TYCOON WARRIOR

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "No, thank you. I'm fine."

  He poured himself a tall glass of soda water and returned to his seat.

  Kathy placed the magazine on her lap. "Are you concerned about the queen's ball? I know how much you dislike social functions."

  Dakota cocked an eyebrow at her. He didn't dislike all social functions, just the ones that required a tuxedo and served champagne instead of beer.

  "No, I'm not concerned about it. I've been to plenty of fancy affairs." And they made him uncomfortable as hell, even the familiar Texas Cattleman's Club events. Dakota had spent more years in war paint and combat gear than he had in uniform. This ball, he figured, would be the worst part of the mission. Next to Kathy, he would probably look like a big, snorting Brahma. James Bond he wasn't. Not all undercover agents were that damned debonair.

  "So you don't want me to brief you on royal protocol?" she asked.

  Dakota scowled. "No, Miss friend-of-the-queen, I don't. I know how to behave around royalty. As you might recall, I spent twenty years of my life serving in the United States Air Force. I've picked up a few manners along the way."

  She nibbled her bottom lip, then broke into an amused smile. "Miss friend-of-the-queen?"

  He couldn't help but return her smile. Kathy knew him better than anyone. She knew darn well how he felt about attending the queen's birthday ball. "If the glass slipper fits, Lady Katherine."

  She tossed her magazine at him. He ducked and shot her a playful grin, recalling how many times he used to tickle her on the living-room floor.

  Dakota picked up the magazine, his grin fading. Somehow those tickling sessions would inevitably turn into foreplay. Hot, sexy kisses. Rubbing against each other through their clothes.

  He looked over at Kathy and noticed her smile had disappeared, too. Just as well, he thought. The less tender memories they made, the better. Because when this assignment ended, they wouldn't be going home together.

  * * *

  The cottage the queen provided sat on a grassy cliff, the ocean below crashing upon a private stretch of beach. A cool, yet comfortable, sea breeze misted the May air, and clouds drifted lazily across an azure sky.

  Kathy had stayed in the isolated cottage on several other occasions, and she adored the quaint, European charm. Window boxes displayed an arrangement of colorful flowers, and leafy vines clung to a white trellis. A scattered-stone walkway led to the front door. Inside was a collection of art and antiques, a cozy living area, two bedrooms, a fully stocked kitchen and two bathrooms decorated with hand-painted fixtures. French doors in each bedroom opened onto a lush, well-tended garden. A wrought-iron table sat amid perennial blooms in what Kathy considered an outdoor breakfast nook – a place to sip coffee and breathe the sea air.

  The first thing Dakota did was search the cottage for concealed microphones, but Kathy expected as much. A frown furrowed his brow, she noticed. Was he preoccupied with the mission, or had he noticed the romantic ambiance – the vases of long-stemmed roses, the extravagant chocolates placed upon the master-bedroom bed? The big, quilted bed the queen's servants must have assumed Kathy and Dakota would be sharing?

  He completed the search, and she stood beside their luggage. "We won't have daily maid service," she said. "There's a little bungalow behind the garden that was built as servant's quarters, but it's vacant. We've been provided with enough food, towels and linens to last through the week."

  "Good. The less people around the better." He turned to look at her. "How did you manage that, anyway?"

  "I informed the queen we wanted to be alone. She's fanatical about seeing to her guests' personal needs."

  He frowned again. "Of course, our cover. Sorry, it was a stupid question."

  With an answer that made them both wary, she realized. A married couple requesting privacy meant long, sensual baths, sipping wine by candlelight, feeding each other aphrodisiacs.

  "I'll take the smaller bedroom," he said.

  Kathy didn't respond, instead she followed him as he lifted her luggage and carried it to the master bedroom.

  He placed her suitcase and garment bag on the bed, then turned toward the French doors and gazed out. "It's pretty here."

  She moved to stand beside him. "There's a fountain in the center of the garden." And she thought of it as her own private wishing well, even if her wishes had yet to come true. "This cottage is in a world of its own."

  "But it's not our world." With rigid shoulders, he turned away from the view, his mood switching from light to dark in one abrupt motion. "I have to meet with my contact soon. We can't get caught up in flowers and fountains. We're not on a holiday."

  "I'm well aware of why we're here." Angry now, she continued to study the foliage. She wouldn't allow him to spoil the allure of her garden, a place where mystical creatures made magic. She wanted to believe that fairies fluttered around the flowers, and mermaids splashed in the ocean below.

  "Kathy?"

  She turned toward him with a hard stare. "What?"

  He handed her one of the chocolates from the bed, an apology in his voice. "Truffles. They're your favorite."

  She bit into the candy and savored the richness, the gentleness in his tone. "Is that why you offered me this room?" A silk-draped room with all the elements Kathy adored – scented candles, fresh-cut flowers, lace-trimmed sheers.

  He smiled, but it fell short of reaching his eyes. He was worried, she realized. Worried about the mission, worried about being in an isolated cottage with his estranged wife. There was still so much distance between them, so much unnamed hurt. But how could she tell him that he hadn't loved her enough? That she needed more?

  "You should unpack and get settled in," he said.

  "I will." She searched his gaze. "Who is your contact, Dakota? Have I met him before?"

  He shook his head. "No, but he's someone I've known a long time. A former intelligence officer, another skin."

  Kathy knew that meant Dakota's contact was Native American. "Comanche?" she asked.

  "Apache. Goes by the name Thunder. If something goes wrong on this assignment, he'll get in touch with you, Kathy. He vowed to look after you."

  She didn't want to think about something going wrong, but she couldn't pretend the danger wasn't real. A man in Royal had been murdered by one of Payune's anarchists, and now they were on Payune's soil.

  "Is Thunder a mercenary?" She knew Dakota didn't consider himself a mercenary because serving merely for pay wasn't his objective.

  Dakota nodded. "Yes, but that doesn't make him someone you can't trust. He took a bullet for me. I owe him my life. We even look similar, like brothers."

  Feeling an emotional chill, she crossed her arms. How many bullets had Dakota dodged? How many times had his life been spared? "Do you want me to unpack for you?" she asked, hoping he would understand why she had offered. She needed to place his clothes in the closet, his shaving gear in the bathroom. She used to unpack for him whenever he came home from an assignment. To her it meant he would be staying, at least for a while.

  He didn't answer. Instead he remained motionless, staring at her. Her husband stood so close, she could see every eyelash, every pore in his sun-baked skin. And now she remembered how it felt to stroke his face. That intense face – smooth in some areas, rough in others.

  Kathy moistened her lips. She wanted to grip his shoulders, lean into him and press her body against all that male hardness, feel her bones dissolve while his tongue stroked hers.

  "You better go," she heard herself say.

  She had no right to want him, not now, not after all the tears she had cried, the baby she had lost. Dakota would forever be walking away. There would always be another assignment, another mission – something more important than his marriage.

  He left the cottage, and she decided not to unpack for him. Touching his clothes would only make her ache.

  * * *

  Hours later Dakota returned from his meeting to find Kathy in the garden. Rather than disturb the momen
t, he watched her. She stood beside the fountain, wearing a pale cotton dress that billowed softly in the breeze. Her hair fell loose from its confinement, long silky strands framing her profile. She belonged in the setting, he thought. The foliage reached out to her, colorful blooms and lush greenery graced by her presence.

  He felt like an intruder. But he had some news, and it couldn't wait. Bad news, it seemed, never could.

  "Kathy?" he said softly.

  She turned. "Oh, hi. I didn't know you were back."

  "I haven't been here long." He hated to spoil the serenity, the beauty of what he had come to think of as her garden. Her enchanted garden. He had no right to be there. Dakota wasn't a dreamer. To him life consisted of reality – hard, strong doses of it.

  "Any new information?" she asked.

  He nodded. "A valuable necklace was stolen last night, and Thunder is convinced Payune is responsible." Dakota shifted his stance. "It belonged to the Duchess of Olin. A rare ruby heirloom that will command a substantial price on the black market."

  "Now Payune has another means to fund his revolution."

  "That's right. He couldn't get his hands on the Lone Star jewels, so he went after the next best thing."

  Kathy frowned. "How are we going to get around this? You can't very well infiltrate Payune's operation if he doesn't need the money you intend to offer."

  "True. But Payune is still powerless until he fences the necklace." Dakota felt a surge of adrenaline rush through his veins, nervous energy he couldn't shake. This mission had become even riskier, and his wife was his partner. That thought didn't sit well. "I have to retrieve the necklace. Steal it back, so to speak."

  Kathy's face paled. "How's that going to work? Payune will become suspicious of everyone who comes into contact with him. If the necklace is taken from him, he'll know that someone is trying to stop him from funding the revolution. And it won't take him long to look in your direction, not once you approach him with your cover."

  "This won't affect my cover." Dakota resisted the urge to pace, to stalk the garden path. "The Duchess has a paste copy of the necklace. It's the one she wears in public, and it's extremely high quality – identical to the original. So all I have to do is switch them. Payune will never know he was robbed."

  "Not until he tries to fence it and discovers it's fake."

  "True, but that's the beauty of this plan." Because Kathy was still frowning, Dakota sent her a roguish grin. "Payune will think he nabbed the wrong necklace to begin with, rather than suspect foul play."

  She chewed her bottom lip. "It could work."

  "It has to. We don't have much time. Thunder thinks the necklace will be fenced right after the ball. Late that night. He has a pretty good handle on who's backing the sale."

  "The ball is three days from now."

  "Which is why I've secured a meeting with Payune tomorrow. I need to establish my cover before he tries to sell the necklace. If I wait to approach him, he just might put two and two together."

  A light breeze blew the loose stands of Kathy's hair. "When are you going to switch the necklaces? You have to do it before the ball."

  "Don't worry about it, sweetheart. I'll let you know when I've got the details worked out." Dakota was going to need her help. And Thunder's, too. It would take the three of them to pull this off.

  He motioned toward the stone path leading back to the cottage. "Why don't we go inside? I could use a cup of coffee." He had more news. Something that would take an emotional toll on Kathy, something he hated to tell her.

  While Kathy brewed a pot of coffee, a wave of homesickness washed over Dakota. Not for Texas, but for her. He missed having her nearby, watching her do simple tasks. Her feet were bare, and more of her hair had come loose. He could almost imagine them snuggling in front of the TV, eating popcorn the way they used to.

  Life had never been particularly simple for Dakota, but being married to Kathy made the world a better place. She brought out the good in him. Or at least he'd thought so. Kathy must have felt differently. A woman didn't leave a good man.

  She handed him a cup of the dark brew. He carried it into the living room while she doctored hers with sugar and cream.

  He lowered himself onto the sofa, and she entered the room and sat across from him in an overstuffed chair.

  "I can tell there's something else going on," she said. "What is it?"

  "You won't like it."

  "Dakota. Quit stalling. That isn't like you."

  "You're right." He wondered why he was trying to protect her from someone else's life. "There are rumors circulating about the king and queen."

  She placed her coffee on a nearby table. "What kind of rumors?"

  "That their marriage is in trouble."

  She pushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, her posture suddenly tense. "I don't believe it. People like to make things up. Create scandals. That happens to every royal family."

  "Don't hide your head in the sand, Kathy. Plenty of couples have problems. And royalty are like everyone else in that regard." Our marriage failed, he wanted to say. And we were supposed to be happy. Why not a king and queen?

  She thrust her chin in a stubborn gesture. "This does not mean Queen Nicole is having an affair with Payune."

  "I didn't say it did."

  "But that's what you're thinking."

  "No, it's not." He was thinking about his own life, about why Kathy had walked out on him. He wished to hell he knew what he had done wrong. But now wasn't the time to ask. Dakota had to concentrate on retrieving the stolen necklace, on trapping the revolutionists and sending them to jail.

  This mission wasn't about the hole in his heart. It wasn't about the woman seated across from him, messy locks spilling out of her proper hairdo, her long slim body draped in a summer cotton dress. This romantic little cottage wasn't home, and he would do well to remind himself of that. Every chance he got.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  «^»

  Kathy couldn't sleep. Tired of tossing and turning, she slipped out of bed, then stood before the French doors. She knew her garden was out there, and beyond it a grassy terrain dotted with wildflowers. Below the hills, a midnight ocean crashed upon the shore. She gazed out, but it was too dark to see anything but an eerie reflection of herself.

  A woman in white silk, her hair a long, tousled curtain. She looked like a mysterious shadow. A faded image. The silhouette of a lady longing for her lover.

  Suddenly she could see this woman, this shadow of herself, roaming the hills, the wind whipping through the night, a sheer nightgown clinging to her skin. She was naked beneath the gown, waiting for her lover to come to her. He was forbidden, she knew. But she wanted him. Wanted to tumble to the ground with him, tear at his clothes and feel his mouth ravage hers.

  What am I doing?

  Shaking off a sexual chill, Kathy reached for her robe. A thirty-two-year-old woman should know better.

  What she needed was food. A sandwich might be a poor substitute for a good night's rest, but it would keep her mind off foolish fantasies.

  Belting her robe, she made her way to the kitchen. She flipped on the light. The room was spotless. The appliances were white, the wallpaper a tiny floral pattern. The appeal was homey, but kitchens usually were.

  Kathy opened the refrigerator and removed a package of ham. After spreading a small amount of mayonnaise on two slices of bread, she reached for the mustard. It was her favorite – a spicy French condiment. In her haste to combine the two flavors, she ended up with a glob on her finger. Lifting it to her mouth, she froze. The chill returned. This time it slid down her spine like a masculine hand brushing her skin.

  She was being watched. She could feel his eyes on her. She hadn't heard him come into the room, but she felt him there.

  Watching every move she made.

  She squared her shoulders and turned. He stood in the open doorway, tall and silent, his stare dark and intense. He wore a pair of drawstring s
weat pants, riding low enough to expose his navel. He looked big and powerful, almost frightening. His eyes were so black, his pupils no longer existed. He had spiked his hair with restless hands, the glossy strands a startling shade of midnight blue. A trick from the light, but it startled her just the same.

  The muscles along his stomach rippled with each breath he took. Hard, barely controlled breaths.

  He was angry. Or aroused. Neither thought gave her much comfort.

  She wanted to leave the kitchen, retreat to the safety of her room. But she couldn't. Her sandwich was half made, and Dakota blocked the doorway. She had no choice but to continue her task, to convince herself his presence hadn't unnerved her.

  "I can't sleep," he said.

  Turning back to her sandwich, she barely glanced up. "Neither can I. But then we both drank coffee later than we should have."

  Although she avoided his gaze, she knew it remained fixed on her. He couldn't know about her fantasy, about what her imagination had conjured, yet she sensed he did. In her mind, she had been waiting for her lover. Her forbidden lover. And now he was here – the man she wasn't supposed to want.

  The coffee hadn't kept him awake, Dakota thought. She had.

  It had been three years. Three years since he'd made love, since he'd felt her warm, willing heat. And she stood in the kitchen wearing a silky robe, her hair spilling gloriously over her shoulders – that fire-tinted hair he ached to grasp, lift to his face.

  She didn't look his way. Instead she continued to make her sandwich. No, he couldn't sleep. Because he had tossed and turned, remembering every kiss, every tantalizing taste. He had even considered going outside, walking the cliffs as if he would find her there. As if she would be waiting.

  "Maybe I should eat, too," he said. He wasn't hungry, but he couldn't think of another excuse to get close to her, to stand beside her and torture the hell out of himself.