“That she does,” Patrick concurred, a note of pride in his voice.
“Why don't you tell her that sometime?” Quentin met Patrick's eyes, green like Elizabeth's only without the golden touches. “Even the best of us need to hear the words occasionally.”
Patrick paused a moment, considering, then nodded slowly. “I will. That I will,” he said gruffly.
Attempting to lighten the mood, Quentin chuckled and rubbed his chin. “You think the world is ready for Donovan-Whittaker offspring?”
Patrick slapped him on the back, tacitly acknowledging the newfound understanding between them. “I've wondered myself.”
Liz spent a sleepless night tossing and turning. As soon as she seemed to drift off, her dreams were of Quentin. Quentin asking her to marry him. Quentin making love to her. Quentin amused, irritated, annoyed.
She got out of bed at seven, and noted that her face showed her sleeplessness. She looked bleary-eyed, and worse.
She padded around in her robe and nightie, fixing herself eggs, toast and juice. God, she missed her morning cup of coffee. But she'd sworn off caffeine the minute she'd discovered she was pregnant.
Once she had a food-laden tray, she moved to the living room. She placed the tray on the coffee table and eased herself onto the couch to watch the morning news.
Quentin had not called. It had been three days. Isn't that what she wanted though? Still some small part of her, she guessed, had wanted him to continue pursuing her, refusing to take no for an answer.
At noon, the phone rang when she was going through some antique auction catalogs.
Her first thought was: Quentin! Then she felt irritated for the way her pulse raced. Even if it was him, she needed to remain calm and collected.
In fact, it wasn't Quentin, but his lawyer.
“Ms. Donovan,” the attorney intoned, “I spoke with Mr. Whittaker this morning and he requested I call you regarding the terms of your, ah, financial agreement.”
Her hand tightened on the receiver. “Yes.”
“Mr. Whittaker has authorized me to transfer all of his shares in Samtech Industries to your name. Are you agreeable to such an arrangement, Ms. Donovan?”
Her world spun around and her hands felt clammy. “Yes,” she managed, fighting to keep her composure. What had Quentin done?
“Good. I'll finalize all the paperwork for the transfer of shares and I'll contact you at the end of the week when the documents are ready to sign.” The lawyer ended the call with a final word about information he'd need from her.
Liz replaced the receiver in a daze. Quentin had decided to hand Donovan Construction over to her. And in the process, she realized, he'd gotten rid of her fear that by accepting his marriage proposal she'd be playing into her father's hands.
But why?
Even for a man intent on taking financial responsibility for fathering a baby, it was a generous gesture.
Unless he didn't do it just for the baby, her heart whispered. There was no stipulation that she'd hold the company shares in trust for their child.
It almost sounded like one of those grand gestures only a man blinded by love would make. A man intent on proving to the woman he loved that he trusted her, that she had nothing to prove except to herself.
Could it be?
She realized how big a leap it was for him to trust a woman after having been treated so shabbily by Vanessa. She pressed shaky fingers to her lips.
He'd confessed to wanting her. Feeling an unwanted attraction from the time he'd first met her. She desperately wanted to believe….
Yet, if she loved him, wasn't he worth fighting for? He might not love her. But at least she was sure he wanted her, and if Allison was right, they were on to something that could become deeper and more lasting… with her help.
She looked at the clock and then picked up the phone. For her plan to work, she'd need Allison's help. This time, she had her own proposition to offer Quentin.
Eleven
Shortly before seven o'clock the next night, the scene was set for seduction. Mouth-watering aromas wafted from Liz's kitchen to where she stood in the living room. The roast was in the oven, along with baked new potatoes lightly seasoned. Squash, fresh rolls and, her specialty, chocolate cake with mocha icing, rounded out the meal.
She held a match to the last candle, the one on the mantle. Candlelight always set the right romantic mood.
Blowing out the match, she turned to survey the scene. She'd moved her grandmother's antique table, just large enough for two, into the center of the room. An heirloom lace tablecloth graced the table, which was also set with heirloom china, crystal, and silverware.
Fortunately, her father had announced yesterday afternoon that he was going to pay an overnight visit to a friend of his in nearby New Hampshire and wouldn't be returning until tomorrow night.
He'd returned yesterday from his morning errands in an unexpectedly jovial mood, answering her questions with “that's wonderful, sweet pea” or “whatever you like, Lizzie, honey.” Her suspicions had been raised, of course, but she hadn't gotten anything out of him.
Well, if tonight went as she'd hoped, her father would have something to be happy about. Somehow that thought didn't bother her. So what if her father unexpectedly got what he wanted? She'd have Quentin.
She passed over to the mirror above the side table to check her appearance one last time. She'd bought the black lace negligee and matching filmy robe with Quentin's reaction in mind. If his past reactions to her lingerie were anything to judge by, she was right on target with the armor she'd chosen for battle.
She stared critically at the face that looked back at her. Her hair curled past her shoulders and framed a face currently dominated by wide, anxious green eyes. At least her lips still appeared perfectly lined in a shade of wine.
All in all not bad, she decided, but she'd better cut the anxious look. If Allison had done what she said she would, Quentin would be here any minute.
Right on time, the doorbell rang. Liz sent up a silent prayer as she walked to the door on unsteady legs.
Quentin looked dumbfounded for a second when she opened the door. Then his gaze flicked over her, a hot intense look in eyes that seemed to heat wherever they landed. Finally, he extinguished the twin flames, and his mouth set into a hard, thin line.
“Allison wanted me to stop by on the way home from the office. Said you had some books for her.” His eyes narrowed. “But I see this is a bad time.”
Bad time?
One second she was flustered and feeling the flush to the roots of her hair, the next she was confused. Then it dawned on her that he didn't realize she was waiting for… him!