This month, in

TYCOON WARRIOR

by Sheri WhiteFeather,

meet Dakota Lewis—retired air force lieutenant and

man of wealth. This Native American warrior

was about to undergo a secret mission involving

none other than…Kathy Lewis, his gorgeous,

estranged wife. Could this become a mission

to reclaim their love?

SILHOUETTE DESIRE

IS PROUD TO PRESENT THE

Five wealthy Texas bachelors—all members of

the state’s most exclusive club—set out to restore

the “Royal” jewels…and find true love.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the world of Silhouette Desire, where you can indulge yourself every month with romances that can only be described as passionate, powerful and provocative!

The always fabulous Elizabeth Bevarly offers you May’s MAN OF THE MONTH, so get ready for The Temptation of Rory Monahan. Enjoy reading about a gorgeous professor who falls for a librarian busy reading up on how to catch a man!

The tantalizing Desire miniseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: LONE STAR JEWELS concludes with Tycoon Warrior by Sheri WhiteFeather. A Native American ex-military man reunites with his estranged wife on a secret mission that renews their love.

Popular Peggy Moreland returns to Desire with a romance about a plain-Jane secretary who is in love with her Millionaire Boss. The hero-focused miniseries BACHELOR BATTALION by Maureen Child continues with Prince Charming in Dress Blues, who’s snowbound in a cabin with an unmarried woman about to give birth! Baby at His Door by Katherine Garbera features a small-town sheriff, a beautiful stranger and the bundle of love who unites them. And Sara Orwig writes a lovely tale about a couple entering a marriage of convenience in Cowboy’s Secret Child.

This month, Silhouette is proud to announce we’ve joined the national campaign “Get Caught Reading” in order to promote reading in the United States. So set a good example, and get caught reading all six of these exhilarating Desire titles!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Tycoon Warrior
Sheri Whitefeather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my Texas Cattleman’s Club sisters, Jennifer Greene,

Sara Orwig, Cindy Gerard and Kristi Gold. I hope we can do it again sometime.

SHERI WHITEFEATHER

lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, summer powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.

Sheri also works as a leather artisan with her Muscogee Creek husband. They have one son and a menagerie of pets, including a pampered English bulldog and four equally spoiled Bengal cats. She would love to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 5130, Orange, California 92863-5130.

“What’s Happening in Royal?”

NEWS FLASH, May—Everyone in the town of Royal is talking about a possible reconciliation of our favorite marrieds—Dakota and Kathy Lewis! ’Course, all those single gals are hoping it isn’t true, as the swoon-inspiring former air force lieutenant Dakota Lewis proves a mighty catch. But this hunk’s Comanche heart appears destined to belong to his beautiful wife, Kathy….

Seems the reunion began when woman-of-the-world Kathy returned to Royal unexpectedly to meet with our dashing Texas Cattlemen—her hubby, Dakota, included—behind closed doors. And where-oh-where did Kathy and Dakota disappear to soon after?

Perhaps our boys at the Cattleman’s Club can finally give us some answers? We’re waiting here with bated breath…. Stay tuned!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

One

Retired air force lieutenant Dakota Lewis sat upright in a leather recliner, studying his home. Would the ranch look the same to Kathy?

Of course it would, he told himself a second later. He hadn’t changed a thing. Not one cowboy novelty, not one Indian artifact. She would recognize every cow skull, every antler, every ceremonial pipe.

An ensemble of cedar, pine and mahogany made up Dakota’s living room. He hadn’t chosen pieces that belonged in sets. He preferred eclectic furnishings—hacienda-style trunks, tables topped with clay-colored tiles, mirrors framed in tooled leather.

He turned his attention back to his guests. They weren’t discussing the mission at this point. Someone had made a reference to his wife. Was it Aaron Black? Sheikh Ben Rassad? Dr. Justin Webb? It wasn’t Matthew Walker because Matt wasn’t married.

No, but he was engaged. Happily engaged.

Hell, Dakota thought. What was wrong with him? The other men in the room were his friends, his peers. He had no right to envy them. They were all members of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, the most exclusive gentlemen’s club in the state. They were all wealthy—filthy rich, some might say. And they were all either happily married or happily engaged.

All except himself.

Dakota’s estranged wife was due to arrive at his ranch any minute. Kathy had left three years before, a choice she hadn’t even bothered to explain. Dakota had come home from an assignment to find her gone—her side of the closet empty, the scented lotions she favored no longer lined up on the bathroom counter. Two years of marriage shot to hell, and Dakota didn’t know why. He had loved his wife, was certain she had loved him, too. Yet she’d walked out on him, saddling him with an emotional wound festering deep in his gut.

A wound that had become exceptionally active today. The top-secret mission the Cattleman’s Club’s members had come to discuss involved Kathy. She was the Foreign Service consular being teamed with Dakota. Together they would fly to Asterland, a small European country on the brink of a revolution.

The doorbell rang. Dakota excused himself from the other men and strode toward the entryway. Checking his watch, he tightened his jaw. Thirteen hundred hours. She was right on time.

Kathy stood on the other side of the door, slim and elegant, her thick, hard-to-hold hair coiled in a neat chignon. She wore a beige pantsuit and an emerald blouse that intensified the color of her eyes. Cat’s eyes, he’d always called them. Exotic eyes and fire-tinted hair, features that belied Kathy’s proper nature.

Neither spoke. Instead their gazes locked, and they stared at each other for what seemed like the longest moment of Dakota’s life.

“It’s good to see you,” she said finally, extending her hand.

Polite pleasantries, he thought. What else could he do? This was business, and Dakota viewed his work as the number-one priority in his life. He wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of an assignment, not even the pain shooting from his gut to his heart.

“It’s good to see you, too,” he responded, clasping her hand as though her touch wouldn’t affect him. It did, of course. Her hand felt small and feminine, her skin soft and warm against his own.

He invited her in, cursing the memories threatening to surface. Her fragrance drifted to his nostrils like fresh strawberries smothered in cream. Kathy preferred scented lotions to heavy perfumes, aromas that never failed to make Dakota hungry.

Suddenly he fought the temptation to uncoil her hair, let it fall across her shoulders. He hadn’t forgotten the woman he loved, hadn’t forgotten how she looked soaking in the tub, her fiery tendrils slipping free from the pins that secured them, her long, sleek body creamy and smooth.

How many times had he watched her slide a washcloth down her arms and over her breasts? And how many times had he carried her, soaking wet, to their bed?

“Dakota? Are the others here?”

Kathy’s question jarred him back to reality. Damn it. He stood in the tiled entryway, his hormones battling for control. How in the hell had he let that happen?

“Yes, they’re here.” He escorted his estranged wife to the living room, hating himself for the moment of weakness.

Like the Texas gentlemen they were, the other men rose as Kathy entered the room. Aaron Black came forward to hug her. How easily Kathy embraced Aaron, Dakota thought, wondering why a fist of rivalry gripped him hard and quick. Not only was Aaron blissfully married with a baby on the way, he was also a good friend, the American diplomat who had introduced Dakota to Kathy nearly six years before.

Kathy shook hands with the others, and soon they settled into their seats.

As Kathy crossed her legs, Dakota poured her a ginger ale from the wet bar. He didn’t stop to ask her preference. He knew what Kathy’s favorite soft drink was, and he still stocked the bar with it.

She thanked him quietly, the ice in her glass crackling. He poured himself a cola, opting to keep his hands busy. The urge to loosen her hair had returned.

How different they were, he thought, how opposite. Kathy was renowned for her grace and diplomacy, whereas Dakota was as rough-hewn as his taste in furniture, often solving matters with force.

Lifting his cola from the bar, Dakota took a swig, wondering if he should have spiked it with rum—something, anything to take the edge off. How could a woman skilled in conversation walk out on her husband without the slightest explanation? How could she ignore what they had meant to each other? The love? The passion?

Dakota didn’t need to ask Kathy where she had been for the past three years. He already knew. She had gone to Washington, D.C., to serve in the Bureau of Consular Affairs, leasing a spacious apartment in an exclusive suburb and furnishing it with antiques. Prior to that, she had been on an extended leave of absence, debating whether to end her career. For Kathy, living abroad in the Foreign Service had become stressful. She wanted to remain in Texas. Or so she’d said.

Regardless, locating her in Washington had been easy. Keeping his distance had been the tough part. But Dakota figured Kathy didn’t want to be confronted, didn’t want him standing on her doorstep, demanding to know why she had left. So consequently, Dakota’s pride—his hard-baked masculine ego—had managed to keep him at bay.

Sheikh Rassad drew Kathy into the meeting, pulling Dakota in as well.

“Are you familiar with the events leading up to this mission?” Ben asked her. “Are there any details that are not clear?”

“Aaron briefed me,” she responded. “I know the Lone Star jewels were stolen. And I’m also aware that they’ve been recovered.” She sat with her usual graceful posture, giving the sheikh her undivided attention. “Albert Payune, the Grand Minister of Asterland, masterminded the robbery, intending to use the jewels to fund a revolution. Which is where Dakota and I come in. It’s our job to make sure that revolution doesn’t happen.”

The sheikh leaned forward. “Aaron informed us that you are well acquainted with the king and queen.”

“That’s true. I’m very fond of the royal family, and I don’t intend to see them lose their country.” She placed her glass on a coaster, sending the sheikh a reassuring smile. “I’ve already made arrangements for Dakota to accompany me to Asterland for the queen’s birthday ball. And since he will be visiting as my guest, his presence won’t arouse suspicion.”

Dakota listened, although he had already been briefed by Aaron. The plan had been carefully orchestrated. Dakota’s initial arrival in Asterland must appear to be of a personal nature. And what could be more personal than traveling with his wife? They wouldn’t need to fake their cover, at least not on paper. They would be playing themselves.

Almost.

They would have to pretend to be in the midst of a reconciliation, a couple mending their marriage.

Dakota glanced at Kathy, and she barely returned his gaze. She appeared poised and professional, but he could sense her uneasiness. The same uneasiness that swept through him.

How were they going to pull this off if they couldn’t look at each other? Couldn’t relax in each other’s presence? Dakota glanced at Kathy again, his chest constricting with a familiar ache. Somehow, someway, they would have to. The future of a country was at stake. And this mission was far too risky for mistakes.

Kathy exhaled a quiet breath. When Aaron asked Dakota a question, he shifted his attention, giving her the opportunity to study him.

The years had been good to Dakota Lewis, aging him in a way that made him even more handsome, more rugged. He was half Comanche and half Texan—a tall, solid man with eyes that changed from brown to black, depending on his mood. His profile presented a determined jaw and high, slanted cheekbones. Everything about him boasted masculinity. His midnight hair, although short by most standards, was slightly longer than the military style he had worn while on active duty.

Active duty? Aside from allowing his hair to grow, retirement hadn’t changed Dakota Lewis. He’d gone from Special Forces assignments to privately funded missions without a hitch in his long, powerful stride. Danger flowed through his veins like liquid; it was his life force, his blood. Kathy considered men like Dakota adrenaline junkies—men who would never give up the fight, the need to save the world.

Of course, adrenaline junkies didn’t settle down with their wives. Instead they left them behind, left them alone to wait and wonder, praying frantically for their husbands’ safe return.

How many assignments had he been on since she’d left? Did he miss her the way she had missed him? Or had his work filled the void? Dakota had loved her—that much she knew. Only he hadn’t loved her the way she’d needed. Dakota’s work had always come first. Kathy couldn’t bear being second-best in her husband’s heart.

And then when she’d lost the baby—

Her breath hitched. Oh, God. Don’t think about the baby. Not here, not now. She placed a hand over her stomach. When would the pain go away, the ache of losing Dakota’s child? How many years would have to pass? How many years before she stopped wishing every dark-haired toddler she saw was hers?

Dakota turned toward her, and she removed her hand from her stomach. Kathy had learned long ago how to keep her emotions in check, and she wouldn’t give herself away now. Dakota didn’t know about the baby. He had been in the Middle East tracking gunrunners when she’d miscarried—alone and afraid, missing her husband and crying for the baby they would never hold. A child she had wanted desperately.

“How well do you know Albert Payune?” Sheikh Rassad asked, catching Kathy off guard.

She lifted her chin and concentrated on the mission, the reason she had agreed to fly to Asterland with Dakota.

“I know Payune well enough to form an opinion of him,” she responded. The sheikh’s interest in Payune didn’t surprise her, nor did his active participation in this meeting. She knew the sheikh’s new bride had been formerly promised to Albert Payune in an arranged marriage. “Payune is a clever man, but he’s arrogant, too. Much too vain to be considered charming. He isn’t likable, but he knows how to command attention. He prides himself on power. Craves it, one could say.”

“The perfect profile of a revolutionist,” Aaron added. “It’s quite possible Payune’s sanity borders on his desire to succeed.”

Matthew Walker joined in the conversation, mentioning his fiancée—Lady Helena of Asterland, a cousin to the royal family—a lady who shared Kathy’s opinion of Payune.

Only Dakota and Dr. Webb remained silent. The doctor sat patiently, but Dakota rose from his chair and crossed the room, heading toward the cowhide-covered bar.

Kathy watched him. He moved like a long, fluid animal stalking his prey. It was the Comanche in him, she thought. The warrior preparing to count coup, his mental focus merging with his physical being. She recognized the look, the walk, the adrenaline charge that took him into the next battle, the next mission. This would be the man going after Albert Payune.

Had Dakota acquired another scar since she’d seen him last? Another mark of valor?

Kathy knew every inch of his body, every taut muscle, every hard ridge and flat plane. She also knew his hands were mildly callused, capable of inflicting pain or pleasure, depending on his objective. She had always been on the receiving end of pleasure, those large callused hands surprisingly gentle against her flesh. Dakota Lewis was as skilled a lover as he was a warrior.

Don’t think about that now, she told herself. Focus on the mission. The reason she had agreed to help the Cattleman’s Club.

When the meeting ended, the other men departed, leaving Dakota and Kathy alone. She clutched her handbag and stood. Suddenly the smell of wood and leather made her homesick. The ranch looked the same, the living room cluttered with rustic charm. Pillows, lamps, paintings, bronze statues—every piece told a Western story.

Was the bedroom the same? Had he kept the items she had chosen? The canopy bed, the hand-painted dresser, the horse weather vane sitting atop a Chippendale desk? The ranch belonged to Dakota, a custom-built home he had helped design ten years before. But when Kathy had married him, he’d asked her to redecorate the bedroom—fill it with her flair, her flavor. So she had combined formal antiques with Western relics, candles with cowboy boots, Waterford crystal with carved wood. The end result had pleased Dakota, especially the massive bed.

A bed Kathy had no right to remember. She didn’t belong in this house. Loving Dakota didn’t mean she could live with him, wait months on end for him to return from the missions that consumed him.

How ironic that they would come together for an assignment, for one of the secret operations engineered by the Texas Cattleman’s Club. The members of that prestigious club weren’t just established businessmen. They were Lone Star warriors, men who vowed to serve and protect.

Only Dakota hadn’t protected her. He hadn’t been there when she’d lost the baby.

“I think we should have dinner together tomorrow night.”

Kathy blinked, then glanced up. How long had she been standing in the middle of Dakota’s living room? And how long had he been watching her? “To synchronize our plan?”

“To get used to each other.” He placed several empty glasses on top of the bar. “We can’t go to Asterland like this. Acting like strangers. No one will buy our cover.”

She let out an anxious breath. Right. The reconciled couple. The Foreign Service consular and her husband. “We still have some details to work out about the mission.”

“We can do that over dinner. Which means avoiding a restaurant. There are too many ears out there. I don’t want to take the chance of being overheard.”

And she didn’t want to have dinner with him at the ranch. She couldn’t bear the familiarity. “How about my hotel suite? We can order in.”

“That’s fine.”

He walked her to the door, and as she turned to say goodbye, their eyes met.

Yes, she thought, struggling to hold his gaze, they needed to get used to each other. Three years, too many missions and a secret miscarriage had created a lot of distance between them. Pretending to be a reconciled couple wasn’t going to be easy.

The following evening Kathy stood before a full-length mirror in her hotel room. She wore a white suit, gold jewelry and low heels. Reaching into her blouse, she lifted a long chain. Her wedding ring glittered on the end of it, a brilliant-cut diamond surrounded by emeralds. It was foolish, she knew, to wear it in such a manner, but she didn’t have the strength to part with it completely.

It reminded her of wishes and dreams, a house full of children and growing old with the man she loved—a life where terrorists and gunrunners didn’t take her husband away from home. As she slipped the chain inside her blouse, the ring thumped against her heart, out of sight but not out of mind.

Kathy tilted her head. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, the way Dakota liked it best. Quickly she twisted it into a neat chignon, her fingers working the heavy strands with deft precision. This wasn’t about what Dakota liked. This was a business meeting, a professional dinner engagement.

When the room-service waiter delivered the meal, Kathy stood nearby, watching him set the table. Dakota would be arriving at any moment. She signed the bill and forced a smile, telling herself to relax. She had been in the company of dignitaries and heads of state. One tall, ex-military man, a dark-eyed Comanche, had no right to twist her stomach into a pretzel.

Five minutes after the waiter departed, a knock sounded at the door. She answered it, keeping her head high and her posture straight but not stiff. “Hello, Dakota.”

“Hi.” He smiled, a brief affection that gentled his raw-boned features.

She used to kiss the scar on his chin, she thought. And the one on his belly, too.

Kathy took a step back. What a thing to invade her mind—that masculine stomach, rippling with hard-earned muscle.

“Come in. I took the liberty of ordering our meal ahead of time.”

“Great.” He walked into the suite, his voice more casual than she had expected. But when he made a beeline for the phone and began dismantling it, she realized his tone was for show.

He talked about insignificant things as he swept the set of rooms for bugs, electronic devices that might have been planted by someone posing as part of the hotel staff. Kathy had already done a search, but she appreciated Dakota’s professionalism. With her anxious behavior, she could have missed something. She wasn’t accustomed to providing her own security.

“What are we having?” he asked, indicating his search had turned up clean.

“Prime rib,” she responded, wishing she could relax the way a proper hostess should.

Tonight Dakota looked a little dangerous—black trousers, a black jacket and eyes as dark as his clothes. He used to complain that he didn’t blend in well, that men in his field shouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Of course, men in his field were masters of disguise, and he played the game to perfection. Kathy knew he had altered his appearance many times, his height the only feature he couldn’t change.

“It smells good,” he said.

“Yes, it does.”

He scooted back her chair, and she took her seat, thinking they weren’t off to a very good start. There was no level of comfort between them. None whatsoever.

She poured the wine, her hand steadier than her heart. He sat across from her, watching every move she made, his gaze filled with questions. Clearly he wanted to know why she had left.

Kathy wasn’t ready to talk about personal matters, wasn’t sure if it would even matter. Retired or not, Lieutenant Dakota Lewis was, and always would be, the ultimate soldier—a man drawn to the heat of battle. A wife longing for babies and domestic bliss had no place in his life.

Dakota reached for his wine, and Kathy toyed with her salad. But before the silence threatened to swallow them, he spoke. “Tell me about your relationship with the royal family.”

“I consider Queen Nicole a friend,” she answered, relaxing a little. “She is part American and enjoys having another American woman to talk to. Although she was born in Asterland, she was educated in the States and has a fondness for our culture.”

“When were you assigned to the consulate in Asterland? You’ve been in Washington for the last three years.”

So he knew where she had been. Well, of course he did. She couldn’t very well hide from a man like Dakota, nor had she intended to. She had wanted him to come to her, wanted him to profess that she was more important than his work, that he would retire for good.

“I wasn’t assigned to Asterland. I was brought in to handle a situation that involved Prince Eric.” Queen Nicole’s young son, a dark-haired little boy who had stolen Kathy’s heart. “Prince Eric had gotten into trouble at a prestigious New England boarding school. He was on the verge of being suspended because his classroom behavior was too disruptive. And since the school officials weren’t being particularly cooperative, Queen Nicole requested that an American consular assess the situation and report to her.”

Dakota cut into his meat. “Your report must have impressed the queen.”

“Prince Eric turned out to be a delightful child, which led me to believe his classroom behavior needed further investigation.” Kathy adjusted the linen napkin on her lap. “With the queen’s approval, I brought in an educational psychologist. And the psychologist diagnosed Prince Eric with attention deficit disorder. Personally, I feel the boy had been treated unfairly. A learning disability isn’t something that warrants a suspension.”

Dakota smiled. “You’ve always been tuned in to kids. You could have been a teacher.”

Or a mother, she thought, swallowing the lump in her throat. Prince Eric had come into her life soon after the miscarriage, and bonding with the young boy had helped ease the pain of losing her own child. “The queen transferred him to a boarding school that specializes in learning disabilities. He’s doing well now. A determined fifth-grader.”

“It’s hard to believe Prince Ivan came from the same family.”

“I know.” Kathy pictured Prince Ivan. He was Eric’s older brother, a grown man who abused his power and shamed his family. He had also been a menace to the town of Royal, a threat to the Cattleman’s Club. But in the end, a cowardly act had consumed him. Rather than return to Asterland to face his family, the prince had committed suicide. “Ivan is dead now.”

Dakota placed his fork on the table. “But he’s still creating trouble. Or his past deeds are. He’s the one who convinced the king to appoint Payune to the position of Grand Minister. Payune and Ivan were thick as thieves.”

And at one time, the king, clearly blinded by parental love, had intended to abdicate the throne to Ivan. “Prince Eric is nothing like his brother. He will make a fine king someday.”

“That’s good to know. But if we don’t stop Payune, young Eric will never get that chance.” Dakota trapped her gaze, his dark eyes riveting. “I hope to God Payune buys my cover. And yours, too. I’m going to have to convince him that you’re a double agent.”

Kathy tried to look away, but couldn’t. Dakota held her there, caught in his magnetic gaze. She wasn’t able to respond; her mouth had gone dry. She reached for her wine, took a small sip.

His husky voice sounded gentle, low. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I hate doing this to you, but I don’t know how else to reach Payune.”

Sweetheart. Kathy felt a pool of warmth settle deep in her belly. Dakota had used that endearment the first time they’d made love.

Show me what you like, sweetheart. Put my hands—

Oh yes, those hands. Those strong, callused hands—fingertips stroking her breasts, sliding lower, slipping between her thighs. He used to watch her climax, smile and watch, masculine pleasure alight in his dark eyes. Afterward they would kiss, and he would enter her, push himself deep inside, make it happen all over again. Every explosive, glorious sensation.

“Kathy?”

She started. “Yes?”

“Are you all right? Did that upset you?”

Yes, she wanted to say. It unnerves me that I can’t stop thinking about us. That I can recall your touch, your smile, the feel of your mouth covering mine, the weight of your body, the rock of your hips. “No. I came into this mission knowing we would have to fool Payune. I’m prepared to play my part.”

“You’re absolutely sure? You don’t have any second thoughts?”

“I’m ready for this assignment,” she said, struggling to maintain her composure. “Aaron briefed me on all of the details.” Dakota would present himself as a Texas billionaire willing to fund Payune’s revolution for personal gain. And she would be painted as Dakota’s shrewd wife—a woman who used a government job to her best advantage.

“Don’t worry about me,” she added. She wouldn’t allow her thoughts to stray, wouldn’t allow those disturbing images to cloud her mind. Because recalling Dakota’s touch was possibly more dangerous than the mission.

Two

Kathy wore her hair up again, Dakota noticed, but the dry Texas wind had disturbed it, loosening several long, bright strands. She wore casual clothes—jeans and a short-sleeved cotton blouse, her shoulder nearly brushing his.

A bronze statue of Tex Langley, the founder of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, stood like a monument behind them.

They sat on a park bench, but they weren’t lounging on a leisure day. This was business, another meeting place where they wouldn’t be overheard.

Sheikh Ben Rassad and his wife, Jamie, sat on the other side of the bench, a newly married couple looking far too much in love. Dakota resisted the urge to move closer to Kathy, to allow their bodies to touch. Although last night’s dinner hadn’t been a failure, it wasn’t a complete success, either. They weren’t exactly used to each other yet.

Dakota dug a booted heel into the grass. Maybe he should just kiss her and get it over with. Pull her onto his lap. Tug her hair loose. Slam his tongue into her mouth and devour the woman he had married.

After all, she was still technically his wife.

He glanced up at Ben Rassad. Yeah, right. Kiss Kathy now, here at the park, in front of his happily married friend. What the hell was he trying to prove? That he was an egotistical, envious idiot?

Dakota lifted a bottle of water and brought it to his lips, wetting his mouth and cooling his thoughts. Strange how things had worked out for Ben. The sheikh had been assigned to watch over Jamie when she needed protection, then ended up falling for her in the process. The feisty young woman had originally been a mail-order bride for Albert Payune, a union arranged by Jamie’s father and Payune himself.

Luckily, Payune had backed out of the deal and never pursued Jamie any further. Which, in turn, had prompted this meeting—second-guessing Payune’s actions—the man Dakota intended to take down.

“So, do either one of you have any idea why Payune had advertised for an American wife?” he asked, dividing his gaze between the other couple.

Jamie shook her head. “No, but we’ve talked about it. Tossed ideas back and forth.”

“Like what, for instance?”

“Vanity, perhaps,” Ben said. “Payune may have desired a young wife to boost his ego. Texas women are renowned for their beauty.” He reached for Jamie’s hand and held it lightly. “But there is also the possibility of revenge. Payune might blame the town of Royal for Ivan’s suicide, and he planned to take one of our women as payment.”

Dakota mulled over Ben’s words, deciding anything was possible where Payune was concerned.

“I tend to think Sheikh Rassad was right the first time,” Kathy said. “That Payune’s ego was involved.”

“Really?” When Dakota turned toward her, his hand brushed hers—an accidental touch that sent an electrical charge straight to his heart. He forced himself to concentrate on the discussion, but failed miserably. He noticed Kathy’s hand was bare. She wore no rings. The wedding band he’d placed on her finger was gone.

Dakota looked over at Ben and Jamie. Both sat patiently as though waiting for Kathy to expound on her theory. Apparently he was the only one losing his train of thought. Damn it. He knew better than to allow his heart to get tangled up in this mission. Kathy had left him, and that was that.

Tightening his jaw, he turned toward her again. “So you think Payune wanted an American wife to make himself look good?”

She nodded. “It would enhance his public image in Asterland. Queen Nicole is well received in her country. And since she is part American, Payune may have been trying to find a wife he considered comparable to her.” She shifted her gaze to Ben. “A beautiful Texan, just as Sheikh Rassad pointed out.”

Dakota frowned. “If that’s the case, then why did Payune let Jamie go? My contact in Asterland says he’s no longer pursuing a wife, American or otherwise.”

Kathy smoothed the wind-blown strands of her hair. “I don’t know. But I’ve always had the feeling that Payune is enamored of Queen Nicole. Of course she’s madly in love with her husband. She isn’t the kind of woman to have an affair, and I’m sure Payune knows that.”

“But he wants her.” And in Dakota’s opinion that made Albert Payune even more dangerous. Could there be an assassination plot brewing? If the king were killed during the revolution, Queen Nicole would be left a widow, free to accept Payune’s affection. And if Payune controlled the queen and Prince Eric, then, in a sense, he would control Asterland, too.

Dakota figured Payune had three options: overthrow the Asterland government through a revolution, dispose of the entire royal family or kill the king and marry Queen Nicole.

But how could Payune possibly think the queen would turn to him? If she loved her husband, she wouldn’t embrace the man who had assassinated him.

Or would she? Was Kathy wrong about Queen Nicole? Maybe the queen wasn’t as madly in love as she claimed to be.

Wives, it seemed, changed their minds about such matters. Dakota knew firsthand that love wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

They were both experienced flyers—more than experienced. Kathy had lived abroad most of her life, and Dakota was a pilot, a man who belonged to the sky. But not today. Although they rode on a private, luxurious jet owned by a prominent member of the Cattleman’s Club, they were anything but relaxed.

The pilot, thank God, was another retired air force officer, someone Dakota trusted implicitly. Flying to Asterland with Kathy was difficult enough, and the last thing Dakota needed to concern himself with was the competency of their pilot.

Kathy sat across from him in a cushioned chair. The jet offered an upscale, home-like setting, a penthouse apartment in the sky. Kathy fit right in. Dakota supposed he did, too—on the outside at least. He’d been born into money, even if he was the bastard son of a hard-nosed land baron, a man who’d left him a sizable inheritance. Dakota didn’t fashion himself after his father, but he’d done his damnedest to earn the older man’s respect.

Kathy paged through a magazine. It wasn’t difficult to assess that she wasn’t absorbed in its contents. Her mind was elsewhere. And rightly so, Dakota supposed. This mission had sucked both of them in, drawing them into an imminent vacuum.

Placing the magazine on a table, she looked up and asked, “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”

Good God. She had second thoughts? Now? They were halfway to Asterland. “What do you mean?”

“Not involving the king and queen. I don’t like deceiving them.”

“We’re not deceiving them. We’re keeping this mission under wraps to protect them. The less people involved, the safer we’ll all be.”

Kathy frowned. “But it’s their country.”

And she was thinking with her heart instead of her head, Dakota thought. Her friendship with the queen was blinding her judgment. “Kathy, we don’t know how many cabinet members are actually part of the revolution plot. If the king or queen put their trust in the wrong person, it would blow our operation sky-high. We can’t take that chance.”

And Dakota had some concerns about Queen Nicole and Albert Payune. “Besides, how well do you really know the queen? She could have stumbled into an affair with Payune. That might be the reason he quit looking for a wife.”

Kathy narrowed her eyes. “Queen Nicole hasn’t stumbled into affair, Dakota. I already told you she wouldn’t do something like that. She loves her husband.”

And I thought you loved me, he wanted to say. “So women don’t cheat on their husbands? They don’t get themselves tangled up with other men?”

“Some do, I suppose. But not most. That’s a man’s game.”

She picked up the magazine again, and Dakota kicked his legs out in front of him. A man’s game. Right. He hadn’t even looked at another women since she’d been gone. He studied Kathy’s professional attire, her slim, fashionable figure. When she flipped a page, he caught sight of a gold band glinting on her finger. She wore her wedding ring, the diamond and emerald design he’d had custom made for her.

Don’t take that as encouragement, he told himself. She’d put it back on for show, for the sake of their cover. “So have you been with anyone?” he asked, his voice gruff. “Did you leave me so you could sleep with another man?”

Kathy’s complexion paled. “I can’t believe you’re asking me something like that.”

He felt his muscles tense. Technically, they were still married. Neither had filed for a legal separation, much less a divorce. He had a right to know. “Well?”

“Of course not.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze, her eyes locking onto his. “What about you? Have you been with someone?”

“No.” He shook his head and made light of his loneliness, the years he’d waited for her to return. “The way I figure it, we’ve still got that piece of paper between us.” As well as the vows they had taken.

For better or worse. Until death do us part. He had meant every word.

She let out an audible breath, her eloquent vocal skills suddenly failing her. “I suppose it was best that we…discussed this issue. I…we…don’t need any personal distractions on this mission.”

Yeah, and wondering if your spouse had a new lover would certainly fall under the category of a personal distraction. “I agree. Now that it’s out in the open, I won’t mention it again.”

“Good.”

Her smile was tight, but the fear in her eyes had faded. Fear that he had been with another woman. The thought made him a little smug, as well as confused. If things like that still mattered, why hadn’t she come home before now?

Dakota dragged a hand through his hair. She isn’t home, Lieutenant Lewis. This is an assignment, a fake reconciliation. Get your facts straight.

They remained silent for the next twenty minutes, she, occupying herself with another magazine, he, staring out the window at the night sky. He would have rather been piloting the plane than sitting idle, thinking about how much he missed a closeness with his wife. Sure, they had spent some time away from each other, but due to the nature of his work, those separations couldn’t be helped. And their reunions used to be nice. Damn nice. Nothing like this one.

“Dakota?”

He turned away from the window. “Yes?”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me the Lone Star jewels really existed?”

While he’d been thinking about her, she’d been thinking about the recovered jewels. Well, at least one of them had her mind on the mission. “Only those associated with the Texas Cattleman’s Club were supposed to know they existed.”

“Because of the legend?”

“Yes.”

“So the story about that soldier is true?”

Dakota nodded. A Texas soldier had found the jewels during the War with Mexico and had brought them to Royal after the war, intending to sell them and make his fortune.

“When he came home, oil was found on his land. So he believed just owning the stones was lucky, and that they should remain in Royal.”

“And now the Cattleman’s Club protects them, and everyone else thinks their existence is just a legend. A story passed down from generation to generation.”

“Yes, but Payune came across the truth somehow.”

Kathy leaned forward, clearly engrossed in their conversation. But then she loved jewels, and the Lone Star gems were a rare, stunning collection. Too bad she would never see them, he thought. He would enjoy watching her eyes glow—those gorgeous green eyes.

“Any idea how Payune found out about them?” she asked.

“It’s possible Prince Ivan had something to do with it. When he was in Royal, he asked a lot of questions. It would stand to reason that he heard about the legend. He probably told Payune about it.”

“And Payune discovered the legend was true, from his comrade, Robert Klimt—the man who had stolen the jewels.” Kathy reclined in her chair. “I’m so glad they were recovered. They haven’t been safeguarded all these years to end up in the wrong hands.”

“Funding a revolution no less.” Dakota rose and headed toward a small wet bar. “Do you want a cold drink?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Then how about a cup of hot tea?” He knew she added one teaspoon of sugar and a splash of cream to her tea. He wondered if she remembered little details about him or if she had chosen to forget. It wouldn’t be hard to recall that he drank his coffee black or that he considered hot sauce a breakfast staple.

“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 moment, 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.

Three

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 sweat 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.

“Oh, okay.” She moved to allow him room at the butcher-block isle.

He came forward, grazing her shoulder as he reached for the bread. She slipped by him to rinse a tomato. And when she turned back, her robe fell open.

He wasn’t a painter, a man who made images come to life, but at this moment, this incredible, breathtaking moment, he sought to immortalize her. Kathy’s nightgown was as filmy as a lace curtain, as sheer as a summer rain. Her nipples brushed the surface, and he imagined the fabric cool and sleek against her skin.

He lifted his head, and their gazes collided. The tomato fell from her hand and rolled onto the butcher block. And then nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.

“What’s happening?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He heard her, yet he didn’t. Her robe was still open, and heat rose between their bodies like steam. He knew they fought to breathe the same air.

Outside the wind grew angry with lust, forcing its way through the trees. He could hear it rattling the windows.

He fought the urge to push her to the floor, tumble and roll, tear at the wisp of silk and lace she wore. Wild, forbidden lovemaking. The wind was challenging him to take her. His loins hardened, his pulse quickened, his mouth went dry. He moistened his lips and imagined tasting hers.

What’s happening?

The wind howled again, and Dakota gripped the counter. Damn the wind. Damn the ache in his groin. He stared at Kathy; she stared back at him. Her eyes shone like emeralds. Sensual. Catlike.

Damn her.

Damn them both.

“Nothing’s happening,” he said, masking the arousal in his voice, the huskiness that nearly made him hoarse. “Your robe came undone, and…”

She moved like lightning, a blur before his eyes. When he focused again, her robe was belted, snug and secure. She picked up the tomato as though trying to backtrack, make that other moment disappear.

She glanced at him quickly, then looked away. She couldn’t meet his gaze, yet only moments ago those green eyes bore brazenly into his.

This was so damn awkward, he thought. It shouldn’t be, but it was. He had seen every inch of her, caressed her most intimate places. They had showered together, licked beads of water off each other’s skin. They weren’t sexual strangers. Yet they were. Three years spanned between them—an eternity.

“Maybe we should talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She studied the tomato she had cut into even little slices. “We’re making sandwiches.”

“I’m not hungry. I only said I wanted a sandwich so I could get close to you. But I’m okay now. I got through it, and so did you.” He tossed his bread in the trash. “This is only our first night. We’ll feel better in the morning. Normal.” The wind would calm and the sexual pull would pass. Daylight would make everything all right.

She glanced up. “Do you think so?”

He could hope. “Sure. We just have to get used to each other.”

Much to his relief, Kathy smiled—a small, delicate tilt of her lips. “Maybe I’ll pass on the sandwich, too,” she said. “It’s been a long day, and I could use some sleep.”

Dakota finally slept, not a deep, soundless sleep, but enough to help him function the following morning. He knew he would find Kathy in the kitchen. He could smell breakfast, the homey aroma of bacon sizzling and eggs frying.

He stood at the bathroom sink and splashed water on his face. A shower could wait. He couldn’t recall the last time Kathy had cooked for him. It was a good sign, he thought. Apparently she had decided to put what had happened behind them.

As casually as possible, he entered the kitchen. “Good morning. Is there anything I can do to help?”

She turned away from the stove, and for a moment, a suspended moment in time, their eyes met. And held.

He stood, riveted to the floor, the tiles cool against his feet. Don’t let it happen again. Not now. Not today.

She blinked, and the air in his lungs whooshed out.

“You can set the table.”

“Sure. Okay.” He opened the appropriate cabinet and removed the dishes. “The bacon smells good. A great aroma to wake up to.”

“I figured we could both use a hearty breakfast.” She motioned to the coffee pot. “It’s strong and dark, just the way you like it.”

“Thanks.” Sidetracked now, he left the table half set. Pouring himself a mug of freshly perked coffee, he leaned against the counter and sipped. Was Kathy worried about his meeting with Payune? Was that the reason for this special treatment? Or was she trying to prove how normal staying in the same house could be?

Her hair was coiffed to perfection, he noticed, the fiery tresses twisted neatly, two pearl combs making an elegant statement. Her skin glowed flawlessly, her makeup applied with skill. She wasn’t dressed to go out, but he sensed she would be before long.

Realizing breakfast was ready and he’d neglected his domestic duty, he gathered some silverware and napkins. The kitchen table matched the butcher-block isle, and a bay window presented a spectacular view.

She filled their plates and took a chair. He sat across from her and smiled. She had placed his favorite hot sauce on the table. Apparently she had supplied the queen’s servants with a list of foods to provide, right down to brand name selections—items imported from a variety of continents.

He lifted the bottle, then poured the spicy sauce over his eggs. “You remembered.”

“Of course,” she responded in an easy voice. “How could I forget? You practically refuse to eat breakfast without it.”

Was she as relaxed as she seemed? Or was she drawing from her social skills to fool him? Dakota thought Kathy would make a hell of a poker player. She could bluff with the best of them. He had no idea what was actually going on in her mind.

His one-track mind, on the other hand, had taken a dangerous turn. He imagined destroying her proper hairdo, bathing her lips with strawberry preserve, then licking it off with slow, erotic strokes. Apparently his social skills, as well as his table manners, weren’t enviable qualities. It didn’t take much to fuel his sexual appetite—a sunny kitchen and a tasty breakfast did him just fine. Now last night’s haunting didn’t seem quite so odd. The woman had been wearing see-through silk.

“Do you have an appointment later?” he asked.

“Tea with the queen. The palace is sending a car for me this afternoon.”

A long, black limo, no doubt. He cocked his head. “That sounds downright snooty. Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

She buttered her toast. “I always have tea with the queen when I’m invited to Asterland. This is nothing out of the ordinary. It won’t arouse suspicion.”

He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth and swallowed, enjoying the trappings of a home-cooked meal. “Routine or not, you still have to keep me informed about everywhere you go, everything you do. Don’t take anything for granted while we’re here. Okay?”

She nodded solemnly. “Okay.”

Dakota savored a slice of bacon, and Kathy added cream to her coffee, a drink he assumed she had diluted with extra water. He knew she preferred a milder brew.

She studied her cup, and he assumed her mind was on her audience with the queen.

Today they would both slip into their respective roles.

Hours later Dakota arrived at Albert Payune’s home. A crenellated gateway, reminiscent of a medieval structure, led to the entrance of the Grand Minister’s estate. The house itself wasn’t quite so foreboding, but it reflected European craftsmanship with its stone-by-stone construction.

A butler escorted Dakota to a dimly lit office furnished with a large mahogany desk and leather wing-back chairs. But what caught Dakota’s eye was an impressive collection of swords. Displayed on the paneled walls, they wielded military power, something Payune obviously admired.

“The Grand Minister will be with you shortly,” the butler said, his English heavily accented.

“Thank you,” Dakota responded, exaggerating his drawl. Today he was a big, tall, rich Texan—a businessman eager to make an unethical deal.

He didn’t scan his surroundings for a safe. He knew Payune wouldn’t keep the stolen necklace in his office. He would probably secure the heirloom jewels in his private quarters—the master suite where he slept. Thunder was working on a diagram of the estate, so it wouldn’t be long before Dakota would have a floor plan to back up his instincts.

Minutes later Payune entered the room. A man in his early fifties, he stood with his shoulders squared and his head held high. He was neither tall nor broad. He was of medium height with a medium build, his physique toned and trim. He wore a dark suit with a silk ascot tie. And although his hair was thinning, he wasn’t foolish enough to style it in one of those ridiculous comb-overs. Albert Payune carried his vanity with pride. He had an impeccable quality about him, but power-hungry rulers often did.

Payune extended his hand, and they exchanged a proper greeting.

Dakota had dressed carefully for the occasion. He couldn’t present himself as a showy, loud-mouthed American, because that would belie his military background. But he still wanted to be easily identified with Payune’s image of Texas, so he had worn a pair of custom-made cowboy boots and a 5X Royal Stetson he’d removed upon entering the house.

“Please, have a seat, Lieutenant Lewis.”

“Thank you.” Dakota settled into one of the wing-back chairs while Payune walked around to the desk. Referring to a retired officer by his rank was accepted as proper protocol, and a man in Payune’s position would naturally adhere to decorum.

The butler appeared with a silver tray, offering both men snifters of brandy. When the servant departed, Payune lifted his eyes to Dakota.

“So you have come to discuss a business venture?”

“Yes, sir, I have.” Dakota met the other man’s detached gaze. “My partners and I intend to open a resort in Asterland with the biggest, grandest casino imaginable. But our only stumbling block is King Bertram.” And for the sake of this mission, a proposal for the resort had been presented to the Cabinet under the guise of a Texas corporation. A proposal Dakota knew the king would not approve.

“I see.” Payune swirled his brandy. “Am I to understand that you want me to influence King Bertram to reconsider his stand on this matter?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“You realize the king believes our country could not successfully support a venture such as yours. Our neighbors in Obersbourg have converted a portion of their palace into an exclusive gaming casino. How many resorts are tourists willing to visit? Asterland is still quite obscure.”

“So was Obersbourg before they opened their casino.” And Dakota knew damn well Payune didn’t intend to rule an obscure little country. He wanted to put himself and Asterland on the map. “I’m talking about a full-scale resort—a five-star hotel, a spa, a country club and a PGA quality golf course. I have some of the wealthiest men in Texas in on this deal. And we don’t intend to take no for an answer.”

Payune’s demeanor was no longer detached. “I’ve seen your proposal. And I must admit, it was quite impressive.”

“And so is the fact that you’re going to govern Asterland someday.”

“You’re mistaken. Prince Eric is heir to the throne.”

Dakota chose not to comment further. The Grand Minister was playing the loyal Cabinet member, feigning disinterest in the crown.

Payune placed his hands on the desk, then linked them together. “As I said, the proposal for your resort was impressive, but I am puzzled by one thing.”

Dakota sipped his drink even though he had never acquired a taste for brandy. “And what would that be?”

“Why, your wife, of course. Is she aware of your venture?”

Dakota’s heart took a quick, forward leap. “She’s not only aware of it, she supports it without reserve.”

“But she is also a high-ranking Foreign Affairs consular.”

Dakota kept his gaze focused on his opponent. “That’s right, she is,” he said, his tone implying Kathy used a government job to her best advantage. If Payune assumed Kathy’s friendship with the royal family had been manipulated to influence the king to approve the resort, then all the better. But before the other man concentrated too deeply on Kathy, Dakota continued, “I was hoping, sir, that you would help me get this project off the ground. If anyone can make this happen, you can.”

Payune sat with his head tilted at a regal angle. “I appreciate your confidence, but I do not see how I can.”

“Maybe you could take some time to think it over.” Dakota paused a beat, then leaned forward and dropped a hint about the impending revolution, making damn sure the other man wouldn’t forget this meeting. “My partners and I are willing to make it worth your while.” A cash settlement he hoped Payune would be in dire need of within a matter of days. “And with your involvement, I’m sure King Bertram would no longer stand in our way.”

Kathy walked with Queen Nicole along a stone path. Both women adored flowers, and strolling the castle gardens after a tea had become one of their favorite moments to share. Azaleas, poppies, tulips, irises—Kathy couldn’t begin to name them all. There were also bridges to cross, statues to admire, bodies of water rippling with sunlight.

“This is like stepping into a painting,” Kathy said.

The queen smiled as they passed a lily pond, then stopped to breathe the country air. “And today we are in a Monet.”

Kathy turned to look at her friend. She thought Queen Nicole was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. With jet black hair and violet-blue eyes, she could have been a model. Even at fifty-three, she had a face and figure cameras loved. But for Kathy there was no envy, only admiration.

“You have been quiet on this visit,” the queen said. “Are you not well?”

“I’m fine. It’s just been so long since I’ve shared a home with my husband.” At least, she thought, that was a portion of the truth. She couldn’t lead the queen to believe that her personal life was in perfect order, that her supposed reconciliation with Dakota had no flaws. The queen had come to know her too well for such a charade.

“You have not told him yet, have you?”

“About the miscarriage? No. And I’m not sure I can.”

The other woman guided her toward a bench overlooking a sweep of irises. “If you want to have a life with him again, then you must.”

But I’m only pretending I want a life with him, Kathy thought. So what good would it do to tell him about the baby? They couldn’t alter the past. Dakota hadn’t been there when she’d needed him. There was nothing either one of them could do that would change that.

“You could forgive him,” the queen said as though reading her mind. “There is healing in forgiveness.”

Kathy watched a butterfly light upon a flower. “I know.” But how could she forgive him when she knew his work would always be more important than their marriage? “We’re still attracted to each other.” A dangerous attraction, she thought. “I can’t think clearly when I’m around him.”

No, she couldn’t think, but she could feel. And fantasize.

She could still see herself waiting for him on the cliffs. Waiting for him to pull her to the ground, tear her nightgown and cover her body with his. And for one haunting moment last night, she knew he had wanted the same thing—desperate, forbidden lovemaking—a union they would have regretted later.

Queen Nicole sighed. “I have no right to give advice.”

Jarred from her wayward thoughts, Kathy turned, then studied her friend’s sad expression. “Forgive me for asking, but are the rumors true? Is your marriage troubled?”

“Yes, very troubled. Losing Ivan has put a strain on our relationship. The king refuses to mourn his son. He cannot cope with what Ivan did.”

Kathy hadn’t been prepared to discuss Prince Ivan, but she could see that the other woman needed to confide in someone—someone she trusted. “Most men don’t grieve the way women do. They tend to keep their feelings inside.”

Queen Nicole’s voice quavered. “But the king is still too hurt and too angry to grieve. And until he forgives Ivan, our lives will never be the same.” She lifted her face to the sun as though the warmth would help. “I, too, was destroyed by what Ivan had done. But he left us a note. He begged for our forgiveness.”

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