With deepening dread, she watched as he began to walk slowly back and forth, strong hands linked behind his back. His spotless white shirt was open at the throat, baring a tangle of wiry dark hairs. Elizabeth watched him, a cold lump of dread tightening her middle. "You left before we finished our discussion, Elizabeth." Elizabeth said nothing. The hand with the hairbrush had lowered to her lap. Her grip was white knuckled. "Our so-called arrangement is not working out as expected. Do you agree?" Elizabeth hesitated, then finally nodded. "Then I think it's time we acted our roles. You've chosen to dictate boundaries. So be it." There was a pulsebeat of silence before he said softly, "But I'm afraid I have some demands of my own." Quietly as he spoke, she sensed a harshness in him that could no longer be denied—and ah, how she suddenly regretted the rashness of her tongue! She had to force her lips to move. "Such as?" He had paused directly behind her, so close the fabric of his shirt brushed her hair.
