At The Playboy's Command. Robyn Grady
few strides away from reaching her table when he recognized a voice and an unsettling feeling gripped his middle. After this morning, he’d know that drawl anywhere.
Bradford Price.
Daniel glanced to his right. Sure enough, Brad Price was seated with a number of others. His expression was open, confident, unlike earlier today when he’d been agitated about babies and blackmail. Daniel wondered what Brad’s supporters would say if they knew their candidate to head the renowned Cattleman’s Club was likely knee-deep in scandal involving blackmail.
Price’s focus snaked over Daniel’s way. With a steely gaze, Price sent a halfhearted salute. Daniel tipped his head in response. Good luck in trying to keep a secret that big in such a small town, Daniel thought.
When he reached Elizabeth’s table, he found her frowning, her gaze shifting between Price and him.
“You know Bradford?” she asked.
“I know of him.”
Tipping close, Daniel grazed his lips over her temple. His lungs absorbed her sweet scent and recollections of their time together in his suite this morning flooded his senses. It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest they eat later. He was hungry, but he was hungrier for her. Then Brad Price’s cocky laugh filtered across the room. Daniel was brought back and he straightened to his full height.
“This is obviously the place to dine in Royal.” He took his seat. “Should we expect Mr. Tremain, too?”
“Chad?” She wound a wave of blond hair away from her cheek and shrugged. “Possibly.”
“There goes the appetite,” he muttered, shaking out his napkin.
“He’s not that bad.” She settled back in her chair, looking a little smug. “He made that donation today. I’ll be flamingo free come morning.”
“You made the donation, Elizabeth. Don’t forget Tremain works for you. He needs to be reminded of that more often, too.”
“If you’re uncomfortable, we can leave.”
He took in her stiff expression, her suddenly tight tone, and kicked himself. They were here to enjoy each other’s company, some good food, not to rehash a situation that he had no power over and no right to interfere with.
He cleared his mind.
“No. This is good.” He signaled for the waitress. “Did you drive yourself here?”
“Abigail wanted to meet for a drink and discuss some campaign plans. She dropped by the ranch to pick me up.”
“You should have asked her to join us.”
“She didn’t want to be a fifth wheel. And she said she’d had a big day.” She angled her head and those glossy full lips gleamed in the candlelight. “How did you occupy yourself this afternoon?”
“I dropped by the club again.”
“Any ideas?”
“Nothing that blew me away.”
Unlike that tiff when he returned to the hotel. Despite the cool act in front of Rand, the interaction had surprised and unsettled him. He’d vowed to put it out of his head but now he was interested to know.
“There was a guest today at the hotel’s reception,” he said. “She was very vocal about the fact that nothing about the club should be changed. She made it clear she didn’t want the leadership to pass into the hands of anyone other than a cattleman.”
“A woman said that?” He nodded. Elizabeth’s lips tightened as she cast a glance around the candlelit tables. “There’s all kinds of dynamics involved. That woman’s entitled to her opinion.”
“That’s what the hotel receptionist said. People might like progress,” he grunted, “but tradition dies hard.”
Elizabeth knew that as well as anyone. She was legally chained to it. But he wouldn’t get into that again, either. They were talking about the club and the coming election.
“Between you and me,” he asked in a subdued voice, “do you think Abigail’s wasting her time running? Brad Price seems like a snaky son of a gun.”
“Or, do you want to know if I think she’s wasting your time?”
A corner of Daniel’s mouth curved up. “Either way,” he said, “I’m not sorry I accepted her invitation to come to Royal.”
He was about to tell Elizabeth again how pleased he was that she’d shown up on his doorstep unannounced this morning. That he was beyond happy she’d agreed to see him again tonight. But his cell phone rang before he had the chance.
“Sorry.” He grabbed the phone off his belt and muted the sound.
“Don’t you want to know who it is?”
“Later. Right now I’m having dinner with one of the Lone Star State’s most interesting and, might I say, beautiful women.”
Pretending to be coy, she tucked in her chin. “You might live in New York but your silver tongue is pure South.”
When the waitress arrived, Daniel ordered wine and the specialty of the house—pepper filet mignon with whiskey sauce. Elizabeth went with what she said was her favorite, chicken-fried steak with greens.
His eyebrows shot up. The contradictions kept coming. “From escargot to chicken-fried steak?”
“I grew up on the stuff.” She reached for her water glass. “What do they eat in South Carolina?”
“I remember a lot of shrimp, grits and fried cabbage.” Other memories surfaced—unpleasant ones—and he cleared his throat. “Course, that was a long time ago.”
She nodded slowly, tried to smile.
“Has your dad ever tried to get in contact?” she finally asked.
“Not for a while now.”
Her glistening gaze held for a long moment then fell away. “Strange how things work out. I’d do anything to be able to see my father again. Mom, too.”
Daniel groaned. Life wasn’t always fair. He might not agree with the clause her parents had included in the will but that didn’t mean she didn’t love them and wished they were still around. Years ago he’d wished for miracles, too.
Approving the wine sample the waiter poured, he set down his glass. “You must have a lot of great memories.”
“All around. Every day.” Elbows on table, she rested her chin in the vee of her palms. “My best memories are around family occasions. Thanksgiving. Christmas. They always did something special for birthdays.”
He nodded, letting the waiter know to fill both glasses while mouthwatering aromas and the sound of clinking silverware filtered through the room. “Special like what?”
“For my thirteenth birthday, my father put on our own rodeo at Milton Ranch. There was entertainment and prizes. People came from miles around.”
Bucking broncos, barrel racing, scrambling rodeo clowns. He gave a crooked smile. “Sounds like fun.”
“I had my first kiss that day. A boy I’d crushed on for months. He was leaving with his folks the next week for California.”
“First kiss, huh?” He tried to think but his own was too far back to remember.
“As our lips—or should I say braces—met, he backed me up against the rough fence rails. Unfortunately a whole pile of livestock had been there before us.” Her nose scrunched. “We were wearing boots but still not good.”
He chuckled. “Amazing you weren’t scarred for life.”
“He said he’d write. He did once. Even sent a silver locket in the envelope. Sometimes I wonder whatever