that anyone in the swimming pool could look right up our skirts?”

I couldn’t help glancing down in reflexive alarm, and the room lurched again.

“Whoa, there.” Joe steadied me immediately. “Avery, do not look down. Ella —”

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll shut up.”

Laughter rustled through Jack’s voice as he asked, “Anything I can do to help?”

“Yeah, see the rug they hung on that wall over there? Take it down, and we’ll lay it across the floor like a bridge. That’ll give Avery a fixed visual reference.”

“Won’t reach all the way,” Jack pointed out.

“It’ll be close enough.”

I glanced at the rug on the distant wall. The artist had applied dozens of strips of colored duct tape to the surface of an antique Persian carpet and melted them onto the textile.

“You can’t,” I said. “That’s an auction item.”

“It’s a rug,” Joe replied. “It’s supposed to go on the floor.”

“It was a rug before. Now it’s art.”

“I was thinking about buying it,” Ella volunteered. “The choice of materials represents a fusion of the past with the future.”

Jack grinned at his wife. “Ella, you’re the only one here who actually reads the catalog. You know I could duct-tape a rug and make it look just like that.”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be worth a dime if you did it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

Ella’s fingers walked playfully up the lapel of his tuxedo jacket. “Because, Jack Travis, you do not have the mind of an artist.”

His face lowered until their noses nearly touched, and he said in a sexy purr, “Good thing you married me for my body.”

Joe looked exasperated. “Cut it out, you two. Jack, go get the damn rug.”

“Wait,” I said desperately. “Let me try walking again. Please.”

Joe didn’t bother to hide his skepticism. “You think you can?”

I was feeling steadier now that my heart rate had returned to normal. “As long as I don’t look down, I think I’ll be okay.”

Joe gave me an assessing glance, while his legs bracketed mine and his hands gripped my waist. “Take off your shoes.”

I felt color flooding my face. Clinging to him, I slipped off my pumps.

“I’ll get those,” Jack said, retrieving the pumps and evening clutch.

“Close your eyes,” Joe told me. After I complied, he slid an arm around my back. “Trust me,” he murmured. “And keep breathing.”

I obeyed the pressure of his hands and let him guide me.

“Why are you meeting with Ryan?” Joe asked as he steered me forward.