At The Playboy's Command. Robyn Grady
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know that?”
Although a thankful smile curved her lips, she denied it. “I’m lucky. I came from a happy home. But there are some who need help to fill in some losses. Mend some wounds. I think of the children,” she told him, her voice strong but also filled with compassion. “They need a home. A sense of belonging. It’d be easy, I imagine, to start to run and keep running from a whole pile of things.”
The longer he looked at her, the broader his smile grew. Alongside this petite woman, he suddenly felt small.
“You must’ve been born with a special knack.”
“What’s that?”
“To help people see that there’s more.” His lips brushed her forehead and his throat grew tight.
Help me to see, even a glimpse …
He cupped her nape and kissed her tenderly, wanting to both convey and absorb what he was feeling. When his lips gradually left hers, he drew in a breath and peered into her vulnerable gaze.
“Do you have any time left this year?”
“Of the two months?”
He nodded.
“Three days.”
He rested his forehead on hers. “We can see, and do, a lot in three days.”
Then he swept her up and—with her arms around his neck, her head against his shoulder—carried her back upstairs.
Elizabeth didn’t know how she felt about Daniel Warren. Or rather, she didn’t know how she felt about the assortment of maddening emotions he managed to bring out in her.
Early this morning, after the flamingo kidnapping and discovery of the letter asking for help, they’d made love again. Every time he’d stroked and kissed her, the thrills and sense of certainty—or was that uncertainty—only grew.
With cool wind pushing against her face as Ame thundered down the eastern plain, Elizabeth wondered at the similarities between the way her heart pounded with excitement now and her loss of breath whenever she was with Daniel. His slick dark hair, inviting sexy grin, a body that radiated strength on so many levels … everything about that man reduced her to jelly.
Perhaps it was childish, Elizabeth thought as she cantered in a wide semicircle and headed home, but during those times when she gazed so deeply into his eyes as she lay sated beneath him, the green became an endless ocean she was more than willing to drown in. Whenever his mouth traced the moist line from her cleavage all the way down, she couldn’t stop from quivering. Sighing. When his fingertips drifted along her side in the tingling afterglow, she wanted to close her eyes and hold on to that blessed moment forever.
And it frightened her that earlier, when Daniel had gone to work on a design idea, she’d had to bite her lip from begging him to stay.
As Ame galloped again and the wind roared past, Elizabeth tipped back her head and smiled at the warmth of the Texas sun on her face. Daniel made her feel so safe. Interesting and special. He validated her.
He left her wanting more and more.
Ame was hot and lathered by the time she walked him into the stables. Ricquo, a ranch hand, took the reins and offered to brush him down. Elizabeth strolled back to the house, relishing the smells of well-worked horse and sunflowers. But with Daniel offering to take her away for three days, she was ready for a change of scenery. A change of pace.
Biting her lip, she grinned to herself.
Where did he plan to take her?
Her riding boots crunching over gravel, Elizabeth strode up the path thinking Hawaii, Fiji, maybe even Australia. Then she spied an uninvited guest swinging on her back patio seat and spiraling anticipation turned to dread. She didn’t want to face that man today, but she should have known he’d show up.
Wanting to get it over with, she straightened her spine and picked up her pace.
“Morning, Chad.”
“I see Nita’s not around today,” he said, pushing out of the swing.
“Gone to see her mother. What can I do for you?”
“I received your correspondence this morning,” Chad said in his I’m disappointed in you tone. “I needed to tell you in person. I object.”
Wiggling out of her gloves, she skirted around him. “I know you do.”
They’d had this conversation—confrontation—many times. In fact, every time she instructed Chad to write a check for a family in need. She’d heard all the arguments, and frankly, she was tired of them. But for her parents’ sake she’d tell him one more time.
“Through the terms of the will I receive a generous allowance.”
She didn’t need to involve Chad when lump expenditures came in under a certain amount. But from early on she’d decided not to let that constraint stand in the way of using her allowance when and how she saw fit.
She opened the back door. “My mother would approve of my helping those in need.”
“Your father wouldn’t. He’d want you to use every cent on assisting the Milton cause—keeping the place running and running well.”
Her temper spiked. “My father is dead.”
Clenching her gloves in one hand, she sucked down a leveling breath and moved through into the house. She hadn’t meant to snap. Neither would she be dictated to. Not one day more.
“Did you write the check?”
Chad answered her question with a question. “Have you made certain this woman’s story pans out?”
She had. She always did. But she was tired of playing this game. Of being treated like an infant. Was being in control and keeping her in the realm of “ward” so important to him?
“What is it to you what I do with my allowance? It’s not as if I’m gambling or drinking it away.”
“You might as well be.”
And that’s what she hated most about these discussions, she decided, balancing against a wall to heel off her boots. Although he usually kept his feelings low-key and would deny it if asked, Chad was a chauvinist. If she were Ethan Milton’s son rather than daughter he wouldn’t expect her to have capitulated this long.
She walked away. “I don’t wish to discuss it further.”
“Then it’s settled.”
She actually growled. “The only thing that’s settled is my impatience with you.”
His footfalls followed her into the hall. “Elizabeth, I’ll thank you not to address me in that manner.”
“I’m not a child.”
“You’re still vulnerable.”
Spinning on him, incredulous, she barked, “Because I’m a single woman?”
His expression changed, softened, and his palms came out as he stepped closer. “I want to look after you.”
“I don’t want to be looked after.”
“Listen to me—”
“You listen to me. You are my financial advisor for another five years, but there’s nothing in that will to say I have to follow your every direction. I’ve bowed over and again in the past to keep the peace. From this moment on, when I make a decision and give you an instruction, I expect it to be followed without hesitation. Do you understand?”
“You’re not thinking straight.”
“There