"What am I supposed to say if he asks where we've been? We've been gone a long time, Dakota."
He guided her to the door. "Just tell him we got lost in the maze." It was, he thought, as close to the truth as they could admit. Even to themselves.
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
Two days after the ball, Dakota entered Albert Payune's home, an invitation extended by a phone call early that morning. The butler escorted him to the parlor, and Payune told the servant not to disturb him. Besides Payune, there were three other men already in the room. Dakota recognized all of them. Two were low-level Asterland cabinet members – willing participants in the impending revolution, he assumed.
And the third?
Dakota locked gazes with the average-looking man. He could have been anyone's neighbor, European or American. With his wavy brown hair and relaxed stance, he didn't appear to have a sinister bone in his body. Dakota knew otherwise. Mark Defray, as he had just been formally introduced, was a hired assassin. They had never met before, but Dakota had seen Mark's photograph in a top-secret military file. Different name, but that average, nice-guy face was one he wasn't likely to forget.
Someone was going to be murdered. Today, tomorrow or possibly the day after. Soon, he thought, the assassin would strike soon. Dakota glanced around the room and hoped to hell he wasn't the intended recipient of Mark Delray's hit.
* * *
Kathy had practically worn a hole in the carpet. What was taking so long? Where was Dakota? She peered out the window. Dusk had begun to settle in the sky. A bright orange sun was setting, a silvery moon hiding somewhere, waiting to take its place.
Feeling claustrophobic, she headed out the front door and down the scattered-stone walkway until she reached the grassy cliffs. She needed to breathe, needed to feel the wind on her face.
There was no one to call, no one to spill her worries to. How long could a meeting with Payune take? Dakota had left six hours ago.
Six hours. Six days. At the moment she couldn't distinguish the difference. All she knew was that he hadn't returned, and she feared for his safety.
Thunder would contact her if there was trouble. She tugged on an errant strand of hair as it fell free from its pinned coiffure. What if Thunder didn't know Dakota was in trouble. What then?
She stared out at the hilly terrain. The beauty mocked her mood. The sky was ablaze with a fiery glow and wildflowers dotted the hills with a lavender hue.
She spotted a familiar SUV in the distance, a white Mercedes ML moving up the winding road. "Thank you, God," she whispered.
Dakota parked the vehicle, and she stood watching him, the wind playing havoc with her hair. She couldn't run to him, no matter how much she wanted to. If she took that first step, she would probably burst into tears and cry in his arms, shake uncontrollably and kiss him senseless.
So she waited instead, her feet bare, the hem of a pale blue dress billowing in the breeze, her heart as fiery as the setting sun. Suddenly she wanted to kiss him, taste and tug and pull him to the ground. She wanted to feel those muscles bunch beneath her hands, hold him and never let go. He was safe. He was safe.
He exited the car, then caught sight of her. For a moment he stood motionless, watching the way she watched him. And then he smiled, a flash of white in that dark handsome face.
He came toward her, then stopped just shy of touching. "It's over," he said. "Or it will be in the morning."
"Over?"
"Payune and the others will be arrested tomorrow. I found what I needed to know and passed the information to Thunder."
"And Thunder contacted the Royal Police?" Dakota nodded. "Payune is expecting the money tomorrow, but that's not what he's going to get."
Kathy released a sigh of relief. If her feet weren't planted so firmly in the grass, she might have lost her footing and toppled over. "You did it."
"We did it," he corrected gently. "I couldn't have pulled this off without you."
She blinked back a collection of tears. The sun had disappeared, but the sky was still a haven of color. Magenta streaks blazed through slashes of orange and beams of midnight blue. It was beautiful, and so was he – this tall, powerful man.
"Kathy?"
"Hmmm?"
"They were going to kill the king."
Her heart went still, much too still. But rather than respond in a frightened voice, she waited for Dakota to continue. "It wasn't Payune's original plan. But when he heard that the royal marriage was in trouble, he got this insane brainstorm."
Dakota pulled a hand through his hair, spiking the thick, ebony strands. "Payune tried to convince me that the king was emotionally disturbed, just like Prince Ivan."
Kathy's heart was no longer still, it pounded with a hard thump. "They were going to murder King Bertram and make it look like a suicide."
"That's right. And in Payune's warped mind, Queen Nicole would have eventually turned to him for solace. Of course Payune didn't admit to any of this outright, but one of the other cabinet members got my attention on the sly."
"How?" she asked, picturing Dakota in that risky situation.
"He was pouring drinks for everyone. And when he handed mine over, he whispered, 'follow me.' I knew he meant after the meeting. At first I was concerned that I was being set up for a hit. But then, something – instinct, I guess – told me he was going to make some sort of confession." Kathy fought a shiver, and Dakota continued. "So after the meeting I followed him to a deserted road."
"And he told you about Payune's plan?"
"Yes, he did. And he's willing to cooperate with the Royal Police. He never expected this to come down to murder, but he didn't know how to approach the police without arousing Payune's suspicion."
Kathy battled another chill, realizing how often Dakota had been exposed to dangerous situations. "How did this cabinet member know you were out to get Payune?"
"He didn't. He just figured an American businessman wouldn't want to be implicated in the assassination of a king."
She tipped her head and looked up at the sky, then back at Dakota. "I'm so glad it's over."
"Me, too."
They stood staring at each other, and she nearly lost her breath. "I'm going to miss this cottage." And she would miss him – those piercing black eyes and that Comanche smile.
"It is kind of magical." He moved closer, brushing his body against hers, his lips just a heartbeat away.
A pounding, drumming heartbeat.
He lowered his head, and she closed her eyes. There was no time to think, to rationalize. There was only Dakota's mouth covering hers.
He tasted as clean as the elements, as spicy as the scent of his cologne. She stood on her toes and clung to him. Heat burned throughout her body, making her breath catch in her throat. She arched to feel as much of him as she could, but it wasn't enough. While he kissed her, she tugged hiss shirt from his trousers, then unbuttoned it, searching for muscle and male flesh. The wind snapped the tails of the fabric, pulling it away from his chest. She grazed him with her nails, and he shifted his hips and deepened the kiss.
His hands were suddenly everywhere, all over her, sliding and roaming. He went after the front of her dress, popping buttons as he did. Dragging his lips down the column of her neck, he unhooked her bra. Kathy moaned and bit his shoulder. Dakota tongued her nipple.
She held him against her breast and watched him suckle. A blade of moonlight glinted off his hair, and she realized dusk had slipped into darkness. Her bra remained slack, falling against her body.
No, there was no time to think. No time to care about anything but how he made her feel. She had become part of this enchanted world – the cliffs and the trees and the ocean crashing below. She pictured the waves rising and swelling, bathing the rocks in crystalline sheets. Just as Dakota bathed her – with his mouth, his tongue.
She buried her hands in his hair while he licked, then pulled on those short spiky strands as he closed his teeth a
round her. It was gentle. It was rough. An ache that brought both pleasure and pain.
When he stepped back to look at her, a light breeze blew across her nipples, chilling them.
"Tell me you want more," he said.
Her breath rushed out of her lungs. "I do." She wanted everything. Every touch, every kiss, every slick, hot sensation he could give her. "I want more."
As he pushed her dress from her shoulders, Kathy felt it pool at her feet in a flutter of pale-blue lace.
Their gazes locked in a magnetic pull. His eyes were black against the night, dark and compelling. And his face, so close to hers, was hard and smooth and mildly abrasive. She stroked his skin, memorizing him beneath the stars.
He didn't remove her panties. Instead he skimmed her tummy, then slid his hand under the elastic. She rocked against his hand, and he stroked – a gentle, rhythmic pressure.
He pushed a finger deep inside, and she gasped. More. Yes, she wanted more. He kissed her, took her mouth while he made her unbearably wet.
She tasted desire in his kiss, felt it blaze like a neon moon. She gripped his shoulders and lost herself in his touch – his hand moving between her thighs, those long, callused fingers teasing and arousing.
Deeper.
Wetter.
"Let it happen," he whispered.
She had no choice. The wind rushed through her hair, spilling pieces over her shoulders and down her arms. One strand adhered itself to her nipple, to the moisture he had made. His fingers surged into her with exquisite force. Desperate, she kissed him so hard, they both gasped for air.
Need clawed like talons, and she rubbed against his hand – against the pressure, the friction, the fire she couldn't control.
And then suddenly the world stilled, and there was nothing but the sound of her release. She heard it rip from her throat and echo into the night before she closed her eyes and let herself tumble.
* * *
Kathy collapsed in his arms, so Dakota held her in a soft, quiet moment. The moon sent fiery streaks through her hair, and her skin glowed with a passionate sheen. She was beautiful. So beautiful. Bathed in the afterglow of the climax he had given her.
He brushed her cheek, and she made a kittenish sound. She was still dazed, still caught between silk and sensation. He ran his hands down the sides of her body, down the long, lithe curves. Her tummy was flat, her hips lean yet womanly, her breasts full, nipples taut and aroused.
He was aroused, too. So damn aroused.
His shirt flapped in the wind, and he wondered if she was cold. She wore nothing but a pair of lace panties. Blue lace and smooth, creamy skin.
"I'm taking you inside." He swept her into his arms, and she clung to him, her hair falling free from its confinement. It spilled over her shoulders like a scarlet ribbon, reminding him of Christmas and birthdays and all the holidays he had missed holding her.
Tonight they would make up for lost time. Tonight, he thought, carrying her to the master bedroom, they would make love.
He placed her on the bed and turned on a lamp. An amber bulb lit the room, illuminating with a soft glow. There were fresh flowers on the nightstand, and he knew she had picked them. They were wild, the same lavender blooms that dotted the cliffs. Everything in the room was decidedly feminine-pillows the color of champagne, window sheers trimmed in lace, a quilt as silky as her skin.
It made him feel erotic, a little forbidden – a man stealing into a lady's chamber at night.
Oh, yes, he thought, as he unbuckled his belt, this cottage was haunted. A sexual haunting he had no will to stop.
"Let me touch you," she said.
"Go ahead," he challenged, his shirt gone, belt undone, trousers unzipped. "Touch as much as you want. Wherever you want."
Painfully aroused, he stood before her while she sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him. She skimmed his belly, gently abrading him with her nails. And then she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to the scar just below his navel.
His stomach was corrugated with muscles, and each and every one of them jumped, sending a cool, clean shiver straight to his groin.
Damn it. He closed his eyes, then opened them, realizing they had forgotten something. One simple, important little thing.
"I didn't bring any protection." Three years of celibacy had left him without a reason to think about it. Until now. "Tell me we can risk it." They had taken risks before. But Kathy knew her own body, knew when it was safe.
"I..." Something flashed in her eyes. Pain? Sadness? He couldn't be sure, wasn't certain if he wanted to know. Suddenly their emotions were too close to the edge. They were half naked, looking into each other's eyes, stripping each other's souls.
He skimmed her cheek. "Kathy?"
Her breath hitched. "I want you to love me."
"Then I will."
He discarded his boots and shed his belt, then lowered himself to the bed. She reached for his trousers, and together they battled to remove them.
Soon his pants landed at the foot of the bed along with his briefs. She still wore those pale blue panties, so he slipped them off, tugging the lace from her hips.
The sheets smelled sweet, like Kathy, like fresh-picked berries on a summer morning. He imagined living there, in this bed, with her by his side.
They could feed on each other, sustain themselves with sex. Luscious, wild strawberry-scented sex. It was an insane notion, but it made him smile.
And then she reached between their bodies, and every coherent thought slipped from his mind. He surged hot and greedy into her palm, and she closed her fingers around him.
His pulse pounded. He wanted to slam into her, take her as hard and fast as he could. Yet he wanted to savor and touch and kiss and make the urgency last.
Pinning her to the bed, he cuffed her wrists with his hands. Her hair was everywhere, a mass of scarlet ribbon tangling over her shoulders, down her arms, across the pillow. One silky wave curled around one taut, rosy nipple. She was his fantasy. She had always been his ideal, and he had wanted her from the first moment he had seen her.
She looked up at him, seducing him with those exotic green eyes. She must have been a cat in another life, he thought. A lean, leggy creature with claws.
She struggled against his restraint, rising to nuzzle his chest, purring like the feline he imagined her to be.
He smiled and held her down again. Hot and restless, she moved beneath him, challenging him to take her, to make her wet and slick and quivering with lust.
Dakota nearly lost his mind. Releasing her wrists, he slid down her body, over those smooth, feline curves. Placing his mouth against her, he kissed between her thighs. Kissed and licked while she bucked and made throaty little sounds.
He could hear the wind outside, knew it had picked up speed. The same speed as the rhythm of his heart. The beating, the pounding, the rush of excitement.
He tasted her release, felt her orgasm rise and swell, but it still wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
He needed more. So much more.
Dakota rose above her, then entered her with a deep, sensual stroke. She raised her hips, and together they moved in unison – lovers who relished the pleasure, the warmth, the familiarity of each other.
They couldn't stop kissing, touching, feeling – giving sensation, taking it back.
They rolled over the bed until she straddled him, rode him while he watched. Her hair fell forward, a portion of it still pinned, the rest tangling over her body like fiery vines. She was a goddess, he thought, an enchantress, a mermaid from the sea, a siren from the sky. She was everything he had ever wanted in a lover.
He couldn't think about missing her because she was here, riding him, milking his body with hers. Heat shot through his belly and blazed through his loins, begging for a release. Begging for the strength to hold on. Just one more minute, one more warm, wet spiraling second.
She grasped his hands, locked on and held. He watched her, his vision blurred, his need edgy. An
d when that last second spun out of control, he threw back his head and let himself fall.
* * *
Hours later Dakota opened his eyes, trapped between waking and sleeping. The room was dark, not pitch black, but still too dark to focus. Someone touched him. A hand in his hair, fingertips skimming his shoulder.
He didn't stir. Instead he wondered if he dreamed, if he wasn't awake at all. He slept alone each night, yet there was a woman beside him. The lotion scent of her skin drifted to his nostrils, melding with the lusty lingering of sex.
Kathy. His mind came awake, and his body responded. He grew hard and achy between his thighs – the kind of pressure a woman could relieve. But not just any woman. He wanted his wife.
He turned, shifting in her direction, and her breath caught. He could see her shadow – the outline of a heavenly body with tumbling hair.
"I thought you were asleep," she said.
"I was." He squinted to bring her into focus, but she was still ghostlike. It was the cottage, he thought. The haunting. "You don't have to stop touching me."
"I stayed awake because I wanted you again." She slid down beside him, her leg brushing his. "Before morning."
He struggled to make sense of her words. If she wanted him she could have him now and in the daylight. "We won't turn into pumpkins. Or whatever happens in fairy tales."
"Maybe we will." She ran her hands down the front of his body, over the planes and ridges, muscles that formed his stomach. "Maybe tonight is just a fairy tale."
A tightness, a pain constricted his heart. He understood why she had remained awake. Tomorrow their loving would end. She wasn't offering to come back to him, to become a part of his life again.
What they had was now. His haunting. The darkness that shielded their past and kept them from a future.
He should have turned away, but he couldn't. If this moment was all they had, then he'd take it.
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