Millionaire Playboy, Maverick Heiress. Robyn Grady
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