Tycoon Warrior. Sheri WhiteFeather

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