At The Playboy's Command: Millionaire Playboy, Maverick Heiress. Robyn Grady

might make him suffer and string him out. But from the inviting smile simmering in her eyes now, hopefully she’d want him to stay for breakfast, too.

      As they moved away from the table, Daniel noticed Bradford Price had left and his mind clicked over. Did Abigail know anything about the hushed conversation he’d overheard? Blackmail was an ugly word that accompanied an ugly deed, particularly when you were standing for office, public or private.

      “What’s the story behind Mr. Price?”

      “Bradford’s an extremely successful businessman. And playboy. His family’s in banking. They founded most of the artistic foundations in Houston and Dallas. He has a solid reputation but when Abigail first threw her hat into the election ring, he made jokes behind her back. Their rivalry since high school is a bit of a legend in these parts.”

      He pulled a pained face. “I do like my anonymous life.”

      “I hear you’re nothing less than a celebrity in your profession,” she retorted, grinning. “I’m sure you don’t lead a sheltered life, Daniel.”

      “No. But I try not to attract unwanted attention.”

      “Trouble sometimes follows when you deal with family, friends, community.”

      He looked at her twice and knew, despite her angelic expression, she was having a dig at him. But, right or wrong, he was too old to change. He might live a busy life but it wasn’t cluttered with family baggage. Not anymore.

      They drove to Milton Ranch, Daniel tossing around some ideas on the new clubhouse design. He spoke with Elizabeth about the history of architecture in the region, from Spanish Colonial and Mexican Republic through to Modern and beyond.

      “Do you think there’s a possibility in reinventing any of those for the design?” she asked.

      “In my opinion, I think we need something totally new.” He grinned. “Easier said than done.”

      “Perhaps that cheesecake will help.”

      Her hand found his thigh and, in that instant, nothing mattered but the wash of warmth the contact inspired. He’d come up with something that would grab the hearts of the Cattleman’s Club members. But tonight he was more interested in Elizabeth’s heart.

      When he steered the vehicle up before the house, the arcing beam from headlights let them know they still had company—the flamingos. Daniel dropped the gear into Park.

      “Maybe you should drum up an army of gnomes to keep them company.”

      “And we could stick plastic primroses in their little pots.” Opening his door, he froze and she laughed. “Daniel, I was joking.”

      He accompanied her up the path and waited while she unlocked the tall timber front door, all the while trying to rein in the heightened awareness tugging at his senses … the anticipation of gathering her close and claiming her mouth with his. Rocking back on his heels, he inhaled the perfume of fall wildflowers and told himself to be patient. Good things came to those who waited.

      “Why don’t I cut you a slice of cake,” she said, setting her keys on the hall stand, “and we can take a tour.”

      “Sounds like a plan.”

      She walked a couple of feet ahead, showing him the way down a long, high-ceilinged hall decorated in timber panels and the occasional painting depicting the area, glorifying the cowboy legend with lassos and dust flying. Daniel imagined the smell of cattle and dogwood blossoms, the magic of a Texas sunset and stories of cattle rustling told over campfires.

      In the kitchen, Elizabeth extracted a cream-topped pie from a monster refrigerator and Daniel’s taste buds tingled. He wished he’d left more room.

      “Are you joining me?” he asked.

      “If I consumed all the desserts Nita has prepared over the years, I’d be the size of our barn.” Crossing back from a cupboard, plates in hand, she winked. “But tonight’s special.”

      Daniel wet his lips. Yes, it is.

      When the pie was cut and waiting in individual bowls, Elizabeth slapped a spoon in his palm and, with a lift of her chin, indicated he should follow. Side by side, sampling their first creamy taste of pie, they traversed that hall again, this time ducking into a massive double-story ceilinged room, housing studded maroon leather chairs and walls of books. With the lingering aroma of pipe smoke hiding behind heavy baroque curtains, Daniel surveyed the sea of polished timber floor, numerous ornate architraves and a padded window seat, which looked out over green patches of lawn. He crossed to a section of old spines and eased out one musty book.

      “Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche.” Impressed, he set down his bowl and carefully opened the hardback cover. “Your father enjoyed a little light reading.”

      “That book belonged to my mother. Dad was more a Billy the Kid fan.”

      He shot her a look. “Your mother read this?”

      “Sure. When I was old enough she passed it on to me.” Her eyes lit. “Have you read Nietzsche?”

      Heavy-duty philosophy?

      “My reading material comprises titles like Architectural Digest.” Sauntering close again, he sent her an intrigued grin. “Just how many layers do you have?”

      “You mean in general,” she said as she dropped a look down over her red silk dress, “or just tonight?” She slid a spoonful of pie into her mouth and sashayed out the room.

      After loosening his tie, Daniel collected his bowl and followed.

      “This is the nine-ball room,” she said, a few moments later.

      Daniel examined the full-size table, the timber-and-steel-studded bar and, most impressive, a ceiling fresco portraying a stampede of wild horses. Nice.

      Next she introduced him to the sitting room, the media room, an amazing A-framed undercover outdoor area … in all he guessed around 20,000 square feet of luxury. Every room boasted stylish symmetry that would be bathed in natural light during the day, some with crossbeam ceilings and murals. Numerous wood-burning fireplaces, granite floors in wet areas … Daniel had a better idea of why Mr. Milton wanted to keep it in the family.

      But on a professional note, nothing jumped out and said, with regard to the Cattleman’s Club, Hey, run with this!

      They’d climbed an elegant staircase to the second story, where the majority of bedrooms where located, he presumed, thumbing a smear of cream from his lower lip into his mouth. As if reading his mind, she crossed through an opened double doorway, clicked on some muted down-lights and moved into a room decorated completely in snow-white and the exact green of her eyes.

      “Now this is my suite. Here’s the fireplace,” Elizabeth said, gliding with catlike grace over the spongy carpet. “My private retreat.” She indicated a silk-covered chaise, facing a window that overlooked the lit waters of an Olympic-size swimming pool. “That way to the attached bath,” she said, and gestured to the left, “and this is where I like to do the majority of my sleeping.”

      In a sensual, fluid move, she lowered herself onto the edge of a king-size bed, which was covered with a plump white duvet.

      His pulse booming, he started forward as she slipped off her sexy red heels. When he joined her, she was reaching behind, removing the heavy ruby necklace that graced the slim column of her throat. An heirloom, perhaps.

      “And that concludes the tour,” she told him, setting the necklace on the duvet and curling her legs up to one side. Her gaze meshed with his, she languidly rolled back and sank into airy white. “I think you’ve seen enough tonight.”

      His gaze devoured her lips. “Not nearly enough.”

      He slid off his tie and released his belt, all the while drinking in the alluring sight splayed out before him. When she stretched out, telling him without words to