poured himself a tall glass of soda water and returned to his seat.
Kathy placed the magazine on her lap. “Are you concerned about the queen’s ball? I know how much you dislike social functions.”
Dakota cocked an eyebrow at her. He didn’t dislike all social functions, just the ones that required a tuxedo and served champagne instead of beer.
“No, I’m not concerned about it. I’ve been to plenty of fancy affairs.” And they made him uncomfortable as hell, even the familiar Texas Cattleman’s Club events. Dakota had spent more years in war paint and combat gear than he had in uniform. This ball, he figured, would be the worst part of the mission. Next to Kathy, he would probably look like a big, snorting Brahma. James Bond he wasn’t. Not all undercover agents were that damned debonair.
“So you don’t want me to brief you on royal protocol?” she asked.
Dakota scowled. “No, Miss friend-of-the-queen, I don’t. I know how to behave around royalty. As you might recall, I spent twenty years of my life serving in the United States Air Force. I’ve picked up a few manners along the way.”
She nibbled her bottom lip, then broke into an amused smile. “Miss friend-of-the-queen?”
He couldn’t help but return her smile. Kathy knew him better than anyone. She knew darn well how he felt about attending the queen’s birthday ball. “If the glass slipper fits, Lady Katherine.”
She tossed her magazine at him. He ducked and shot her a playful grin, recalling how many times he used to tickle her on the living-room floor.
Dakota picked up the magazine, his grin fading. Somehow those tickling sessions would inevitably turn into foreplay. Hot, sexy kisses. Rubbing against each other through their clothes.
He looked over at Kathy and noticed her smile had disappeared, too. Just as well, he thought. The less tender memories they made, the better. Because when this assignment ended, they wouldn’t be going home together.
The cottage the queen provided sat on a grassy cliff, the ocean below crashing upon a private stretch of beach. A cool, yet comfortable, sea breeze misted the May air, and clouds drifted lazily across an azure sky.
Kathy had stayed in the isolated cottage on several other occasions, and she adored the quaint, European charm. Window boxes displayed an arrangement of colorful flowers, and leafy vines clung to a white trellis. A scattered-stone walkway led to the front door. Inside was a collection of art and antiques, a cozy living area, two bedrooms, a fully stocked kitchen and two bathrooms decorated with hand-painted fixtures. French doors in each bedroom opened onto a lush, well-tended garden. A wrought-iron table sat amid perennial blooms in what Kathy considered an outdoor breakfast nook—a place to sip coffee and breathe the sea air.
The first thing Dakota did was search the cottage for concealed microphones, but Kathy expected as much. A frown furrowed his brow, she noticed. Was he preoccupied with the mission, or had he noticed the romantic ambiance—the vases of long-stemmed roses, the extravagant chocolates placed upon the master-bedroom bed? The big, quilted bed the queen’s servants must have assumed Kathy and Dakota would be sharing?
He completed the search, and she stood beside their luggage. “We won’t have daily maid service,” she said. “There’s a little bungalow behind the garden that was built as servant’s quarters, but it’s vacant. We’ve been provided with enough food, towels and linens to last through the week.”
“Good. The less people around the better.” He turned to look at her. “How did you manage that, anyway?”
“I informed the queen we wanted to be alone. She’s fanatical about seeing to her guests’ personal needs.”
He frowned again. “Of course, our cover. Sorry, it was a stupid question.”
With an answer that made them both wary, she realized. A married couple requesting privacy meant long, sensual baths, sipping wine by candlelight, feeding each other aphrodisiacs.
“I’ll take the smaller bedroom,” he said.
Kathy didn’t respond, instead she followed him as he lifted her luggage and carried it to the master bedroom.
He placed her suitcase and garment bag on the bed, then turned toward the French doors and gazed out. “It’s pretty here.”
She moved to stand beside him. “There’s a fountain in the center of the garden.” And she thought of it as her own private wishing well, even if her wishes had yet to come true. “This cottage is in a world of its own.”
“But it’s not our world.” With rigid shoulders, he turned away from the view, his mood switching from light to dark in one abrupt motion. “I have to meet with my contact soon. We can’t get caught up in flowers and fountains. We’re not on a holiday.”
“I’m well aware of why we’re here.” Angry now, she continued to study the foliage. She wouldn’t allow him to spoil the allure of her garden, a place where mystical creatures made magic. She wanted to believe that fairies fluttered around the flowers, and mermaids splashed in the ocean below.
“Kathy?”
She turned toward him with a hard stare. “What?”
He handed her one of the chocolates from the bed, an apology in his voice. “Truffles. They’re your favorite.”
She bit into the candy and savored the richness, the gentleness in his tone. “Is that why you offered me this room?” A silk-draped room with all the elements Kathy adored—scented candles, fresh-cut flowers, lace-trimmed sheers.
He smiled, but it fell short of reaching his eyes. He was worried, she realized. Worried about the mission, worried about being in an isolated cottage with his estranged wife. There was still so much distance between them, so much unnamed hurt. But how could she tell him that he hadn’t loved her enough? That she needed more?
“You should unpack and get settled in,” he said.
“I will.” She searched his gaze. “Who is your contact, Dakota? Have I met him before?”
He shook his head. “No, but he’s someone I’ve known a long time. A former intelligence officer, another skin.”
Kathy knew that meant Dakota’s contact was Native American. “Comanche?” she asked.
“Apache. Goes by the name Thunder. If something goes wrong on this assignment, he’ll get in touch with you, Kathy. He vowed to look after you.”
She didn’t want to think about something going wrong, but she couldn’t pretend the danger wasn’t real. A man in Royal had been murdered by one of Payune’s anarchists, and now they were on Payune’s soil.
“Is Thunder a mercenary?” She knew Dakota didn’t consider himself a mercenary because serving merely for pay wasn’t his objective.
Dakota nodded. “Yes, but that doesn’t make him someone you can’t trust. He took a bullet for me. I owe him my life. We even look similar, like brothers.”
Feeling an emotional chill, she crossed her arms. How many bullets had Dakota dodged? How many times had his life been spared? “Do you
