Tatum arrived ten minutes early and took a seat in the vegan bakery. The 1950s décor was entertaining, with seafoam-green walls and an ancient stove, a mixer his grandmother would covet, and chevron patterns on the tabletops. The display case was packed with cupcakes, cinnamon rolls, and a host of other delectable goodies he rarely had the opportunity to enjoy.
He rubbed his hands together, feeling out of place and out of sorts. He wore slacks, a button-up shirt, and his boots, which were scuffed and worn and comfortable and probably not appropriate for a meeting with a princess. Once again, he was out of his comfort zone and not happy about the situation. He had to admire Nelson for handling this end of the business for the last four years without complaint.
It was close to eleven-thirty and he wondered if Neese’s stomach was still on Zimrada time or if she’d adjusted to DC time. Her beautiful bright eyes hadn’t shown signs of jet lag last night. He’d stared into her eyes enough that he would have noticed any trace of fatigue. They’d captured his thoughts and tugged at his heart-stone. He’d fallen asleep thinking about their warm brown color, like molasses with a sprinkling of brown sugar that caught the light.
He shook his head. He shouldn’t be daydreaming about a woman he couldn’t have. The thought he’d been so quick to stash away last night while they were together, the one about the darkness and how it didn’t belong in Neese’s life, came back to him as he drove to his hotel. His pay-by-the-week hotel was in an area he wouldn’t want Neese to drive through, let alone visit.
With a shake of his head, he knocked that train of thought off the tracks. Neese would not be visiting his hotel. He switched tracks and pondered the best way to approach the princess. Should he jump right into the presentation, or should he work at small talk first?
Just as his nerves reached a fever pitch, Neese appeared in the doorway, wearing a knee-length skirt and a sweater combination that brought to mind the word “sweet,” which wasn’t a word he used often when referring to, well, anything. Her long black hair was pulled to the side in a stylish chignon. She belonged in a café like this. Of course, a woman with her beauty and poise could belong anywhere. Getting to his feet for introductions, and because it’s what his mama trained him to do when a lady entered the room, he felt like a backwards hick.
Neese hovered in the doorway, taking in every inch of the restaurant, her wide eyes soaking up the décor and sparkling with joy. When her gaze landed on him, an enchanting smile spread across her cheeks, reaching right out to strum his heartstrings. He pulled out a chair as an invitation and she glided across the room.
“Hello, Tatum.” She clutched her purse in front of her chest, beaming. The thought that her smile was because of him warmed his soul right through.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” She tried the word and grinned. “Thank you for the seat.” She set her small purse on the table and tucked her skirt under her legs as he pushed in the chair.
Tatum took the chair across from her. His tension had evaporated the moment she arrived.
He tapped his finger on the table. The tension may have left, but his nerves were on high alert. The intensity of the attraction he felt for Neese overwhelmed his senses. Even with the heavy scent of sugar and cocoa powder in the bakery, her tropical perfume tickled his nose. He hadn’t forgotten how it felt to hold her close and wanted to pick up right where they’d let off the night before. For some reason, that didn’t seem entirely possible. Last night, among the flowers, fountain, and fairy lights, there was a magic that didn’t exist in the bright light of day.
“So this is an American patisserie.” She brushed her palm over the tabletop.
Tatum laughed. Maybe some of that magic remained. Neese was just as beautiful and charming—another word he didn’t know was part of his vocabulary—as she had been last night.
“What?”
“Your accent makes it sound so fancy.”
“It’s not?” Her forehead crinkled. “I read the online reviews. This is a highly favored bakery among the locals—well known for its caramel cuppy cakes.”
Tatum turned to look at the display case. “Do you mean cupcakes?”
“Yes! And turtle brownies.” She glanced both ways before leaning over the table. “What is a brownie?”
Tatum was taken away by the innocent excitement in her voice and eager expression. He suddenly wanted to be the one to introduce her to every item on the menu.
“Do you trust me?” he asked. It was an innocent flirtation, but it caused her to pause and measure him.
“Implicitly,” she finally answered.
Thrilled, he held up a finger. “I’ll be right back.” He went to the counter and ordered one of everything in the display case and two bottles of water.
It was while he waited for the water that he saw the large man who had stood guard at the entrance to the ball the night before. He wasn’t eating and his arms were folded, his gaze leaning towards hostile.
Tatum made eye contact, letting the guy know he knew he was there. But why he was there was an issue. Tatum hadn’t seen him come in with Neese and she walked right past him the night before. If he was security, he wasn’t doing a great job. Unless he was securing the location for the princess. Neese hadn’t paid the man any attention and the man seemed more interested in the old woman tying her poodle to the tree out front than he did about Neese.
With an uneasy wrench in his gut, Tatum took his credit card and the water from the cashier and headed back to the table. “I have a feeling we’re going to need these,” he said as he set one in front of Neese.
Neese accepted her bottle and twisted off the top.
“Will the princess be joining us today?” He took a swig of water, watching for her reaction.
Neese choked and her face turned red. She pounded her chest with her palm as her eyes began to water. “Sorry,” she croaked.
The guard didn’t move. Tatum narrowed his eyes.
Dabbing her lips with her napkin, Neese cleared her throat. “The princess is occupied at the moment.” She leaned forward. “Are you disappointed?” Her leg bounced under the table, making her skirt dance.
There was no way Tatum was going to let Neese think she was a disappointment to him. If he had to come up with and move on to Plan C, then he would do just that. “I should be, but I’m not.”
Neese’s leg stopped bouncing. “Do you mind if I ask what business you have with the princess?”
“It’s a confidential security matter.” Nelson was adamant in his email that Tatum only speak to a member of the royal family. There were rumors in the security-business community that trouble brewed on the island. Trouble that explained why the palace sent out false intel on purpose. ProtectMoore, Zimrada’s current security company, hired men who worked for the highest bidder. Tatum didn’t like hired guns who were loyal to their wallets and not those they protected. His company wanted to live on the island, make it their home. Protecting one’s home was a higher priority than collecting a paycheck. The current situation was ripe for a hurricane of trouble. He and Nelson could do, would do, so much better if given the chance.
Neese’s back went straight.
Tatum leaned over the table. “Did I say something wrong?”
Neese sucked air through her teeth. “Security is a touchy subject around the palace these days.”
Tatum turned his palms up. Wondering what was really going on inside the palace, he said, “With ProtectMoore’s contract almost up, I’m sure there are many companies vying for the opportunity to serve the royal family.”
Neese shifted in her seat. “And each one more expensive than the last. They reduce the family’s lives to—how do you Americans say it? Dollars and decimals?”
Tatum was taken aback by the harshness in her tone. He and Nelson were at the top of the game. Their rates reflected their abilities. “Round-the-clock security is expensive and they are running a business.”
“Yes, but their business is protecting the people I love and they drain the family’s reserves in the process.” Her gaze cut away.
Tatum clamped his teeth shut, cutting off any harsh rebuttal. The people I love, she had said. Her job wasn’t just a job. His thoughts raced back through their conversation the night before. She’d been vague, saying she did “something” for the queen. Was she a niece? His gaze darted to the guard by the door. If Neese was related to the royal family, then his presence here made sense. “I didn’t mean to offend—”
“Here you are, sir.” A woman in a red apron set plate after plate of goodies on the table, each holding a new and tantalizing dessert. Tatum and Neese leaned back to give her space, and with that movement their eyes met and they agreed to change the subject. Tatum gave her an apologetic half grin and she smiled up at him through lowered lashes.
Tatum was more than happy to set the conversation aside. He shouldn’t have been talking with Neese about work anyway. The argument, if you could call it that, was his fault. He should have kept his cool.
The server finished with an anticlimactic “enjoy” and hurried off. Tatum dropped his hand over Neese’s. “Are you ready for a sugar overload?”
Neese’s eyes grew as round as saucers and she moistened her lips in anticipation. Tatum’s lower belly hummed with desire. He’d buy the whole café to have a shot at those lips.
Tatum held out his arms. “Where do you want to start?”
Neese tapped her finger to her perky lips. “That one.” She pointed.
“Ah, that is a cinnamon roll.” He forked off a large bite, the bread flaking easily and the frosting dripping over the edge. “Here.”
She took the fork and put the whole thing in her mouth, her cheeks lifting as she chewed.
“Now …” He got himself a bite. “I haven’t tasted this yet. But I’m willing to bet that it doesn’t compare to my mother’s cinnamon rolls.”
She chewed, watching his face as he tasted the pastry. After only a moment, he shook his head. “It’s good. Really good—especially for being vegan. But it doesn’t taste like home.”
“Should it have dust in it to taste like home?” She tried a smaller bite to go with her small smile.
He chuckled, enjoying that she remembered his description of home. “No, my mom could bake love right into the dough.”
She paused, considering his words. “My mother grows and dries peppermint leaves for our afternoon tea. There is no other flavor like it. Perhaps she too includes love in the process.”
He brushed his fingers across her hand, wondering if she wanted to be a mother one day. He wanted to be a dad. The concept had been so far out there, like the horizon beyond the edges of his home fields. Being shot, watching his lifeblood drain away, had changed him. He could acknowledge that now, because sitting across from Neese, the change didn’t seem so scary. Before, the concept of a home and family was overwhelming. Where does a guy even begin? Having her near made it all seem reachable.
“You don’t like vegan foods?” she asked, sampling a kiwi tart. She shuddered and made a face.
He laughed. “Sour?”
“That is not my favorite.” She pushed the plate to his side of the table.
He laughed. “I don’t want it either.” He pushed it back her way.
She scrunched her nose in response.
Tatum picked up the conversation at her last question. “It’s not that I don’t like vegan foods. I like this.” He swirled his fork above the array of confections. “I don’t live the lifestyle. Why, do you?”
“We raise chickens and eat their eggs and there are a couple pork farms. But there are very few cows on our island.”
He nearly spit his water across the table. “How is that possible?”
She laughed at his antics. “My people do not enjoy the texture of the meat. We prefer fish.”
“So, no milk and cookies?”
“Coconut milk and dates.” She perused the selection before her. “What’s that?”
“That is the infamous cupcake.”
“Infamous?”
“It’s so famous, it’s in-famous.” He grinned.
She used a plastic knife to cut a perfect, one-quarter-sized wedge as if she were cutting a tiny cake. She speared the wedge with a plastic fork. He found the action adorable. “Are you always this proper?”
Her fork stopped in midair. “Did I do something wrong?”
He grabbed the remaining cupcake. “These are finger foods.” He took a large bite, leaving frosting around his lips.
She laughed. “You should call them face foods.” Using her fork, she took a dainty bite of the chocolate and cherry creation with cream cheese frosting, and smiled. “I like this one.”
“Me too.”
She continued to use her silverware to take a bite out of each flavor of cupcake. Tatum hooked his arm behind the back of the chair and settled in, enjoying the show. The peanut butter cupcake had Neese guzzling water and smacking her lips—all in the most ladylike way. The dark chocolate and coconut got a shrug. The lemon made her eyelashes flutter. The vanilla had her moaning. He liked the vanilla.
After the cupcakes were sampled, she swirled a spoon through the chocolate pudding. “Tell me more about this farm of yours.”
“It’s not mine. My parents own it. They raise their own feed and milk the cows—all three hundred and fifty.”
Her eyes widened as she patted a napkin to her lips and swallowed. “By themselves?”
He enjoyed the look of horror on her face. “My two older brothers and their families help. My sister’s kid is fourteen and he drives the tractors and everything. They hire extra help if they need it, but it’s a family operation.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Four, two sisters and two brothers. I’m the youngest.”
“Blech—that sounds awful. I have one older brother and he thinks he’s king.” Her cheeks blushed almost red as she busied herself choosing her next bite. “My younger brother is not so bad.” She smiled. “Were you tormented by them all?”
“Just by my oldest sister—she was bossy. The rest of us were the best of friends growing up. I never needed a playdate because I always had someone to run out to the treehouse with or go horseback riding.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’ve always wanted a horse. I asked for one for my fifth birthday and I got a sea horse.”
Tatum enjoyed the way she talked. Her words were rounded and danced from her lips. “Really?”
“I had the most difficult time naming him.”
“Why?”
She sighed as if it were only yesterday that she was a five-year-old again with a great responsibility. “I wanted to give him a name like Volcano, but he was not the mighty steed I imagined.”
“What was he?”
“He was tan, so I named him Butterscotch.”
Tatum smacked his hand on his knee. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.” Her eyes were all big again. “My older brother teased me for ages.”
Tatum pulled out his phone and found the picture of his twelve-year-old niece and her new barrel racing horse. It was a beautiful palomino with a dark nose and ears. “This is Emily and Butterscotch.”
Neese snatched the phone and held it close as she examined the image. “She’s beautiful.”
“She’s fast too. Emily should go all the way to high school nationals on that horse.”
Neese lifted her face. “I meant Emily. You both have blue eyes.”
Tatum blinked. That tender place in his heart where he locked up all those proud uncle emotions threatened to burst wide open. “She was two days old when I first held her, and now look—she’s so pretty I’m going to have to build a fence to keep the boys away.”
Neese grinned. “My dad said the same thing.” She tilted her head. “Actually, he wanted a moat.” She laughed. “Why do men want to keep us from growing up? Yet they do not care if their boys grow like trees.”
Tatum took her hand, tracing his thumb across her knuckles and then back again. He liked that she said “grow like trees.” His mother used to say he grew like a weed. He smiled. “We fall hard for our girls. They are soft and therefore soften us.” Like you soften me.
Man! He sounded like such a pansy, but for some reason, he didn’t care.
Okay, maybe he cared a little. He was not this guy. The guy who shared pictures of his niece and wanted to hold a woman’s hand for the sheer pleasure of touching her.
Maybe this was some weird form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder manifesting itself. He and Nelson underwent evaluations with a psychiatrist after every mission—their whole crew did. It was standard procedure. Most of the time, the guys checked out. Every once in a while, usually when there was an injury, guys needed to work things out before coming back.
Dr. Morris had spent several days with Tatum in the hospital, even slept on a cot one night in his room. Tatum hadn’t had nightmares and he didn’t have flashbacks of being shot, though his memory of what happened was clear as a mountain spring.
However, he’d had all these feelings as of late. Stuff that was hard to get a handle on. Like how much he enjoyed touching Neese’s hand and how he wanted to hold her close and fall asleep with her head on his chest.
The big guy by the door had a coughing fit. Neese whipped her head that direction. She seemed to come to herself and stared down at their hands for a moment. Her eyes narrowed. Tatum expected her to pull away. He tensed his shoulders, anticipating the rejection, but she didn’t put space between them. At least not physically. The closeness they’d shared in conversation, the easy back-and-forth, had waned.
She handed him the phone. “You are blessed.” Her words were simple and yet so profound. He was blessed.
“What about your family?” He tipped his water bottle her direction before taking a long swig. All the sugar they’d consumed made his mouth sticky.
“My family grows oranges. We export most of our crop.”
“I can’t picture you harvesting.”
Her hand went to her hip. “I harvest alongside my brothers, thank you.”
“You’re an only girl?”
“Yes.”
“And they make you work in the fields?”
“Do your sisters not?”
“They do and they don’t. They feed animals and such, but the men do most of the heavy lifting.”
She shook her head. “On our island, we work side to side. A man may bring in the harvest and make dinner for the family, just as a woman may tend children and slaughter a pig. We do not see men’s jobs and women’s jobs—there are only jobs to be done. In this pattern, all learn how to mend fishing nets, dive for conch … climb a coconut tree.” She tipped her head and smiled.
“Is that like climbing a trellis?” he teased, and she laughed. “And what does your family think of you working for the royal family? They must be very proud of you.”
She set down her fork. “Unfortunately, my affinity for American culture challenges my mother’s ideas and our island’s traditions. I am often seen as the weak link.”
“I can’t imagine that is true. You are much too commanding to be seen as weak.”
“Commanding? I do not command, I serve.”
He rolled her hand over and laced their fingers together. “You commanded my attention from the first moment we met.”
She fought a smile. “You mean when you handed me your coat to hang up?”
He grinned. “You had me so flustered. Didn’t you hear my voice crack?”
She giggled behind her napkin. “Perhaps a little.”
They’d sampled almost everything on the table, leaving a scary amount of food behind. However, he’d saved the best for last. “This is a turtle brownie.” He moved the small white plate to the center of the table.
“It doesn’t look like a turtle.” She bit her lip. “Please tell me there isn’t a tiny turtle inside of there.”
He kept a straight face. “They don’t use snapping turtles.”
She slapped his arm. “You are teasing me.”
“Maybe.” He shifted in his seat. “You don’t eat turtles?” He’d thought they were an island delicacy.
“They are protected.”
“Ah. Well, you won’t be arrested for eating this. A turtle candy is made by laying five pecans out like a star and putting a dollop of warm caramel on top and then—”
“Stop—you had me at warm caramel.” She smiled. “Is this face food?”
He laughed. “It most certainly is.”
She released his hand, using her delicate fingers to pick up the treat, and took a large bite, chewing thoughtfully. “This is good. This is the best sweet on the menu. I will have to take many back to the islands as gifts.”
“I’ll bet my mom has a recipe.”
“Does it include love?” Her eyes danced.
“Just a pinch.” He reached around and tickled her side.
She laughed and squirmed away.
They had stuffed themselves, one small bite at a time. Tatum asked for boxes and they packed the rest of the desserts up. “Put the ones you want to take to the hotel in that box, and I will take the rest.”
Neese was careful in her selections, making the most out of the space provided like a kid. She was childlike in many ways—in the best ways. Innocent of the harsh realities of the world and wide-eyed at the beauties within it. Perhaps that was what knocked on the secret doors in his heart. With her, there was no agenda, no scheming, no games; only the moment and the joy it could bring.
“What are your plans for the afternoon?” he asked.
“I would like to experience more of America. This may be my only visit to the country for some time.”
Tatum didn’t like the sound of that. At all. He stood and pulled out her chair. “I have a truly American experience for you.”
“Really?” Her voice rose with excitement.
“It’s as American as turtle brownies. Are you interested?”
“Yes!” She hesitated. “Let me just send a text.”
“Checking in with the princess?”
Neese’s head popped up. “No, I—”
“No worries, I’ll take care of this stuff while you text.” He gathered their empty water bottles and used napkins on a tray and took it to the trash can. She was hiding something from him, something about her work and who she was; her expression was as easy to read as the day’s headlines. He couldn’t figure out what she could have to hide besides her familial relationship. He didn’t care if she was the king’s niece or whatever. Someone out there might, though, so he could understand the need to keep her identity a secret. Once he was living on the island, there would be no more need to hide.
The thought gave him pause. No more need to hide.
Neese wasn’t the only one hiding something. He hadn’t told her why he wanted to meet with the princess—hadn’t revealed anything about his company. His stomach churned, and he didn’t think it had anything to do with the copious amount of sugar and Crisco he’d inhaled. If he was serious about pursuing Neese, he would need to tell her everything. Not today. There wasn’t room on a first date for all his baggage. There might not be enough room in a full-blown relationship for the amount of baggage he carried.
When he returned to the table, Neese was on her feet, her phone tucked into her purse. Tatum offered his arm. She slipped her hand into the crook and he pressed a kiss to her hair without thinking.
She stared up at him. “What was that for?”
“I—I couldn’t help myself. It just seemed natural.” The kiss hadn’t been thought out; he just did it as if he had the right. “Why? Was it wrong for me to kiss you?” There were Zimradian laws about these things.
Neese leaned closer. “It wasn’t wrong, Tatum.” Her cheeks turned that deep red shade again and her thick lashes lowered. “I just wanted to know what I’d done to earn it. Then, perhaps, I could repeat the action.”
Tatum turned so they were facing one another. He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You don’t have to do anything. For some reason, I just want to kiss you.”
“Right now?” She grabbed a handful of his sleeve, her eyes in a panic.
He glanced around the almost empty bakery. The big guy was giving him a hard look. The kind of look that could kill a mood. The woman behind the counter was openly staring, daring him to go for it. The old lady with the dog outside tsked her tongue. “Probably not here.”
She nodded, releasing his shirt. “Of course.” She smoothed out the wrinkles in the fabric.
All traces of panic left her face, but he wondered what put them there. He wasn’t smooth with the ladies and he wondered if he’d pushed her too far. “Are you—do I make you scared?”
“What? Me?” She giggled. “Noooooo.”
“Good.” He pulled open the door, letting the light rain fall onto the hardwood floor. Neese pulled a tiny umbrella from her purse and popped it open. Tatum slipped an arm behind her and crowded under the covering on the way to his car. “Because you terrify me.”
“Me?” she pressed a hand to her chest. “I am the least frightening creature on my island.”
They made it to his car and he pressed the button to unlock the doors. He disagreed with her statement, but his reasons were all jumbled up like an extension cord left to its own devices. She gracefully ducked into the car and he tucked her skirt in before shutting the door.
While her innocence was like a warm ocean breeze, it also brought out the protective side of him. He wanted to shelter her from the world. That’s why he’d offered to show her a unique American experience. If he sent her into the city on her own, she’d be a sitting duck for those who prey upon the virtuous to work over. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been around someone so fresh off the farm—er, fresh off the island, as it were.
He jangled his keys. All the sitting around and healing he’d done gave him way too much time to think. Thinking made him soft. Soft meant he did things like show off pictures of his niece and kiss beautiful women who smelled like mint and oranges.
Some part of him believed that the more time they spent together, the less he’d feel the need to be with Neese. However, the opposite happened. After finishing desserts, he didn’t want to let her go.