Tycoon Warrior. Sheri WhiteFeather

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.”