Tycoon Warrior

“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.