Tycoon Warrior

“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.”