TYCOON WARRIOR Read online

  * * *

  TYCOON WARRIOR

  Sheri Whitefeather

  ~ Silhouette Desire # 1364 ~

  * * *

  * * *

  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

  Epilogue

  * * *

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  ^»

  Retired air force lieutenant Dakota Lewis sat upright in a leather recliner, studying his home. Would the ranch look the same to Kathy?

  Of course it would, he told himself a second later. He hadn't changed a thing. Not one cowboy novelty, not one Indian artifact. She would recognize every cow skull, every antler, every ceremonial pipe.

  An ensemble of cedar, pine and mahogany made up Dakota's living room. He hadn't chosen pieces that belonged in sets. He preferred eclectic furnishings – hacienda-style trunks, tables topped with clay-colored tiles, mirrors framed in tooled leather.

  He turned his attention back to his guests. They weren't discussing the mission at this point. Someone had made a reference to his wife. Was it Aaron Black? Sheikh Ben Rassad? Dr. Justin Webb? It wasn't Matthew Walker because Matt wasn't married.

  No, but he was engaged. Happily engaged.

  Hell, Dakota thought. What was wrong with him? The other men in the room were his friends, his peers. He had no right to envy them. They were all members of the Texas Cattleman's Club, the most exclusive gentlemen's club in the state. They were all wealthy – filthy rich, some might say. And they were all either happily married or happily engaged.

  All except himself.

  Dakota's estranged wife was due to arrive at his ranch any minute. Kathy had left three years before, a choice she hadn't even bothered to explain. Dakota had come home from an assignment to find her gone – her side of the closet empty, the scented lotions she favored no longer lined up on the bathroom counter. Two years of marriage shot to hell, and Dakota didn't know why. He had loved his wife, was certain she had loved him, too. Yet she'd walked out on him, saddling him with an emotional wound festering deep in his gut.

  A wound that had become exceptionally active today. The top-secret mission the Cattleman's Club's members had come to discuss involved Kathy. She was the Foreign Service consular being teamed with Dakota. Together they would fly to Asterland, a small European country on the brink of a revolution.

  The doorbell rang. Dakota excused himself from the other men and strode toward the entryway. Checking his watch, he tightened his jaw. Thirteen hundred hours. She was right on time.

  Kathy stood on the other side of the door, slim and elegant, her thick, hard-to-hold hair coiled in a neat chignon. She wore a beige pantsuit and an emerald blouse that intensified the color of her eyes. Cat's eyes, he'd always called them. Exotic eyes and fire-tinted hair, features that belied Kathy's proper nature.

  Neither spoke. Instead their gazes locked, and they stared at each other for what seemed like the longest moment of Dakota's life.

  "It's good to see you," she said finally, extending her hand.

  Polite pleasantries, he thought. What else could he do? This was business, and Dakota viewed his work as the number-one priority in his life. He wouldn't let anything stand in the way of an assignment, not even the pain shooting from his gut to his heart.

  "It's good to see you, too," he responded, clasping her hand as though her touch wouldn't affect him. It did, of course. Her hand felt small and feminine, her skin soft and warm against his own.

  He invited her in, cursing the memories threatening to surface. Her fragrance drifted to his nostrils like fresh strawberries smothered in cream. Kathy preferred scented lotions, to heavy perfumes, aromas that never failed to make Dakota hungry.

  Suddenly he fought the temptation to uncoil her hair, let it fall across her shoulders. He hadn't forgotten the woman he loved, hadn't forgotten how she looked soaking in the tub, her fiery tendrils slipping free from the pins that secured them, her long, sleek body creamy and smooth.

  How many times had he watched her slide a washcloth down her arms and over her breasts? And how many times had he carried her, soaking wet, to their bed?

  "Dakota? Are the others here?"

  Kathy's question jarred him back to reality. Damn it. He stood in the tiled entryway, his hormones battling for control. How in the hell had he let that happen?

  "Yes, they're here." He escorted his estranged wife to the living room, hating himself for the moment of weakness.

  Like the Texas gentlemen they were, the other men rose as Kathy entered the room. Aaron Black came forward to hug her. How easily Kathy embraced Aaron, Dakota thought, wondering why a fist of rivalry gripped him hard and quick. Not only was Aaron blissfully married with a baby on the way, he was also a good friend, the American diplomat who had introduced Dakota to Kathy nearly six years before.

  Kathy shook hands with the others, and soon they settled into their seats.

  As Kathy crossed her legs, Dakota poured her a ginger ale from the wet bar. He didn't stop to ask her preference. He knew what Kathy's favorite soft drink was, and he still stocked the bar with it.

  She thanked him quietly, the ice in her glass crackling. He poured himself a cola, opting to keep his hands busy. The urge to loosen her hair had returned.

  How different they were, he thought, how opposite. Kathy was renowned for her grace and diplomacy, whereas Dakota was as rough-hewn as his taste in furniture, often solving matters with force.

  Lifting his cola from the bar, Dakota took a swig, wondering if he should have spiked it with rum – something, anything to take the edge off. How could a woman skilled in conversation walk out on her husband without the slightest explanation? How could she ignore what they had meant to each other? The love? The passion?

  Dakota didn't need to ask Kathy where she had been for the past three years. He already knew. She had gone to Washington, D.C., to serve in the Bureau of Consular Affairs, leasing a spacious apartment in an exclusive suburb and furnishing it with antiques. Prior to that, she had been on an extended leave of absence, debating whether to end her career. For Kathy, living abroad in the Foreign Service had become stressful. She wanted to remain in Texas. Or so she'd said.

  Regardless, locating her in Washington had been easy. Keeping his distance had been the tough part. But Dakota figured Kathy didn't want to he confronted, didn't want him standing on her doorstep, demanding to know why she had left. So consequently, Dakota's pride – his hard-baked masculine ego – had managed to keep him at bay.

  Sheikh Rassad drew Kathy into the meeting, pulling Dakota in as well.

  "Are you familiar with the events leading up to this mission?" Ben asked her. "Are there any details that are not clear?"

  "Aaron briefed me," she responded. "I know the Lone Star jewels were stolen. And I'm also aware that they've been recovered." She sat with her usual graceful posture, giving the sheikh her undivided attention. "Albert Payune, the Grand Minister of Asterland, masterminded the robbery, intending to use the jewels to fund a revolution. Which is where Dakota and I come in. It's our job to make sure that revolution doesn't happen."

  The sheikh leaned forward. "Aaron informed us that you are well acquainted with the king and queen."

  "That's true. I'm very fond of the royal family, and I don't intend to see them lose their country." She placed her glass on a coaster, sending the sheikh a reassuring smile. "I've already made arrangements for Dakota to accompany me to Asterland for the queen's birthday ball. And since he will be visiting as my guest, his presence won't arouse suspicion."

  Dakota listened, although he had already been briefed by Aaron. The plan had been carefully orchestrated. Dakota's initial arrival in Asterland must appear to be of a personal nature. And what could be more pers
onal than traveling with his wife? They wouldn't need to fake their cover, at least not on paper. They would be playing themselves.

  Almost.

  They would have to pretend to be in the midst of a reconciliation, a couple mending their marriage.

  Dakota glanced at Kathy, 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 Albeit 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 to be a reconciled couple wasn't going to be easy.

  * * *

  The following evening Kathy stood before a full-length mirror in her hotel room. She wore a white suit, gold jewelry and low heels. Reaching into her blouse, she lifted a long chain. Her wedding ring glittered on the end of it, a brilliant-cut diamond surrounded by emeralds. It was foolish, she knew, to wear it in such a manner, but she didn't have the strength to part with it completely.

  It reminded her of wishes and dreams, a house full of children and growing old with the man she loved – a life where terrorists and gunrunners didn't take her husband away from home. A
s she slipped the chain inside her blouse, the ring thumped against her heart, out of sight but not out of mind.

  Kathy tilted her head. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, the way Dakota liked it best. Quickly she twisted it into a neat chignon, her fingers working the heavy strands with deft precision. This wasn't about what Dakota liked. This was a business meeting, a professional dinner engagement.

  When the room-service waiter delivered the meal, Kathy stood nearby, watching him set the table. Dakota would be arriving at any moment. She signed the bill and forced a smile, telling herself to relax. She had been in the company of dignitaries and heads of state. One tall, ex-military man, a dark-eyed Comanche, had no right to twist her stomach into a pretzel.

  Five minutes after the waiter departed, a knock sounded at the door. She answered it, keeping her bead high and her posture straight but not stiff. "Hello, Dakota."

  "Hi." He smiled, a brief affection that gentled his raw-boned features.

  She used to kiss the scar on his chin, she thought. And the one on his belly, too.

  Kathy took a step back. What a thing to invade her mind – that masculine stomach, rippling with hard-earned muscle.

  "Come in. I took the liberty of ordering our meal ahead of time."

  "Great." He walked into the suite, his voice more casual than she had expected. But when he made a beeline for the phone and began dismantling it, she realized his tone was for show.

  He talked about insignificant things as he swept the set of rooms for bugs, electronic devices that might have been planted by someone posing as part of the hotel staff. Kathy had already done a search, but she appreciated Dakota's professionalism. With her anxious behavior, she could have missed something. She wasn't accustomed to providing her own security.

  "What are we having?" he asked, indicating his search had turned up clean.

  "Prime rib," she responded, wishing she could relax the way a proper hostess should.