Tycoon Warrior. Sheri WhiteFeather
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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