America was full of wonderful amenities, and without the elevator, she wasn’t sure she could make it to the ball—the dress wouldn’t allow her to lift her knees very high. Heaven help her if someone asked her to tango.
She scolded herself for such romantic thoughts while on an important mission. The only one she needed to tango with this week was the Secretary of Defense.
Although … a waltz would be perfectly manageable in this dress and a welcome distraction depending upon the partner. There may be an understanding that she and Prince Marius from Riodan would wed one day, but that didn’t mean she had to hang herself on a hook and wait for him; nor did it mean she should lock herself away from trying new things. There was a whole wide world out there and she was about to get her first taste. If a handsome stranger asked her to dance, she would say yes.
With a firm nod that belied the butterflies in her stomach, she stepped into the lobby, where she was greeted by no less than twelve hotel employees, all dressed in gray fitted jackets and matching slacks. Their cuffs had shiny silver buttons and there was a red rose pinned to their lapels.
“Your highness.” A woman with hair no longer than an inch stepped forward and bowed at the waist. “I’m Norma Kendrick. I worked with the queen to organize tonight’s event.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you.” Nyssa dipped her head.
“Thank you, the pleasure is all mine.” Norma put her arm out to the side. “I’d like you to meet the staff for this evening’s event.” She went down the line, introducing everyone from the head waiter to the valet and the chef in his puffy hat.
Nyssa greeted each by name and shook their hands. “Thank you all for making this a memorable evening for myself and the guests. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
They exchanged awkward glances.
“No, it’s you who should call on us,” Norma insisted.
“My mother would love it here,” Nyssa commented.
Norma’s smile widened considerably. “Come inside and I’ll show you to your table.” Norma motioned for Nyssa to go first.
“It’s tradition for the host to greet their guests at the door.” Nyssa positioned herself next to the huge double doors, dwarfed by their size. “I’ll remain here until the last guest has arrived.”
Norma nodded. “Of course. I’ll be inside making sure things run smoothly.”
Without a word, Kingston took the other side of the doors and crossed one hand over the other.
“Are you ready for this?” Nyssa asked.
He cleared his throat and stared straight ahead.
“Me neither,” she muttered.
Chapter Four
“How’s the arm?”
Tatum Scott steered the rental through DC traffic as he spoke to his business partner and best friend on speakerphone. “I can lift it over my head now.” Tatum had followed his physical therapist’s instructions as if the guy were his drill sergeant and he a fresh recruit. “I’ve got strength back—just not full rotation. That could take another six months.”
His surgeon, Dr. Peterson, told him to enjoy the time off—spend a little of the money he’d made with his private security company. “If I had your money, I’d buy an island and never leave,” the good doctor joked at his last appointment. Tatum shook his head, still embarrassed by how freely he’d talked under anesthesia about his personal finances.
The island life didn’t sound so bad, but he and Nelson Baker weren’t the type to just lie around on the beach. If they bought an island, he had the sinking suspicion it would become the test site for half a dozen missiles. They’d ticked off their fair share of small countries and wealthy families. Their best bet for retirement was to set up life on a non-deserted island where the royal family hadn’t ticked anyone off. They’d heard through the grapevine that the Zimrada was shopping for a new security company, and as luck would have it, Tatum had just the experience, the knowledge, and the organization for the job—not to mention the motivation to lie low in paradise for thirty years or so. After that, they could come get him. Who wanted to get old?
Besides, staying in the business would keep him sharp. He could attend all the conferences, keep up on gadgetry—a definite bonus in the cloak-and-dagger world—and stay in shape. With the number of people who wanted him dead, he couldn’t afford to slack off.
Thinking about life on a beach was much more pleasing than thinking about the other things Dr. Peterson had mentioned. Like how he may not get the full range of motion back in his left arm. And how the scar tissue could build up, causing chronic pain. Just because he knew the billion-dollar balance in Tatum’s checking account didn’t mean the man knew Tatum all that well. Tatum would will his muscles to heal. If they didn’t, he was gonna be really ticked off.
A cab darted into traffic in front of him and Tatum tapped the brakes, his bumper within inches of the yellow vehicle.
Nelson’s voice came through the speaker. “Glad to hear you’re making progress. If you can lift your arm, then you can dance.”
“Dance?” The cab driver flipped him off. Tatum smiled in return. It wasn’t a normal day unless someone was angry with him.
“You’re going to need those skills if you want to win over the queen at the ball tonight.”
Tatum blew out a breath as he checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. The majority of their clients did business in the Middle East. In order to blend in, he’d grown his hair to his chin and sported a full beard. Over there, he was considered stylish, but in downtown DC, he looked like a backwoods hillbilly sure to make the wrong impression on her royal highness the queen. A quick trip to the barber earlier had revealed his ears and took his beard from unruly toGQ. The man staring back at him looked a lot more like the Wyoming cowboy he used to be—the one whose mama could cook the most tender roast in five states—than the grizzled Navy SEAL he’d come to know and love. He was a fish out of water. “How did I ever let you talk me into this?”
