He took her hand, leading her to the end of the bar, then down a short hallway to a heavy door.
The sharp contrast between the lounge and the dining room amazed her. Dark mahogany woodwork and ceiling cornices framed deep burgundy walls, and soft light spilled from bronze sconces, darkened with the patina of time. White cloths draped the tables, and fresh flower arrangements graced each one. Soft music played in the background.
His tone was tentative. "Like it?"
"It's wonderful! Who would know, looking at the outside?"
"That's the way they want it. You can't get near this place at dinnertime."
She felt a small twinge of jealousy at the idea of Kurt enjoying the cozy restaurant with someone else.
"Do you come here often?"
He chuckled and squeezed her hand. "Lizzie-Liz! Why are you so interested in my past?"
Embarrassed and annoyed, she snatched her hand away. "Don't call me Lizzie!"
Instantly, she realized that she teetered on the verge of spoiling what might be a nice evening. Reaching for his hand, she gave him a contrite look.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. My father used to call me that."
"No problem. So, tell me what Legacy Arabians is up to these days, besides winning everything in sight."
His smile tranquilized her wound-up brain and body, and she settled back into the comfortable captain's chair. The late afternoon drifted into twilight as they sipped wine, enjoyed a quiet meal, and discussed all the leading Arabian farms, the hot trainers, the major shows and, in general, life with horses.
Kurt sneaked his spoon across the table and stole a bite of her chocolate mousse. He rolled the creamy delight around in his mouth, then seductively licked his lips. Struggling with lustful thoughts, she looked away from his suggestive expression, tightening her thighs against the rising heat. I wish he wouldn't look at me that way. I don't think I could resist him right now. Do I even want to?
He smiled knowingly, his expression hinting that he recognized her discomfort. She blanched and looked away, trying to compose her thoughts.
He changed the subject. "What are your plans for the rest of the season?"
Relieved to focus her thoughts on something less stimulating, she answered quickly. "Karma and Ashiiqah are both qualified for the regional show in September."
He nodded, but his expression held a shadow of tension. She moved past the brief distraction.
"If I do well at the regional show, I'll take them to the Nationals in Albuquerque. I need some serious wins on these horses - especially Karma - if I want to build name recognition for the farm. Otherwise, I'll be just another breeder."
Kurt signaled the waiter for the check, then sat back in his chair and gave her a quizzical look, as though analyzing her words.
"You'll probably do okay at regional, even though there'll be some pretty big-name trainers there. But don't get your hopes up for the nationals. That's big business. A loss at that show can put your farm off the map just as quickly as a win can put it on."
She straightened up, her indignation rising quickly.
"What do you mean, big names? Names don't have anything to do with winning."
He snorted. "Boy, you really are naïve! At a certain level in the horse business, money talks - whether it's Arabians or Quarter Horses or Thoroughbreds. Money makes the really big decisions. It's a fight-for-blood environment."
Bristling at his patronizing attitude, she snapped, "That's not true. My father never paid to win a class."
She pushed away from the table and stood up, ready to walk out of the restaurant. God, I can't stand this man!
"Whoa, Liz, hear me out." He took her hand, looking at her sympathetically. "Please, sit down and let me explain, okay?"
Grudgingly, she returned to her seat, not feeling receptive to whatever he planned to say.
"Things were different when your father showed his horses. That was the ‘real' horse business. So much has changed over the last twenty-some years. The breed
The sharp contrast between the lounge and the dining room amazed her. Dark mahogany woodwork and ceiling cornices framed deep burgundy walls, and soft light spilled from bronze sconces, darkened with the patina of time. White cloths draped the tables, and fresh flower arrangements graced each one. Soft music played in the background.
His tone was tentative. "Like it?"
"It's wonderful! Who would know, looking at the outside?"
"That's the way they want it. You can't get near this place at dinnertime."
She felt a small twinge of jealousy at the idea of Kurt enjoying the cozy restaurant with someone else.
"Do you come here often?"
He chuckled and squeezed her hand. "Lizzie-Liz! Why are you so interested in my past?"
Embarrassed and annoyed, she snatched her hand away. "Don't call me Lizzie!"
Instantly, she realized that she teetered on the verge of spoiling what might be a nice evening. Reaching for his hand, she gave him a contrite look.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. My father used to call me that."
"No problem. So, tell me what Legacy Arabians is up to these days, besides winning everything in sight."
His smile tranquilized her wound-up brain and body, and she settled back into the comfortable captain's chair. The late afternoon drifted into twilight as they sipped wine, enjoyed a quiet meal, and discussed all the leading Arabian farms, the hot trainers, the major shows and, in general, life with horses.
Kurt sneaked his spoon across the table and stole a bite of her chocolate mousse. He rolled the creamy delight around in his mouth, then seductively licked his lips. Struggling with lustful thoughts, she looked away from his suggestive expression, tightening her thighs against the rising heat. I wish he wouldn't look at me that way. I don't think I could resist him right now. Do I even want to?
He smiled knowingly, his expression hinting that he recognized her discomfort. She blanched and looked away, trying to compose her thoughts.
He changed the subject. "What are your plans for the rest of the season?"
Relieved to focus her thoughts on something less stimulating, she answered quickly. "Karma and Ashiiqah are both qualified for the regional show in September."
He nodded, but his expression held a shadow of tension. She moved past the brief distraction.
"If I do well at the regional show, I'll take them to the Nationals in Albuquerque. I need some serious wins on these horses - especially Karma - if I want to build name recognition for the farm. Otherwise, I'll be just another breeder."
Kurt signaled the waiter for the check, then sat back in his chair and gave her a quizzical look, as though analyzing her words.
"You'll probably do okay at regional, even though there'll be some pretty big-name trainers there. But don't get your hopes up for the nationals. That's big business. A loss at that show can put your farm off the map just as quickly as a win can put it on."
She straightened up, her indignation rising quickly.
"What do you mean, big names? Names don't have anything to do with winning."
He snorted. "Boy, you really are naïve! At a certain level in the horse business, money talks - whether it's Arabians or Quarter Horses or Thoroughbreds. Money makes the really big decisions. It's a fight-for-blood environment."
Bristling at his patronizing attitude, she snapped, "That's not true. My father never paid to win a class."
She pushed away from the table and stood up, ready to walk out of the restaurant. God, I can't stand this man!
"Whoa, Liz, hear me out." He took her hand, looking at her sympathetically. "Please, sit down and let me explain, okay?"
Grudgingly, she returned to her seat, not feeling receptive to whatever he planned to say.
"Things were different when your father showed his horses. That was the ‘real' horse business. So much has changed over the last twenty-some years. The breed
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