“I want you to know, I don’t make a habit of dragging women into my arms like that.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looked around. Out the corner of her eye, she saw him crack a lame smile. “Must be something in the air.”

She closed her eyes and withered. If she could turn back time and wipe out these last few moments, she’d do it in a blink. That she’d surrendered so completely was bad enough. Did he need to rub in the fact that he regretted it, too?

“Daniel, please don’t worry that I’ll give another moment’s thought to it.” She tilted her head and drawled, “I have been kissed before.”

He didn’t reply, didn’t move. Only his eyes glittered in the moonlight as time stretched out and, growing increasingly edgy, she wondered whether he would ever take his leave or call her bluff and announce she might have been kissed, but never like that.

Dear Reader,

Home is where the heart is. It’s a great saying. One I believe in.

Unfortunately, sometimes choices aren’t that simple.

Welcome back to Royal, a town set to erupt! In Millionaire Playboy, Maverick Heiress, the bid to claim the club’s presidency is heating up, gossip involving blue-blood and babies is rife, and outsiders, like star-architect Daniel Warren, have been called in to shake up some stodgy foundations.

Daniel is happy to help his friend and presidential hopeful, Abigail Langley, develop a winning design for the new clubhouse … even if painful memories of growing up around these parts has Daniel eager to jet back to New York as soon as business is done. He didn’t bank on meeting Elizabeth Milton, a woman who holds his fascination as effortlessly as she combines a wardrobe of blue jeans and cowboy boots with furs and priceless jewels. A brief steamy affair seems inevitable. The subsequent choice between his heart and her home is far less cut and dried.

Hope you enjoy Daniel and Elizabeth’s story!

With best wishes,

Robyn

About the Author

ROBYN GRADY was first published in 2007. Her books have since featured regularly on bestseller lists and at award ceremonies, including The National Readers Choice Award, The Booksellers’ Best Award, Cataromance Reviewers Choice Award and Australia’s prestigious Romantic Book of the Year Award.

Robyn lives on Queensland’s beautiful Sunshine Coast with her real-life hero husband and three daughters. When she can be dragged away from tapping out her next story, Robyn visits the theatre, the beach and the mall (a lot!). To keep fit she jogs (and shops) and dances with her youngest to Hannah Montana.

Robyn believes writing romance is the best job on the planet and she loves to hear from her readers. So drop by www.robyngrady.com and pass on your thoughts!

Millionaire

Playboy,

Maverick Heiress

Robyn Grady

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This story is dedicated to the talented authors who also contributed to this series.

It’s a huge honor. Thanks for having me along.

And to the series editor Charles Griemsman who is as fabulous as everyone says!

One

Just what was so funny?

Daniel Warren’s focus dropped from the hot blonde sending over a half amused, half pitying look to the architectural model he and three of his design team were struggling to carry. Admittedly, the mock-up was large in more ways than one, but Texas was a big state. The new headquarters for the renowned Texas Cattleman’s Club needed to make a big statement. Aesthetics like giant steer horns adorning a twenty-foot-high cowhide double entrance wasn’t over the top.

Was it?

His second in charge, Rand Marks, spoke in his ear.

“Boss, this weighs a ton. Want to keep moving?”

From their expressions, the other assistants were also curious about the holdup. There wasn’t one. Or shouldn’t be.

Daniel was known in the business not only for talent but also decisiveness. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d second-guessed himself. When he’d been invited to submit for this project, he’d put his fifteen odd years of successful industry know-how behind developing a design that would blow the committee members away—old-school as well as avant-garde. And yet now, that bombshell’s one dubious look burned like a smoking brand in his mind.

Who was she anyway?

“I’m sorry to intrude, but you must be Abigail Langley’s friend?”

At the sound of a sultry, Southern, very female voice, Daniel’s heartbeat skipped and his attention shifted again. The blonde, and her ambivalent expression, now stood an arm’s length away. Close up, she wasn’t merely hot. Lord above, she was stunning. Wrapped up in a silver-fur jacket and jeans that hugged hips and thighs just right, she looked as if she’d just stepped off the Aspen slopes. Set in a fine oval face, large, well-lashed green eyes sparkled like a pair of priceless jewels. But her long bouncy mane struck him most. It was the kind of hair that made a man’s fingertips itch to reach out and touch.

Setting his jaw, Daniel straightened his spine.

None of that altered the fact he was less than thrilled by her reaction to his work. He’d satisfied countless clients and had become filthy rich in the process. He didn’t need to field subtle insults at the eleventh hour from “Miss Texas and Loving It” here.

Dragging his gaze from those plump kissable lips, Daniel cleared his throat and answered the lady’s question.

“Yes. I’m Abigail Langley’s friend—”

“Daniel Warren.” She tasted his name as if she were enjoying a sip of sweet hot chocolate on a blustery winter’s day. “You’re the hotshot architect Abigail brought in all the way from New York City.”

When the peak of one fair eyebrow arched, Daniel took a moment. Was she goading or flirting? With these Southern belles, who could tell?

“Don’t know about hotshot, but I’m well-known in the industry,” he confirmed as her weight shifted from one denim-clad leg to the other and she hitched her Birkin higher on one shoulder. “You know Abigail, too?”

“Everyone in these parts knows Abby. Her husband, God rest his soul, was the great-great-great-grandson of Tex Langley, the founder of this establishment.” When she leaned a conspiratorial inch closer, he caught the scent of her perfume—delicate with undertones of dangerous. “My money’s on Abigail to win the upcoming election. She’d make a fine club president—” those lush lips pursed “—no matter what that stick-in-the-mud Brad Price has to say on the matter.”

A suit in his forties sauntered up. He spared Daniel a cursory glance before addressing the lady with a lazy Texan drawl.

“My dear, we’re expected inside.”

“I was introducing myself to a visitor to Royal,” she said, indicating Daniel with a nod and interested smile.

“Boss?”

Daniel’s attention slid back. Damn, he’d forgotten the boys.

“If you’re going to be a while,” Rand said, “mind if the rest of us take this inside? Don’t know about you but my arms are ready to snap.”

Daniel slipped his arms from beneath the model’s base as the other three continued on up the path to the headquarters’ front doors.

Daniel wiped his palms down his trousers then offered his hand. “Daniel Warren.”

“Elizabeth Milton.” Her hand was small and warm but her grip defied the term weaker sex. “And this is Chadwick Tremain.”

Her escort offered a curt nod and, without accepting Daniel’s extended hand, wound his arm through Elizabeth Milton’s.

“Mr. Warren,” he muttered in acknowledgment. Then to Elizabeth, “Our table’s waiting.”

She glanced over her shoulder as his team disappeared through the headquarters’ opened doors. Then, looking back at her companion, she angled her head, sending that blond waterfall cascading like a sheet of silk over one shoulder. “Y’all go on ahead, Chad. I’ll catch up.”

The man’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows knitted. “I told Michaels we’d be—”

“Chad.” She unwound her arm from his. “I’ll meet you inside.”

Daniel thought he heard the older man growl before he straightened the Windsor knot at his throat and sauntered away.

Daniel grunted. “Your boyfriend doesn’t like me much.”

“Boyfriend?” Those emeralds sparkled as she laughed. “Chad’s my financial advisor. He keeps an eye out for me.”

“You need looking after?”

A faint line creased between her eyebrows. “I suppose that’s a matter of opinion,” she said, before placing one cowboy boot in front of the other and heading at a leisurely pace up the path. “You sound like a Yankee, Mr. Warren.” She grinned at his custom-made black wool overcoat. “You dress like one, too. But I detect a hint of South Carolina in your accent.”

While Daniel’s throat swelled, he maintained his unaffected air. It had been years since his move. His escape. Few picked up on the remnants of a drawl anymore.

“These days, home’s a long way from Charleston,” he offered.

“You don’t miss the—”

“No,” he cut in with a quick smile. “I don’t.”

New York was just far enough away from the South and its memories. The only reason he was down this far was business, and as soon as that was concluded he’d roll his sleeves back down and red-eye it home to the life he’d built and loved.

“I hope you plan on seeing a little of our state while you’re here,” she went on as they strolled side by side.

“Famous for the Alamo, ten-gallon hats and, uh, longhorns.”

Her lips twitched at his leading look and inflection on his last word. “Oh, your design’s not entirely bad.”

He wanted to ask her what, in her opinion, would make a good design. Which was crazy. Firstly, he was the guy with the credentials and, secondly, he didn’t need to complicate his limited time here by musing over someone who was, perhaps, ten years his junior and whose loyalty no doubt lay in her daddy’s oil fields and memories of the wild, Wild West.

Definitely not his scene.

Entering the club’s foyer, which was all dark wood and old-world smells and charm, he stopped to bid his little-known companion goodbye. But Elizabeth Milton’s attention had drifted elsewhere, to a sign hung over the entrance door.

“Abigail would’ve told you about this?” she asked.

He examined the iron-studded plaque and read the words burned into the wood. “Leadership, Justice and Peace.”

“The Texas Cattleman’s creed,” she explained reverently. “The words are strong enough without the legend that brought them together.” Her gaze caught his, so wide and innocent that something in his chest swelled to twice its size then fisted tight. “You ought to get Abigail to tell you the story. It might give you something to work with.”

Daniel’s jaw shifted. He could take that comment as a slight. And yet every cell in his body urged him to put pride aside and listen up. If there was an anecdote behind the plaque that might help with his design, who better to relay it than someone who could combine those boots, which were only missing their spurs, with a ten-thousand-dollar coat and somehow make it work.

Only now Elizabeth Milton’s attention, as she wound out of her fur, had veered toward the dining room. Mr. Tremain, and the lasso he liked looped around his client’s waist, was waiting.

“Perhaps I’ll see you around,” Daniel said.

Her beautiful smile was wry. “I’m around most of the time.”

When she tipped her head, preparing to leave, that something lurking in Daniel’s chest looped and tugged all the tighter. In another time and place, he’d have asked if she’d care to join him for a drink. Instead, he merely returned the smile when she said, “Good luck, Mr. Warren. Hope you enjoy your time in Royal.”

He watched those sinful jeans sashay away beneath a dark timber lintel. That woman might be Texan to her core, but she sure as heck didn’t walk like she spent most of her time on a horse. In fact, she moved with the finesse of a runway model, with the fluid grace of a cat.

A smile hooked one corner of his mouth.

Yeah. Elizabeth Milton sure was something.

A heartbeat before she disappeared around that corner, he said to hell with it and called out, “Miss Milton!”

Shimmering blond arced out as she spun around and stepped back into his direct line of sight. Winding out of his own coat, he stepped forward.

“I wondered if you can recommend a good place to eat. Aside from here, I mean.”

Those gorgeous green eyes flashed. “I could recommend several, Mr. Warren.”

“In that case, would you consider joining me for dinner? I’d be interested to hear that story.”

Her teeth worried her lower lip as one hand went behind and, he imagined, slid into a back jeans pocket.

“On one condition,” she announced.

“That we don’t discuss building plans?”

She laughed, a melodic sound that soaked into his pores and eased his smile wider. “To the contrary. I’d very much like to discuss possibilities for your design.”

“Then we simply need the venue.”

“Twenty miles down the main road on your left at, let’s say, seven?”

“The name of the establishment?”

“Milton Ranch.”

He did a double take. “You’re inviting me to dinner at your house?”

“Trust me, Mr. Warren.” She pivoted around and, hand still cupped low in that pocket, spoke over her shoulder as she moved off. “I believe you’ll find the experience most rewarding.”

As Elizabeth entered the Cattleman’s Club dining room, a few people nearest the entrance glanced up from their meals or pre-luncheon drinks. She’d grown up knowing a great many of these folk, and anyone whose eye caught hers offered a warm smile.

At one time she’d rebelled against the idea of spending the majority of her time in Royal. Now, that seemed so long ago. In reality it had been only four years since her parents’ deaths and her own life had taken a sharp turn. But, frankly, she was grateful for the legal roadblocks her mother and father had erected to help steer her against a course she would likely have taken—a course that would have led her away from her roots.

If she breached the terms of their will by spending more than two months away from home during any twelve-month period, she would forfeit the majority of her inheritance, not merely the ranch but also, she’d come to realize, a good portion of her identity—who she was and continued wanting to be.

Still she couldn’t deny that meeting Daniel Warren just now had more than rekindled her interest in places beyond these borders. Daniel was different, Elizabeth decided as she handed her coat to the maître d’. Amusing. Dark and polished and New York cool. Abigail had said her visiting architect was extremely successful. He’d have traveled widely and often. A man of the world.

Not that she opposed good Texan stock, Elizabeth noted, heading for her usual table in a far corner by a row of windows. In fact, when the time came to start a family, her partner would more likely than not hail from these parts. At the very least he’d appreciate her situation and stand one hundred percent behind her commitment to keep the Milton Ranch. Which ruled out hotshot architects from up North.

Although, God knows, that boy was cute.

Chad pushed to his feet as she skirted around the remaining tables.

“I was about to see what was keeping you,” he said, retracting her chair.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she replied in a sweet but pointed tone.

“I was only—”

“I know you were only.”

She swallowed that spike of irritation and calmly collected the menu. But Chad wasn’t prepared to let it go.

“Elizabeth, it’s my duty to watch out for you.”

“I’m not a child,” she reminded him. She’d been twenty-one when he’d been handed, via the will, the role of her financial advisor. But she was older now, wiser and far more responsible.

“Your parents only had your best interests at heart when they included that caveat and put me in charge.”

He leaned closer, about to say more, when the waiter arrived and took their orders—steak for him, pecan and avocado salad for her. Chad was looking thoughtful, pouring iced tea, when he spoke next.

“That man—Mr. Warren …”

“Abigail Langley’s architect.” Relishing a grin, Elizabeth reached for her glass. “I can’t wait to see the results of that election come December.”

Chad scoffed. “If Abigail expects votes to swing her way because of an eyesore of a design like that, she’s dreaming more than I’d thought.”

Elizabeth wouldn’t touch his comment about the design. “I’m sure the majority commend the committee for awarding Abigail full membership privileges after her husband passed away. She has as much right as any member to stand for president. If it weren’t for her late husband’s ancestors, there wouldn’t be a Texas Cattleman’s Club,” she said.

“At the risk of sounding sexist, it’s not the Cattleperson’s Club.”

“Perhaps it ought to be.”

“Change isn’t always good, Elizabeth. Sometimes it can lead to discord. To ruin.”

And sometimes it was necessary. Even exciting. But she wouldn’t waste her breath. Instead, her cheeks warm from building annoyance, she took a long sip of cool tea.

“Have you and Mr. Warren met before?”

“No.” She set her glass on the table.

“He seems a smooth sort.”

She grinned again. “Yes, he does.”

“I don’t trust him.”

Enough. She met Chad Tremain’s gaze square on.

“You were a dear friend of my parents, I count you as a friend of mine, but drop it.” She forced a short laugh to temper her tone. “Okay?”

“It’s just … Elizabeth, you know that I care.”

His fingers edged over the table. Her stomach knotting, Elizabeth slid her hand away and locked both sets of fingers in her lap. Yes, she knew Chad cared, far more than she would have liked. He was too serious and staid and not her type at all. Couldn’t he see she wasn’t interested?

In fact, despite her parents’ wishes, if there were any way to dismiss him as her financial advisor she’d do it. However, for now at least, she was hog-tied. The terms of the will were set until her thirtieth birthday. Sitting here now and feeling inordinately constrained, it might as well be her sixtieth.

Needing to change the subject, she cast a glance around the buzzing room. “Where’s Mr. Michaels?” Her bank manager.

Sitting back, Chad nodded at his cell phone, placed on the other side of his cutlery.

“Detained. I thought we could review the figures of those larger annuities while we wait.”

Elizabeth sipped tea and listened as Chad spouted off strings of figures, but after a few minutes, his voice seemed to blend with other sounds—glasses pinging, cutlery clicking, people chatting, laughing. And suddenly, through the condensation of the pitcher that sat at the center of their table, a face swam up.

Glossy dark hair. A hint of Latin heritage, perhaps. Sea-green eyes full of questions and possibilities. Then there was the confident air that exuded strength but also cloaked a more vulnerable side, if she weren’t mistaken. She barely knew Daniel Warren and yet something very real about him made her heart beat faster than a piston hammering at full throttle.

What would Chad say if he knew she’d gone and asked him to dinner?

“Elizabeth?”

Starting, she snapped her attention back to her luncheon companion.

“I’m sorry, Chad. What was that?”

“I thought I’d mention that we received another offer to buy the ranch. Developers, of course. I took it upon myself to tell the gentleman the property was not for sale.”

She contained a sigh. “Thank you, but I can deal with those inquiries myself. Even if I were in a position to sell, I know where my heart lies.”

At least, now she did.

The words were barely out when movement beyond the nearby window caught her eye. Daniel Warren was strolling the manicured grounds with a concerned-looking Abigail. When he turned toward the window and Elizabeth imagined he’d noticed her looking through the pane, her stomach jumped and flipped over. Holding her breath, she lowered her head even as a runaway smile stole across her face.

She was looking forward to tonight like she hadn’t looked forward to anything in a long time.

“My dear? Are you all right?”

Crunching her napkin, Elizabeth focused on the older man’s face, which was lined with curiosity. Or was that suspicion?

“I was saying that I know where my heart lies.” She pushed thoughts of Daniel Warren aside, replaced them with an image of the Milton Ranch and affirmed, “And that’s right here in Royal.”

Two

That evening, as Daniel swerved his rental SUV around the top of the Milton Ranch graveled driveway, his breath caught in his throat at the same time his mouth dropped open.

Usually in this kind of situation, before anything else, professional instinct demanded an immediate once-over of the house—its position, angles, any interesting textures and touches. Tonight, however, the sprawling homestead, set on too many acres of prime land to imagine, didn’t come close to drawing his attention. Instead, his focus was riveted on the scene illuminated by recently triggered lawn lights. Easing out of the vehicle, he rubbed his eyes and looked harder.

Flamingos?

The pink-and-white imitation birds were strategically positioned beneath the benevolent arms of a glorious magnolia. Daniel scrubbed the back of his neck. Hell, maybe Elizabeth Milton’s success with that eclectic ensemble today was a fluke, after all.

“You’re on time.”

Daniel swung around to see Elizabeth standing, a shoulder propped against the jamb of the massive doorway of her home. The cowboy boots she’d worn earlier had been replaced by elegant black heels, which matched an equally elegant little black dress. The blond mane was swept up in an effortless, chic style. Her arms were wrapped around her waist and a mock curious smile shone from her face. Beneath the porch lights, her every inch glowed. The only anomaly was the double foxtail belt loosely slung around her hips.

Daniel looked at it sideways but, after those pink birds, he couldn’t decide. Was the belt high or hillbilly fashion?

“Are you going to stand there all night, Mr. Warren? It might be October but it’s chilly out.”

“I was admiring your, uh, landscaping.”

“The flamingos? Attractive, aren’t they?” When he found himself tongue-tied, she straightened to her full petite height and laughed. “They’re only on loan, silly. A gimmick to raise money for a very good cause. They show up one morning and you get to mind them until you make a donation, at which time they magically disappear and take up residence with a new and unsuspecting victim.”

Closing the vehicle’s door, he blew out a sigh of relief. “Making that donation must be at the top of your to-do list.”

As he joined her, his senses responded to that same sweet scent he’d enjoyed earlier today. His every extremity warmed, urging him to lean closer to her pulse points and inhale. But almost as captivating was another kind of smell, one that sent his taste buds tripping. Man, he hadn’t realized he was that hungry.

“You’ve been busy in the kitchen?”

She stepped aside and ushered him into a vestibule that was decorated with oak and a striking stacked-slate feature wall.

“I’m under direct orders to leave all the cooking to the expert in this house,” she said, accepting his coat and slipping it into a hall closet. “Nita’s been a member of the staff, a member of the family, since before I was in pigtails. I couldn’t do without her.”

She led him into a reception room, furnished with evergreen and crimson window dressings and impressive Jacobean furniture. But his interest soon slid back to the way his hostess filled out that dress. Frankly, the sight of her legs in sheer black stockings made his head swim a little, foxtails or not.

“Can I interest you in a predinner drink?” she asked, leaving him to cross to a mile-long timber bar. Beneath the lights, tiny diamantés sparkled in her hair. With a teasing grin, she held up a bottle of whiskey and suggested, “A Manhattan, perhaps?”

Grinning, he sauntered over. “Thanks, but I wouldn’t say no to a beer.”

When in Rome … Didn’t all Texans love their ale?

“In that case—” she pulled a frosty beer from under the counter “—a local coming up.”

“Will you join me?”

“I’m more a bubbles gal.” When she lifted an opened bottle, nesting in a nearby silver ice bucket, he studied and openly approved the label.

“A very fine vintage.”

“You know wines.” It was more a statement than a question.

“I know what’s good.” Clearly so did she.

“Two glasses then?”

“I’ll pour.”

She found a pair of cut-crystal flutes. He filled one, handed hers over then filled his own. When she tilted her head and raised her glass, diamonds seemed to sparkle in her eyes as well as her hair.

“A toast,” she said. “To your design helping Abby bag the election.”

His chest tightened and the glass stopped halfway to his mouth. “Only if I put it through a massive overhaul.”

Understanding shone in her eyes. “Abigail didn’t like it?”

“She was too polite to say but I’m sure she hated it. Turns out I took a bit of a bum steer regarding the theme, courtesy of a plant from her opponent’s camp.”

“Brad Price doesn’t mind playing dirty.”

Her growl sounded more like a kitten than a bear, although he didn’t doubt that beneath all that feminine grace lay the heart of a tiger.

“What did Abby say?”

He wouldn’t go into details. “Suffice to say her expression was enough.”

Images of his design rolled through his head, his thoughts working through the exterior structure then the overly rustic properties of each room. He could see where he’d gone wrong now.

“Too many textures and dimensions harking back to the good ol’ days,” he admitted. “Too stereotypical.”

Damn it, too cheesy. His fingertip began to draw geometrical shapes over the counter. Helped him to think.

“I get that the committee wants to retain the club’s original flavor,” he went on, “while positioning it firmly in the twenty-first century. I need to find that balance.”

Elizabeth rounded the timber counter and didn’t stop until her heavenly scent had claimed his personal space and was hijacking his bloodstream. The impulse to edge closer and breathe a little deeper was something he had to work at to contain.

An eyebrow arched, she rested her crystal flute on her chin while those dazzling smoky-shadowed eyes searched his. “You sound as if you might have a few ideas.”

“Earlier today, so did you.”

“I confess, I do possess a fascination for design.”

“You studied it?”

“Not officially.”

She rotated to lean back against the counter. With her weight preferring one shapely leg, elbows propped up on the counter on either side, she looked so sultry, so classic … Hell, if he’d been an artist, he’d have begged for an easel and brush.

“I have majors in psychology and literature,” she told him.

“I’d have guessed a business degree would’ve been the logical choice, given one day you’d be running all this.”

Besides other things, when he’d inquired, Abigail had told him Elizabeth was an only child.

Some of the light in her eyes waned at the same time her gaze dropped to the original polished timber at her feet. “I wasn’t that interested in the ranch back then. When my folks passed away, I began to see things differently. There’s always time for more study.”

He set his glass carefully down. “Abigail mentioned about your parents.” A tragic automobile accident. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded then shucked back her slender shoulders. “How about you, Mr. Warren? Do you have family?”

Daniel’s insides knotted. Given the thread of their conversation, it was an obvious question. Now he would avoid giving a straight answer, because he didn’t discuss that facet of his life. His past. Not with anyone.

Before he could maneuver the conversation in another direction, they were interrupted.

“Sorry to barge in, folks.”

Daniel rotated toward the accented female voice. A woman, late sixties in a printed apron and matching slippers, was taking her time crossing the room.

“Just wanta say,” the woman said, peering at Daniel through lenses that covered a good deal of her face, “dinner’s on the table.”

Elizabeth moved to join her. “Nita Ramirez, this is Mr. Warren. The architect from New York City I told you about.”

“Please, Elizabeth, Nita, the name’s Daniel.” Making his way over, he extended a hand, which Nita Ramirez readily shook—and for quite a time. “I hear you’re a fabulous talent in the kitchen,” Daniel added.

Nita patted her jet-black shoulder-length hair. “That compliment’ll earn you a second helping of my specialty dessert, Daniel. How does caramel apple cheesecake sound?”

He almost licked his lips. “My sweet tooth and I can hardly wait.”

Pleased, Nita sent over a hearty wink then spoke to Elizabeth. “Dining room’s all set, Beth. I set a match to the fire, too.”

As Nita strolled off, Elizabeth offered her arm to her guest. “I sure hope you’re hungry.”

At the end of the meal, Elizabeth dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin, to hide her grin more than anything. A man of Daniel’s means would dine at the best restaurants around the world, and while guests regularly swooned over Nita’s culinary triumphs, her current guest’s reaction to rib eye roast and baked potato salad was priceless. No question. Daniel Warren appreciated good home cooking.

“I’m sure there’s more,” Elizabeth offered, “if you can fit it in.”

He set his knife and fork down on the gravy-smeared plate. “I’m tempted. But I need room for that dessert.”

“Be warned. Caramel apple cheesecake is addictive.”

“I’m an advocate of the saying, you can never have too much of a good thing.”

When his gaze held hers a moment longer than was necessary, heat climbed up Elizabeth’s neck and she had to drop her gaze, catch her breath. She wasn’t one to titter. She didn’t normally blush like a schoolgirl when a man flirted. But, sitting here with Daniel, she felt something new, unexpected and highly pleasurable playing tag with her senses.

As they’d talked through dinner—about music, politics, how cool the weather was for this time of year—her awareness of every facet of his presence had grown until the buzz she’d felt from the moment they’d met had cranked up to high. Whenever he looked at her the way he had just now, all over her skin, through her blood, she tingled. Frankly, she wanted to surrender to a long sigh and fan herself.

With Daniel Warren she felt as much like a teenage girl as a woman.

When the tips of her breasts began to harden and heat, clearing her thoughts, Elizabeth set down her napkin and inhaled a leveling breath. Get back on track. He was looking forward to dessert.

“I’m guessing you don’t cook,” she said, fighting the urge to cross her arms, contain that heat.

“Not much.” Sheepish, he tugged his ear. “Not at all.”

“And there I was, imagining you sweating over a gas cooker, tossing the escargot.”

His mouth turned down. “You like snails?”

“I’ve indulged, but only when I visit a particular café on the Rue de la Villette.” As his eyebrows knitted and he gave a curious grin, she cocked her head. “You’ve been to Paris?”

“Me? Sure. Beautiful city. Although it’s always good to get back home.”

“To the States?”

“To New York.”

Elizabeth almost forgot herself and frowned. Nothing wrong with being precise. Still, if she hadn’t known better, she might think that reply was pointed. That perhaps Abigail had clued him up on more than her parents’ misfortune. That she might have confided in her situation with regard to that condition of their will.

Which was crazy. Abigail wouldn’t break that kind of confidence, and he couldn’t have found out anywhere else—Chad Tremain, for example. Obviously her thoughts—those sensations he stirred—were running away on her, filling her head with fancies.

Elizabeth set her mind back on the conversation.

“New York has some incredible restaurants.”

He ran an appreciative eye over his plate. “None that serve food like that.”

“Is your mother a good cook?”

His smile froze for a heartbeat before he reached for his wine. “Mom could cook.”

“Do your parents still live in Carolina?”

“No.” He pushed back his chair and glanced around as he took a mouthful of red and swallowed. “The decor in here is interesting.”

“Early American,” she replied, thinking not of furniture but the fact he’d avoided talking about his family. Before dinner he’d hesitated when she’d inquired. Although she and her parents had been close, estrangement between generations wasn’t uncommon. But she wouldn’t push. Private was private. Even if she was more than curious.

They were talking about decor.

“My mother redecorated parts of this house, but not this room. She liked it homey. The dinner table is where the family comes together, she used to say. Not only to eat, but to talk and listen and plan.”

Daniel’s smile held. “A wonderful, traditional concept.” His attention wandered to the far wall. “Those dark wood panels are almost identical to the club’s.”

“Might’ve been cut from the same tree. Heck, the ranch and the club have both been around since Buffalo Bill was a boy.”

He pretended to pull his head in. “Do I detect a hint of impatience?”

Amused, she blinked twice. “Why on earth would you say that?”

“That resigned note in your voice.”

“That wasn’t a resigned note.”

“Sounded pretty clear to me—”

“You were mistaken.” She lifted her chin. “What you heard was respect.”

“So you don’t harbor any secret plans to turn the ranch into a casino or suburban lots like some others down this way?”

She coughed out a laugh even as heat crept up her neck again, this time for a different reason. Was he serious?

“What a curious thing to say. Of course not.”

“But you would like some change,” he went on. “Am I right?”

With a practiced smile, she set her elbow on the chair’s arm and fiddled with her diamond drop earring. “Is your sideline mind reading, Mr. Warren?”

“It’s Daniel, remember?”

Knowing an edge had crept into her voice, Elizabeth played up her smile. She didn’t like his line of thought. His questions. Her ideas on tradition—when, where and how to tweak—were her business, just as whatever prickled Daniel about his family’s past was his.

But she’d answer his question—in her own way.

“While it’s time the Cattleman’s Club challenged some of its older trappings, I can’t see Milton Ranch changing. My parents wanted tradition to live on here.” She reached for her glass. “So do I.”

Regardless of the will, she would never sell, especially to developers.

Still, truth was, she wished she had some middle-of-the-road option. Just a little more freedom …

“Who’s up for dessert?”

Elizabeth snapped back from her thoughts. Nita had entered the room, ready to clear the plates. Daniel held his stomach, which Elizabeth wouldn’t mind betting was a six-pack.

“I might let that delicious roast settle first,” he said, handing over his plate. “That was a big helping.”

“A man deserves to be satisfied at the end of the day.”

At the housekeeper’s last comment, Elizabeth shot her a glare. Nita only returned an innocent grin. The Milton Ranch housekeeper was a well-known matchmaker, but if she was hoping to set up the toll of wedding bells tonight, Nita could put her scheming mind to rest. As far as sexual attraction was concerned, Daniel Warren was a big fat ten, but he was passing through. He might even have a girl back home in New York. Maybe two. And while marriage was a definite in her future, Elizabeth wasn’t after long-term just now. Hell, she was only twenty-five.

Plates in hand, almost at the doorway, Nita suggested, “You ought to go for a walk. Help work off that meal.”

Elizabeth pushed to her feet. “I’m sure Daniel would prefer to take in more of the house.” See if anything inspired ideas for his project.

But as her guest unfolded to his full height, he gifted her with a deliciously sinful smile. “I like Nita’s idea.” He offered his arm. “Let’s go work it off.”

Ten minutes later, as he and Elizabeth made their way down a graveled path that led to the Milton Ranch stables, Daniel stole a glance at his companion’s dusty yard boots—the Jimmy Choos had been deemed unsuitable—and the bulky work coat thrown over her stunning black evening dress. Then he studied her perfect profile, highlighted by the rising moon’s silver beams, and decided Elizabeth Milton would exude panache wearing a brown paper bag. “Eclectic” suited her, like he couldn’t imagine it suiting any other. She achieved real style effortlessly when, in his experience, females often tried too hard to look their best, be the best. That last wasn’t a gender-specific phenomenon, particularly amidst the never-ending bustle and hustle of New York.

Daniel’s focus lifted to the sky.

But Milton Ranch was a long way from those city lights. Damn, he’d never seen so many stars.

“How much land have you got here?” he asked.

“Three thousand acres,” Elizabeth replied, pride evident in her voice as she dug her hands into her coat pockets.

“Must be a challenge.”

“One I’m prepared to face. Although rising costs and lack of trained hands make it difficult,” she admitted.

“But you’re in for the long haul.”

“My parents left money enough to keep the tradition going. Ranching is in my blood.”

A vision of Elizabeth at five years of age wearing an Annie Oakley costume, charging off toward an endless horizon on her very own pony, made him smile.

“So you grew up learning how to rope a steer?” he asked as they crunched farther down the shadowed path.

“I was a cowgirl but only in between attending boarding school.”

“A school close to home?”

“Initially in Houston. In my teens, overseas. Switzerland, France.”

“Where you dined on sautéed mollusks.” Snails.

“Helix pomatia, to be precise,” she said with mock authority.

He lifted an eyebrow. “My, sounds like those boarding schools didn’t waste your parents’ money.”

“I received a great education. Had some wonderful experiences. Made some lifelong friends.” And in her faraway expression he could see she wouldn’t say no to a sojourn to Europe right this minute. He could well imagine her expertly skiing Alpine slopes, wandering around the history and culture of the Louvre.

“Bet you’re on and off jets, visiting all the time.”

Before the moon disappeared behind a cloud, he saw her smile waver but, a moment later, her shoulders in that big coat rolled back.

“There’s a lot to keep me busy here.”

Daniel’s step faltered. Here was a beautiful, obviously intelligent woman with mega funds at her disposal. She’d beamed speaking about that Parisian café, about her experiences overseas and the friends she’d made there. She was young, which translated into plenty of energy and enthusiasm, the kind she showed for this ranch. Had he misinterpreted or had she as good as confessed she didn’t get out much?

Just how much of her time did this ranch take up?

“I guess the responsibility of three thousand acres is a lot,” he prodded as the silhouette of the stables loomed before them.

“I have people to manage matters, although more and more I’d rather handle things myself.”

He shot over a glance. “Really?”

A strand of blond escaped its upsweep and danced in the breeze as she frowned. “Why so surprised?”

“To be honest—” he shrugged “—practically everything about you surprises me.”

She sent him a saucy grin. “Good.”

A moment later, a whinny sounded as they approached the stable’s single side door.

“This building replaced the original stable a decade ago,” she said, shifting the catch. “We had a fire. No horses lost, thank heaven. When Dad upgraded, he made sure it was with the best materials and safety features.”

Stepping inside, she flicked a light switch then pointed out a framed photograph, hanging on the wall, of a grand turn-of-the-previous-century red timber barn.

“This one doesn’t smell the same,” she said, “doesn’t have the same feel, but it’s easier to keep clean and has loads more space.”

As the smell of fresh hay and horse filled his lungs, Daniel concurred. This was a clean wide structure, with two-dozen individual stalls, as well as windows and a skylight that would allow in an ideal amount of natural light during the day. Not the personality of the old post-and-beam barn with its massive hayloft, but far more practical.

Times change.

Elizabeth crossed to the first stall on the left. Hooves pawed at a straw floor, then came a welcoming snort, a sound that made Daniel smile and wish his father had listened to him for once and let him learn how to ride. Hunting was Judge Buck Warren’s passion. Daniel still hadn’t forgiven his father for that.

Elizabeth arrived at the stall gate. A regal-looking horse, with a glossy black coat and mane, greeted her by nudging its muzzle against her shoulder. Elizabeth, so small against this other’s height and might, seemed to come alive as she scrubbed her palm over its cheek and murmured words that had Daniel longing to be on the receiving end.

Her face filled with adoration, she looked over. “This is Ame Sœur.”

“Kindred Spirit.”

For the first time he noticed a delicate dimple either side of her smile. “I’ll have you eating escargot yet.”

He pretended to shudder. “You two seem good friends.”

“The best,” she said, and the horse blew through his lips as if to agree. “We try to saddle up every day.”

“Unless you’re away.”

The motion of her hand stroking his muzzle stopped while she fished into her coat pocket and extracted a huge red apple. Her horse’s head reared back as his lips wobbled, searching out the treat. He was crunching into the fruit when she replied in a somber tone.

“Daniel, did Abby say something to you?”

“Say something? About what?”

Searching his eyes, she seemed to consider his response before she dropped her gaze then refocused on the horse, which was chomping and nudging for more. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

When he moved closer, she pulled another apple from her pocket. “Want to feed him?”

“Maybe later.”

“We mostly use trucks and bikes these days.” The horse bit into the second apple. “But if I check the stock and fences, I like to do it with Ame.”

“Right now I’m interested in what you think Abigail might have told me.”

He couldn’t believe it was anything sinister. So what was it that had this normally poised woman looking suddenly flustered?

Still, whatever it was didn’t concern him … unless she wanted it to.

He tilted his head. “And if you want me to back off, say the word.”

With those diamond drops sparkling beneath the fluorescents, she looked him square on for a deliberative moment then finally blew out a breath.

“My parents included a caveat in their will,” she said. “I’m obliged to stay here, in Royal, a good deal of any given year.”

He frowned. “What do you mean—a good deal?”

“I get two months to travel outside of Royal.”

He took a moment to digest the ramifications. “And if you’re gone for, say, two months and one day?”

“I forfeit my inheritance.”

He wanted to laugh. “You’re kidding, right? You lose the ranch?”

“There are reasons—”

“The reason is called blackmail.”

Disgust flooded her face. “My parents didn’t blackmail me.”

“What do you call it when someone threatens to take away what you care about if you don’t do exactly what they want?”

Hell, he was an expert on the subject. How many times growing up had he heard one or the other of his divorced parents say, “Daniel, you won’t see your mother/father again if you don’t …” Fill in the blank. By the end of it, he didn’t care if he ever saw either one of them again.

Her fists plowed into those coat pockets at the same time her chin kicked up. “It’s not blackmail. It’s called handing down responsibility.”

Poor, misguided Miss Milton, Daniel thought, and slowly shook his head.

“You are young, aren’t you.”

Her eyes flashed. “I’m as much an adult, and in charge of my life, as you are.”

“That’s why you’re still doing what your parents tell you.”

She studied him with eyes that burned.

“Do you come from this kind of background?”

His shoulders went back. “I refused to have anything to do with my parents’ money.” Their bribes. He was a self-made man.

“You shunned your parents?” Her tone was pitying. “No. Of course you wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand you’re kidding yourself if you think you’re in charge of your life,” he said. “Way I see it, you’re walking around in chains most of the time.” To a homebody, the caveat might not seem like a hardship. But Elizabeth made no secret of the fact she loved to travel. Explore new lands. Meet new people. She was energetic and, God knew, she had the means. But what good was money if she was forbidden from using it the way she’d most like? Elizabeth hadn’t been given a choice, like he hadn’t been given a choice when he was growing up. Being helpless—voiceless—had to be the worst feeling in the world.

“Is that why you don’t see your parents, Daniel?” she asked calmly. “Because you don’t like chains? Don’t like ties? Because you wanted to be in charge?”

He gave a jaded smile as emotion filled his chest. Elizabeth Milton knew nothing about him. He was wrong to have pushed. Wrong to have wanted to get involved.

“It’s been a great evening,” he told her in a level no-hard-feelings tone. “It’s time I got back.”

Her mouth uncharacteristically tight, she nodded. “I’m sure you need to rise early, as do I.”

“Thank Nita for the meal.”

“Good luck with your future endeavors.”

“I’ll walk you back to the house.”

“No need. I’ve walked that path so often, I’d know it in a tornado.”

She was welcome to it.

He moved out of the stables, heard her close the door. Head down, he’d taken a half-dozen steps when she called out.

“Daniel. I want you to know, I’m happy staying here,” she told him as he turned around. “Sometimes it’s a little … inconvenient. But I’ve come to see this ranch is my future.”

“That’s fine.” Totally her business. He tipped his head. “Good night.”

He’d begun to turn away when she interrupted again.

“You don’t believe me.”

“It shouldn’t matter what I believe.”

“It’s only until I turn thirty.”

By thirty he’d been well on his way to being successful, and happy, in his own right. But, again, not his concern.

“You don’t have to convince me.”

“I don’t want you to leave feeling sorry for me,” she pointed out. “I have everything any person could want or need.”

“Just make sure you don’t include freedom on that list.”

She growled, “It’s not a restriction.”

“No?”

“No.”

As she stood before him, defiant in the moonlight, his skin heated, muscles clenched, and as his gaze held hers, a dark, deep urge overwhelmed him, a primitive impulse that set his heart pumping all the more. She didn’t want his pity and, God save him, he didn’t want to show her any. But she wanted him to believe she wasn’t interested in too much beyond this parcel of land?

Miss Milton was a liar.

Prepared to tell her just that, he moved forward. He stopped an arm’s length away, searched her questioning eyes but then, rather than speak, he acted, circling her waist and bringing her mercilessly close. At the same time he pressed her in and her mouth opened to protest, his head came down, lowering, determined, over hers.

While her hands bunched and pushed against his chest, he held her. When muffled, incensed noises vibrated from her throat, he didn’t relent. Damn it, if he was going, he wanted to leave them both with at least a taste of what he’d felt bubbling and fermenting between them. He needed to show this woman what she already knew.

There was more to life than two months a year.

And gradually, as he’d known she would, Elizabeth came around to his way of thinking. Her fists loosened against his shirt until her fingertips were clinging rather than pushing him away. Her body, instead of objecting, relaxed and, bit by bit, dissolved. Best of all, her lips grew supple and parted, no longer refusing but inviting him in. Daniel smiled to himself.

Damn, it was good to be right.

But at the same moment his palms sculpted over and winged her shoulders in, Daniel also recognized a sliver of concern.

He couldn’t get involved like this with Elizabeth Milton, particularly now.

What the hell had he begun?

Three

As Elizabeth melted against that amazing wall of heat, she couldn’t hold on to a thought, other than to know that this caress went above and beyond any she’d ever experienced, in real life or in dreams.

As Daniel’s strong arms urged her closer and her palms filed up beneath his coat and over the solid scope of his chest, she absorbed every ounce of the magic. Her heart beat so fast she feared it would burst any moment. He’d unleashed such a torrent of emotion from so deep inside she could barely get enough air.

Elizabeth sighed in her throat.

Daniel Warren kissed like a god.

As hot fingertips massaged her nape, with a teasing lack of speed, his mouth gradually left hers. Now was the time she should open her eyes, demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing, pouncing on her like that, forcing her to succumb. But that delicious syrupy feeling humming through veins was just so fine. She felt as if she were floating two feet off the ground. As if her blood were singing. That Daniel Warren was practically a stranger, as well as someone who could never empathize with her situation, didn’t quite register through the haze.

She only wanted him to kiss her again.

“Elizabeth?”

His voice was a husky whisper at her ear. The slide of his palm around her cheek left her trembling and leaning more into his touch. She felt the warmth of his breath on her forehead, on her temple. On reflex, her lips parted again and her face tipped toward his.

“Elizabeth, I can’t say I didn’t want to do that,” he murmured in a drugging, deep voice. “Doesn’t mean I should have.”

His words swirled around through her mind until, little by little, their meaning took hold. Then, all at once, her chest squeezed and eyes snapped open. He was looking at her, gaze dark with regret. In that moment, the reality of what he’d done, what she’d let him do, flooded Elizabeth’s senses until she prayed for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

Good Lord, what must he think of her? One minute they were enmeshed in a heated discussion, the next she was twining herself around him like a clingy summer vine. Like a teenager her first time out necking. Elizabeth Milton was known not only for her spirit but also her decorum, and yet this man ignited fires within her that had reduced her to little more than a puddle. She’d never felt more vulnerable.

More alive.

Sucking in a breath, she dropped her arms, which had remained around his neck, and took an awkward step back. As his heat receded, the cool of the shadowed night enveloped her. Trembling, she drew her coat close.

“No need to apologize,” she said in a thick voice. Avoiding his gaze, she shrugged. “Sometimes, when emotions run high, things happen.”

“I want you to know, I don’t make a habit of dragging women into my arms like that.” He ran a hand through his hair, looked around. Out the corner of her eye, she saw him crack a lame smile. “Must be something in the air.”

She closed her eyes and withered. If she could turn back time and wipe out these past few moments, she’d do it in a blink. That she’d surrendered so completely was bad enough. Did he need to rub in the fact that he regretted it, too?

“Daniel, please don’t worry that I’ll give another moment’s thought to it.” She tilted her head and drawled, “I have been kissed before.”

He didn’t reply, didn’t move. Only his eyes glittered in the moonlight as time stretched out and, growing increasingly edgy, she wondered whether he would ever leave or call her bluff and announce she might have been kissed, but never like that.

But then he exhaled, took a look back over his shoulder toward the house and nodded once before he walked away. “Take care.”

Her pulse beating in her ears, Elizabeth watched Daniel walk away down the path until his silhouette disappeared into the night. A few moments later, the engine of his SUV kicked over. She waited, alone in the shadows, until the rumble had faded clean away. Then she dropped her head into her hands and, cringing, cursed herself for a fool.

How could she confide in a near stranger such personal information? When he’d confronted her regarding the morality of her parents’ will, why hadn’t she laughed it off rather than grow defensive? She knew her own mind. She did have a choice. She did.

And then …

Oh God, then there was that kiss.

The nerves that were bunched tight in her belly kicked then knotted again. She’d given herself over to the thrill of that uninvited caress so quickly and completely it frightened her—and, in some strange way, it comforted her, too. That embrace was the kind a woman would still recall in her twilight years. The kind that would cause her eyes to drift shut and chest to heave a contented sigh.

Setting off down the path bordered on either side by flowering sage, Elizabeth touched her lips, thought back on the dizzy pleasure and found she was smiling. Daniel might think he had some God-given right to force his opinion where it wasn’t needed, but he still was the finest specimen of the male species she’d ever come across. Not simply because he was more attractive than most billboard models, or that he seemed to naturally dominate any space he inhabited. Despite their differences—and there were a few—she enjoyed his company. His sexy, deep laugh. It was silly, useless, and yet she couldn’t help but wonder …

What if his home had been Texas or hers New York? What might have been if they’d had similar backgrounds and goals? What if, instead of apologizing for his roguish behavior, he’d hauled her back in and demanded she kiss him again?

When Elizabeth entered the house through the back patio door, she stopped dead in her tracks then let out a breath. She should have known she’d have company.

“I thought he liked my cooking,” Nita said with a slight frown. The older woman held two cups in her hands.

“He said to thank you for the beautiful meal. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Elizabeth said, withdrawing a pin and shaking out her hair as she headed for her room, “I’m tired.”

“Good idea. I mean, will you look at the time. Past nine o’clock.”

Elizabeth served Nita a fond but stern glare as she passed. “It’s been a long day.”

“That’s all right. That’s fine.” Nita stared at the ceiling as if she had nothing better to do. “If you don’t want to tell me what happened …”

Elizabeth held her looping stomach and groaned. “You don’t want to know.”

“I’m the best listener in and around these parts.” With an understanding smile, she presented the cups of hot chocolate. “Made ‘em when I heard his car.”

Knowing when she was beaten, Elizabeth lowered herself onto a nearby settee.

She took the cup her friend offered and held the warmth between her palms. But rather than spill all about her time outside with Daniel, something even more important begged to be voiced.

“Were you surprised by my parents’ will? Did Mom ever speak to you about it?”

“To my mind, it was more your dad’s idea.” Nita sat back and rotated the cup around in her work-worn hands. “The ranch was built up through his side of the family. Grandpa Milton was a hard man. Always talking about the responsibilities your father would need to step up and accept once he passed on. Guess your father had that in mind when he drew up that clause.”

“He should have known I’d never give up the ranch. This is my home.”

“You were always one to see where adventure might take you.” She lifted the cup to her mouth. “Maybe things haven’t changed so much.”

Elizabeth knew the point Nita was making. She couldn’t argue that the idea of experiencing something different and exciting had encouraged her to invite the New York architect here tonight. And, admittedly, matters had got a little out of hand when their opposing opinions had clashed and heated emotions flared.

But a kiss in the dark was far from running away and turning her back on her duty.

“I would never let my parents down,” she said to herself as much as to Nita. Never.

And yet sometimes … Trying to swallow the lump caught in her throat, Elizabeth concentrated on her cup. “Do you ever wonder whether that caveat in their will was fair?”

“I don’t know if that’s the question you should be asking.” Nita tipped forward. “Beth, you’d still have plenty to live on if you decided to walk away. One thing’s a constant. Nothing ever stays the same.”

“In these past years, I’d never thought beyond living here, giving it my best, making it work. One day I’d like to marry, have a family.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Elizabeth found a smile but then sobered. “Would my parents expect me to put the same ultimatum in my will?” She’d taken on the challenge to hold on to where she’d come from, who she was. But could she pass that heavy baton on to her own daughter or son? Would they hate her for it if she did?

When the lump in her throat grew all the more, Elizabeth growled at herself. “Lord, I’m all muddled tonight.”

“A good-looking man will do that to you. A nice man, too, seems like. Intelligent,” Nita went on, matter-of-factly. “Amusing—”

“Daniel Warren’s life is in New York City,” Elizabeth cut in, pushing to her feet. “Anyway, we’ve known each other a day.”

Nita nodded as if that must be a consideration. “Do you know I was almost married?”

Elizabeth sat back down. “You never mentioned.”

“I was with a bunch of girlfriends at a nightclub in Dallas, celebrating my twenty-first. He stole my heart the moment our eyes met. We danced all night and when he took me home, he cupped my cheek and kissed me. I thought I would faint for sure.” Misty-eyed, Nita sighed. “I knew it would be him or no one. When he asked me to marry him two weeks later, I said yes.”

Elizabeth was on the edge of her seat. “What happened?”

“He was drafted.” Nita’s mouth tightened and she pushed her glasses back on her nose. “Never made it home.”

Her heart sinking, Elizabeth took the older woman’s hand. “Oh, Nita, I’m sorry.”

“Thing is, I’d rather have those two wonderful weeks than a lifetime as Mrs. Someone Else.” As the faraway look evaporated, she cleared her throat and got to her slippered feet. “Best let you get to bed. Sweet dreams, Beth.”

As Nita left her alone in the big room with its heavy timber furniture and portrait of Grandpa Milton hanging on the wall, Elizabeth leaned back into the cushions. The feelings Nita had for her young man must have been fierce. As fierce as the passion Daniel had coaxed from her tonight?

Bald truth was she wanted to see Daniel again. But given the way he’d left tonight—with an apology for weakening and kissing her when he hadn’t meant to—would he want to see her?

Gnawing her lower lip, Elizabeth’s frown slowly eased into a smile.

Maybe she could help him decide.

Four

The next morning, dying for coffee, Daniel entered the Royal diner. The concierge at the hotel must have passed on the same recommendation to his crew. Rand sat in a corner booth near the jukebox, polishing off a plate of ham and eggs. As Daniel crossed over, the younger man lifted his fork in greeting.

“Hey, we missed you at dinner.”

Sitting down heavily, Daniel suppressed a yawn. He hadn’t slept a wink last night.

“I left a message,” he said, signaling the waitress.

Grinning, Rand finished munching a mouthful of toast. “You had a better offer?”

“Something like that.”

“I’m guessing from that doll in the fur.”

“Her name’s Elizabeth Milton.”

“Whatever her name, from the look, she didn’t take you back to her trailer for soda and chili dogs.”

The waitress brought over a cup and poured a steamy black coffee that smelled like heaven. “What’ll it be, sugar?”

“Coffee’s good,” he said, sliding the menu aside.

He’d been told anything ordered here was tasty and filling, but his appetite was lost, wondering what Nita had whipped up for breakfast this morning. Not to mention his obsessing about whether Elizabeth had tossed and turned all night, too.

He hadn’t been able to get that confounded kiss out of his head.

Of course, that could never happen again, Daniel told himself, scalding his tongue on a long pull from his cup. He was having a hard enough time making this trip a positive experience without throwing a gorgeous heiress held to ransom by her deceased parents into the mix.

Was he ever pleased that part of his past—having no say in where he went, how long he stayed—was well behind him. After the constant struggle of being shuttled between homes, between states, no way could he tolerate Elizabeth’s situation. And while nothing would change the fact that he found Miss Milton beyond attractive and interesting and charming, truth was he’d lost a little respect for her. If his parents had tried to blackmail him like that at her age, he’d have told them to go to hell in a handbag.

Rand was dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “What are you planning to do about the design?”

“Scrap it.”

Reaching for his cup, Rand froze. “You mean everything?”

“You were at the meeting. The black plague was a bigger hit.”

“Personally, I thought that model depicted the Old West at its best.”

“Point is this isn’t the Old West. Not anymore.” Daniel finished his coffee and signaled for another. “Abigail’s a friend but maybe I ought to retract my offer to submit.”

Hell, he should be home, preparing for next month’s visit from a client who needed a design for a new supermall, not downing coffee in a diner that looked like a reject from the fifties.

Leaning over the table, Rand dropped his voice. “You don’t need this job, boss. Your friend will understand.”

Understand? Abigail would most likely kick her heels if he suggested she might like to try someone else. The jet was fueled, ready to shoot them back to New York the moment he gave the word. Daniel took in the red-and-white upholstered booths, the diner’s sleepy clientele.

What the hell was he doing wasting his time here?

Across the table, Rand nudged his chin at the entrance. “Look who just walked in.”

A shiver running up his spine, Daniel spun around. Elizabeth Milton was sashaying inside like she’d been doing it all her life, which she had. Daniel told his heart to quit pounding. He didn’t know how she did it, but the woman looked even hotter this morning than she had last night. A pale pink dress with a matching short-sleeved jacket and pumps that drew the eye up over the splendor of those long, shapely legs. Tiny waist. Ample bust. Every line, every crest and valley was perfection. Then there were those lips …

When a throb kicked off low in his belly, Daniel panicked and pushed to his feet. He’d pretty much made up his mind to pull up anchor. That Elizabeth Milton had strolled in now made no difference. They’d already bade each other goodbye and good luck. They had nothing more to say.

While he slapped a few bills on the table, Elizabeth stopped to speak with a woman by the counter. From her relaxed body language, it was someone she’d known a long time. Daniel shoved his wallet in his back pocket while Rand collected his laptop and sidled out of the booth, too. Elizabeth had her back to them. If he hurried, he could save them both an awkward moment and duck out before she was any the wiser.

He headed for the door, Rand hot on his heels.

“I can make myself scarce,” Rand said, “if you want to, you know, say hi.”

Still striding, Daniel glared over his shoulder. “We’re leaving here together, packing up and saying goodbye to Royal for good.”

Rand’s mouth swung to one side. “You can tell Elizabeth Milton that. She’s on a crash course, headed this way.”

Daniel realigned his vision at the exact moment he plowed into something … someone. On reflex, his arms shot out and caught Elizabeth’s upper arms as she emitted a cry of surprise and toppled backward. Daniel swore under his breath.

Idiot. He should’ve watched where he was going. Now, not only did he and Elizabeth have to face each other, they’d made physical contact, skin on satin skin, and that was bad news. Those big green eyes, that fresh sweet scent. If they’d been alone, he’d have gone against every scrap of common sense he possessed and kissed her again.

He made sure she was steady on her pretty pink heels then, pasting on a smile, he released his hold and dug both hands safely away into his trouser pockets.

“Elizabeth. Hey, what a surprise.”

“You here trying some of our world-famous breakfast tacos?”

“Just coffee this morning.”

“Pining for Nita’s cooking?”

He slowly smiled. “That’s probably it.”

After the way they’d parted last night, why was she being so friendly? He wasn’t getting even a hint of frostiness. No sign of embarrassment. In fact, she radiated confidence. It was as if that moment last night in the moonlight had never happened. She said she’d been kissed before. Maybe this kind of thing was a regular occurrence.

Rand was easing around them. “I’m off. Lots to do.” He sent a smile to Elizabeth, a conspiratorial wink to Daniel, and made a beeline for the door. Daniel scowled after him. Traitor.

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