TYCOON WARRIOR

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  And wasn't that worse? she asked herself. Worse than no decision at all?

  "You seem happy," she told Dakota. Which, of course, made her even more sad. There would be someone else in his life someday. Someone who understood the soldier in him, who supported his causes. He was too magnetic, too easy to fall in love with, too attractive to ignore.

  "I do feel good," he announced. "But I enjoy casual get-togethers."

  Kathy tilted her head. Maybe he would choose a string of lovers instead of just one. Sex without serious commitment worked for plenty of men. And wasn't that the lifestyle he had leaned toward before their relationship developed? People did that after divorce, didn't they? Reverted back to their old ways?

  Not everyone, she thought. She couldn't see herself dating at all, let alone the type who had come before Dakota – Ivy League heirs who appreciated proper, mundane dinners and suggested she cut her unruly hair into a more suitable style.

  She would rather remain alone and remember the tall, dark-eyed man waiting for her on the cliffs. Her forbidden lover. The husband she couldn't keep.

  She released a weary sigh. How typical. And tragic. Casting herself as the heroine in an ill-fated legend – a woman wandering through life like an aimless shadow, her heart longing for what could never be.

  As Dakota removed his boots and placed them under the coffee table, Sugar stirred, then settled beside him again. "Angel sure is acute little girl." He shook his head in amazement. "Imagine discovering a baby on your doorstep. Thinking you hear an abandoned kitten, but going outside and finding a child instead."

  Because Kathy couldn't bring herself to picture such a confusing yet magical scenario, she responded simply. "Winona and Justin are wonderful parents."

  He sought her gaze. "Yes, they are. In that regard, it was the right doorstep."

  And ours was the wrong one, she thought, wishing those dark eyes weren't exploring hers. Why was he watching her so closely? Did he sense her uneasiness?

  She set her tea on a nearby table and tried to relax. She didn't want to be found out. Not now, not with the dark cloud of divorce weighing on her mind, with images of Dakota finding other lovers.

  "Kathy," he said, still studying her.

  It was too late, she realized. He was going to ask why a festive barbecue had made her so sad. She held her breath and waited, wondering what she would say, how she would convince him that she was fine.

  "Is there a chance you might be pregnant?"

  Oh, God. She gripped the cushioned chair, her heart tackling too many beats. "Why would you—?"

  "We didn't use protection in Asterland."

  "I'm not." She let out the breath she had been holding, forcing her voice to remain steady. Every cell in her body ached, right along with her pounding heart. "You don't need to worry."

  "I wasn't worried, I was actually hoping." He paused to shift his posture, move closer to the edge of the sofa. "I've never really thought about having kids. At least not consciously. And then today it hit me."

  Dizziness swept through Kathy, making her legs weak. She untucked them, then placed both feet on the floor, searching for solid ground, for stability she couldn't quite find.

  "I'm not pregnant." And his wish, his hope had come much too late. Their baby was gone.

  "Are you sure? Did you take one of those drugstore tests?"

  "There was no need." She felt as though she were floating outside herself, pushing away pain from the past. Pushing as it drifted toward her, waiting to connect. "I didn't miss my period."

  "Oh." He dropped his gaze, then lifted it a second later. "We should have had kids when we had the chance, when things were right between us." Reaching for Sugar, he stroked the dog's sleeping form. "I can't help but think it would have made a difference in our marriage." His smile was a little sad, a little wistful. "You would have made a terrific mother. And I could have learned to be a dad."

  Kathy didn't burst into tears. Instead they trailed slowly down her cheeks, one right after the other, burning as they went.

  When Dakota leaned forward, she held up her hand to ward him off, to keep him from coming closer. It was time to tell him about the baby, but she couldn't if he touched her.

  "Don't," she whispered. "Just give me a minute." A minute for three years of loneliness. It sounded absurd.

  Wiping her eyes, she stared at her husband, the man who waited with a concerned expression. The man who suddenly wanted to be a father.

  Dakota knew he had said something hurtful. Somehow he had hurt Kathy without meaning to. "Tell me, sweetheart. What's wrong?"

  She continued to stare, more through him than at him, her red-rimmed eyes vacant, the sound of her voice distant "There was a baby. But I miscarried. Three years ago."

  "I don't understand." He blinked, struggling to grasp her words. It wasn't something he expected to hear, to comprehend. "Why didn't you tell me when you found out you were pregnant? When...?" He let his next question drift, unable to say it out loud.

  "Because you weren't here. Not during any of it." Her voice broke a little, and he knew she forced back another flood of tears, another knot of emotion. "I had no way to reach you. You were on a mission. Gone for months."

  And she had lost their child. The baby he had thought about today. The baby they should have had. He tried not to picture her, but his mind's eye refused to listen. He saw her in his head – her tummy swollen, the life inside her flourishing one week, its tiny heartbeat gone the next

  "Did you tell anyone?"

  "I was waiting for you." She brushed at her dress, her fingers curling until they clutched the fabric. "I didn't suspect I was pregnant until weeks after you'd gone. So I waited, hoping you would come home soon."

  "But I didn't." And to him, one day of the mission had seemed like the next. It had been a long, grueling ordeal – a dangerous operation that kept him from contacting his wife. "I thought about you, always." But that hardly mattered, he realized. His thoughts hadn't protected Kathy or their child.

  She glanced away. "I thought about you, too. Wondered exactly what you were doing, who you were with, if you were safe, I was happy about the baby and worried about you at the same time."

  He didn't know how to respond, not through the overwhelming pain and guilt. Was it stress that had caused her to lose their child? "How far along were you?"

  "When I miscarried?" Avoiding eye contact, she released an erratic breath. "Almost three months. Eleven weeks, I was just getting over the morning sickness."

  Suddenly her answer made it all too real. Too vivid in his mind. He should have returned from his mission to find a healthy, happy, pregnant wife. He should have kissed her tummy, brought her breakfast in bed, shopped for teddy bears, chosen a color for the nursery.

  "It happened at home," Kathy said. "In this house. I suppose I should hate staying here, but for some reason I don't. Maybe because I was happy here once."

  Dakota prayed she could be happy there again, that they could get through this. He didn't want to lose his wife. Not a second time.

  "Were you alone?" he asked.

  "Yes. I came home from the market and while I was putting away the groceries, I got this terrible cramp." She clutched her stomach as though still feeling it. Feeling the loss of their child. "I called the doctor right away, but I knew it was too late." Rocking a little, she stared into space, into the memories filling her head. "I didn't buy much at the store. I had this craving for a peanut butter and banana sandwich."

  Someone should have been there with her, he thought.

  No, not just someone. He should have been there. Her husband.

  She kept her hands wrapped around her middle. "I don't even like peanut butter. Not really."

  Dakota wished she would look at him, scream and yell, tell him that she hated him. It would be easier to bear than watching her droop like a wilting flower, delicate petals ragged and torn.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered. "So sorry."

  Finally she turned, "I
left this house two weeks later. I couldn't stay here. I couldn't wait for you anymore. I didn't just lose our baby. I lost us."

  "I know." He remembered coming home to find her gone, to find himself living with emptiness. "Let me help you get ready for bed. You're exhausted. You should lie down." Dakota rose to his feet. He needed to hold her, and she needed warmth and comfort. Her eyes were still edged with team. She wasn't through crying. Tonight they would spill from her heart.

  She didn't take the hand he offered, so he stepped back, a lump forming in his throat.

  "I don't need your help," she said, her voice quiet. "I fell apart a long time ago. I'm not falling apart now."

  But she was, he thought. She was barely holding on. She had waited so long to tell him about the baby. Much too long.

  She stood and faced him. "We can't change what happened. It's over. It's done. And I don't want to talk about it anymore."

  Dakota nodded and let her pass, not knowing what else to do. On silent feet, she walked clown the hall toward her room. The day had shifted into night, early evening with an early moon shining through the living-room windows.

  After closing the blinds, he left the sleeping dog on the sofa and carried Kathy's cup into the kitchen. Leaning against the sink, he pictured her there, three years before, pregnant with his child.

  His child.

  Today he had held a baby for the first time – a tiny girl who smelled sweet and powdery, a girl with fair hair and bright blue eyes.

  Pouring the leftover tea down the drain, Dakota watched it disappear. Like Angel, their baby would have been beautiful. It would have inherited his Comanche skin and Kathy's Irish smile – a child whose dark hair would have shimmered in the sun with streaks of auburn.

  Dakota sank to the floor, mourning the life he had never got to know – a son or daughter who should have grown into a wondrous little being.

  Two hours passed before he glanced up at the clock. While he'd sat on the floor, trapped in emotion, what had Kathy been doing? Battling exhaustion? Hugging her knees to her chest?

  Rising, he pulled a hand through his hair. He couldn't leave her alone. Not tonight. They both needed comfort, whether they lay awake or succumbed to sleep.

  A pale glow spilled from beneath her bedroom door. He stood, gazing down at the light. It wasn't her bedroom, he corrected, a frown taking root in his brow. It was the room they had decorated for guests. Kathy didn't belong there. She belonged with him.

  He didn't think to knock. Opening the door, he slipped inside.

  She was awake, wearing the same sleeveless dress, her hair a golden shade of red – a fiery halo enhanced by the illumination of a single amber bulb. Fragility sprinkled over her like a spring rain, each teardrop as delicate as spun glass. Some clung to her lashes, others slid down her cheeks.

  How could she look so lost, yet so beautiful?

  Their eyes met, but neither spoke. She held a pillow against her stomach while another supported her back, cushioning the headboard. The quilt was rumpled, the sheets only mildly disturbed.

  He wanted to carry her to his room, to the bed they once shared, but he doubted she would welcome such a powerful intrusion. If he touched her, it would be with her permission.

  He stopped in the center of the room, praying she wouldn't turn him away. He should have knocked, respected her privacy.

  "Can I stay?" he asked. "Can I sit with you?"

  She nodded, and he came toward the bed.

  "You should try to sleep." He reached for a tissue on the night stand, then settled beside her. Tilting her chin, he dried her tears.

  She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder, the scarlet halo vivid against the white background of his shirt. He intended to get her a nightgown, to dress her for bed, but he didn't want to lose the connection. So he held her instead.

  Even in the amber light, he saw shadows beneath her eyes, pale lavender circles, swollen from tears. She felt as fragile as she looked, her slim, elegant body draped in a wrinkled dress.

  "I should have told you sooner," she said. "I meant to."

  "It's okay. None of this is your fault." He lifted the sheet and tucked it around her. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he felt her breath stir against his neck just as her eyes drifted closed.

  And while she slept, he thought about how much he loved her.

  * * *

  Kathy awakened at daybreak and found herself next to Dakota, a printed sheet balled at their feet. They were both dressed in the clothes they had worn yesterday, but his shirt fell open and the top button of his jeans lay undone. His belt was gone, she noticed. Sometime in the middle of the night he had removed it.

  He looked rumpled and gorgeous, his jaw shadowed with just a hint of beard stubble. And his hair, as black and coarse as a winter night, spiked against a pillow. The bedding suited him, the wash of Santa Fe colors complementing Indian skin.

  Allowing her gaze to roam, she locked onto his hips, onto those unfastened jeans. The waistband of white briefs were barely visible, and a stomach rippling with muscle moved with the inhale and exhale of sleeping breaths.

  She glanced away deliberately, but came back a moment later. Was he aroused? Drifting in and out of naughty dreams? His fly bulged, a masculine rise beneath deep-blue denim.

  Palms itchy to touch, she lifted her gaze, and it collided with his.

  Blushing wasn't welcome, but her cheeks heated just the same. She had been caught studying his hips, his navel, his sex.

  They stared at each other, neither sure what to do or say. She hadn't expected to feel this way, not on the morning after an emotional cry. But last night's tears had vanished with the dark, and now Kathy couldn't think beyond the awkwardness of lust.

  He arched a long, sturdy body, stretching a mass of muscle and sinew, and she swallowed, her throat dry as dust.

  "Morning," he said, his voice still rough from sleep.

  "Hi." Her nipples pebbled against her bra, chafing uncomfortably. "We slept in our clothes." Obvious as her statement was, it was the only coherent sentence that came to mind. Her bra was, after all, part of her clothing.

  He grabbed hold of his shirt tail. "Yeah, we did."

  Kathy nearly smiled through her nervousness. Apparently he lacked vocal skills on this odd morning, too.

  A second later, a heavy breath expanded his impressive chest. She chewed her bottom lip and decided he didn't need to say anything brilliant or compelling.

  Even as she told herself having him would be wrong, her rational side refused to obey. She struggled for control and lost.

  She needed him. One last time.

  "I don't want to talk," she said. Not about important things. That would spoil the moment. The slow, shy heat slipping between them.

  "Then we won't. Not now." He moved closer, just enough to send a silk-wrapped shiver down her spine.

  "Touch me," she whispered, inviting his caress.

  He unbuttoned the front of her dress with infinite care, and the gentleness made her dizzy. The simple white bra and cotton panties weren't designed for seduction, but she saw pleasure shining in his eyes as he discovered them.

  Their mouths came together, and they sipped from each other, sunlight spilling like wine. She removed his shirt, then brought her hands to his chest and smoothed her palms over warm, solid flesh. He had the body of a warrior, strong and toned, with a line of dark, silky hair that grew from his navel to his sex.

  Kathy reached for his fly, lowered the zipper and smiled when his stomach flexed with a taut quiver.

  He kissed her again, this time hard and deep, tongue to luscious tongue. She swayed with sensuality. Dakota was half-naked and fully aroused. As he unhooked her bra, a groan rose from his throat.

  "Tell me what you want," he said, trailing a finger down her belly.

  Her bra went slack, her breasts aching. "You. I want you."

  "Where?"

  Battling her next breath, she pressed her thighs together. Suddenly she wanted him there,
his mouth and his tongue, but she couldn't bring herself to voice the words.

  He nipped her ear. "You said it on the phone that night. I asked what makes you crazy, and you told me."

  But he had been miles away in a hotel room, not poised above her, waiting for an answer. "Then you already know."

  Removing her bra, he lowered his head and nuzzled her nipples. She slid her hands into his hair and struggled to hold onto the short, spiky strands. He was teasing her, moving slowly down her body, turning heat to hunger, satin to sensation.

  "Is this what you want?" He lifted her hips and brushed his mouth over her panties, over the swatch of virginal cotton.

  "Yes," she whispered. "Please. Yes."

  He complied, pulling her panties down and discarding them. She clutched the sheet and let the fever take control. The blinding heat and cool shivers. The moisture. The edgy need of knowing what came next.

  "You taste sweet," he said, opening her fully, licking and sucking, pressing her erotically against his mouth.

  Kathy clung to the fever, holding fast and tight, until the stab of his tongue, the deep, wet strokes drove her to a quick and ruthless climax.

  In the next spiraling moment, he was naked, nuzzling tenderly. "Do you want me to use protection?"

  Barely recovered, she nodded, and he reached for his wallet on the night stand.

  "I kept hoping this would happen between us, but I didn't know where or when, so..." His words drifted as he fingered the foil packet "Are you sure we should use it?"

  Her answer came out shaky. "Yes."

  "Okay." He lowered his mouth to hers, stealing her breath and the sudden sadness with it.

  Now, they both knew, was not the time to talk about babies.

  Sheathed in a condom, he entered her, sliding hard and heavy between her legs. She touched his cheek and arched to accept him, thinking how much she loved him. How much she would miss him.

  Their eyes met, and they slipped into a smooth, sleek rhythm, watching each other with longing and intensity.