Tycoon Warrior

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.