and she barely returned his gaze. She appeared poised and professional, but he could sense her uneasiness. The same uneasiness that swept through him.
How were they going to pull this off if they couldn’t look at each other? Couldn’t relax in each other’s presence? Dakota glanced at Kathy again, his chest constricting with a familiar ache. Somehow, someway, they would have to. The future of a country was at stake. And this mission was far too risky for mistakes.
Kathy exhaled a quiet breath. When Aaron asked Dakota a question, he shifted his attention, giving her the opportunity to study him.
The years had been good to Dakota Lewis, aging him in a way that made him even more handsome, more rugged. He was half Comanche and half Texan—a tall, solid man with eyes that changed from brown to black, depending on his mood. His profile presented a determined jaw and high, slanted cheekbones. Everything about him boasted masculinity. His midnight hair, although short by most standards, was slightly longer than the military style he had worn while on active duty.
Active duty? Aside from allowing his hair to grow, retirement hadn’t changed Dakota Lewis. He’d gone from Special Forces assignments to privately funded missions without a hitch in his long, powerful stride. Danger flowed through his veins like liquid; it was his life force, his blood. Kathy considered men like Dakota adrenaline junkies—men who would never give up the fight, the need to save the world.
Of course, adrenaline junkies didn’t settle down with their wives. Instead they left them behind, left them alone to wait and wonder, praying frantically for their husbands’ safe return.
How many assignments had he been on since she’d left? Did he miss her the way she had missed him? Or had his work filled the void? Dakota had loved her—that much she knew. Only he hadn’t loved her the way she’d needed. Dakota’s work had always come first. Kathy couldn’t bear being second-best in her husband’s heart.
And then when she’d lost the baby—
Her breath hitched. Oh, God. Don’t think about the baby. Not here, not now. She placed a hand over her stomach. When would the pain go away, the ache of losing Dakota’s child? How many years would have to pass? How many years before she stopped wishing every dark-haired toddler she saw was hers?
Dakota turned toward her, and she removed her hand from her stomach. Kathy had learned long ago how to keep her emotions in check, and she wouldn’t give herself away now. Dakota didn’t know about the baby. He had been in the Middle East tracking gunrunners when she’d miscarried—alone and afraid, missing her husband and crying for the baby they would never hold. A child she had wanted desperately.
“How well do you know Albert Payune?” Sheikh Rassad asked, catching Kathy off guard.
She lifted her chin and concentrated on the mission, the reason she had agreed to fly to Asterland with Dakota.
“I know Payune well enough to form an opinion of him,” she responded. The sheikh’s interest in Payune didn’t surprise her, nor did his active participation in this meeting. She knew the sheikh’s new bride had been formerly promised to Albert Payune in an arranged marriage. “Payune is a clever man, but he’s arrogant, too. Much too vain to be considered charming. He isn’t likable, but he knows how to command attention. He prides himself on power. Craves it, one could say.”
“The perfect profile of a revolutionist,” Aaron added. “It’s quite possible Payune’s sanity borders on his desire to succeed.”
Matthew Walker joined in the conversation, mentioning his fiancée—Lady Helena of Asterland, a cousin to the royal family—a lady who shared Kathy’s opinion of Payune.
Only Dakota and Dr. Webb remained silent. The doctor sat patiently, but Dakota rose from his chair and crossed the room, heading toward the cowhide-covered bar.
Kathy watched him. He moved like a long, fluid animal stalking his prey. It was the Comanche in him, she thought. The warrior preparing to count coup, his mental focus merging with his physical being. She recognized the look, the walk, the adrenaline charge that took him into the next battle, the next mission. This would be the man going after Albert Payune.
Had Dakota acquired another scar since she’d seen him last? Another mark of valor?
Kathy knew every inch of his body, every taut muscle, every hard ridge and flat plane. She also knew his hands were mildly callused, capable of inflicting pain or pleasure, depending on his objective. She had always been on the receiving end of pleasure, those large callused hands surprisingly gentle against her flesh. Dakota Lewis was as skilled a lover as he was a warrior.
Don’t think about that now, she told herself. Focus on the mission. The reason she had agreed to help the Cattleman’s Club.
When the meeting ended, the other men departed, leaving Dakota and Kathy alone. She clutched her handbag and stood. Suddenly the smell of wood and leather made her homesick. The ranch looked the same, the living room cluttered with rustic charm. Pillows, lamps, paintings, bronze statues—every piece told a Western story.
Was the bedroom the same? Had he kept the items she had chosen? The canopy bed, the hand-painted dresser, the horse weather vane sitting atop a Chippendale desk? The ranch belonged to Dakota, a custom-built home he had helped design ten years before. But when Kathy had married him, he’d asked her to redecorate the bedroom—fill it with her flair, her flavor. So she had combined formal antiques with Western relics, candles with cowboy boots, Waterford crystal with carved wood. The end result had pleased Dakota, especially the massive bed.
A bed Kathy had no right to remember. She didn’t belong in this house. Loving Dakota didn’t mean she could live with him, wait months on end for him to return from the missions that consumed him.
How ironic that they would come together for an assignment, for one of the secret operations engineered by the Texas Cattleman’s Club. The members of that prestigious club weren’t just established businessmen. They were Lone Star warriors, men who vowed to serve and protect.
Only Dakota hadn’t protected her. He hadn’t been there when she’d lost the baby.
“I think we should have dinner together tomorrow night.”
Kathy blinked, then glanced up. How long had she been standing in the middle of Dakota’s living room? And how long had he been watching her? “To synchronize our plan?”
“To get used to each other.” He placed several empty glasses on top of the bar. “We can’t go to Asterland like this. Acting like strangers. No one will buy our cover.”
She let out an anxious breath. Right. The reconciled couple. The Foreign Service consular and her husband. “We still have some details to work out about the mission.”
“We can do that over dinner. Which means avoiding a restaurant. There are too many ears out there. I don’t want to take the chance of being overheard.”
And she didn’t want to have dinner with him at the ranch. She couldn’t bear the familiarity. “How about my hotel suite? We can order in.”
“That’s fine.”
He walked her to the door, and as she turned to say goodbye, their eyes met.
Yes, she thought, struggling to hold his gaze, they needed to get used to each other. Three years, too many missions and a secret miscarriage had created a lot of distance between them. Pretending
