Slipping off his coat, he held it out to the woman. Their eyes met and his temperature rose as if he were caught in the crosshairs of a gun. There was danger in those eyes because of what they could do to him. He was a man of control, a man who planned, a man who knew the escape route before ever entering a building. Her deep, lovely eyes had him thinking of a whole new type of strategy.
From inside the ballroom came the sounds of chatter, glasses tinkling together, low conversation, and a string quartet playing “Are You Lonesome Tonight.” Tatum was unexpectedly lonely for this woman. He wanted to take her into his arms and see if Mrs. Benson’s dance lessons had stuck; to whisper sweet nothings, his lips on her tempting neck.
She slowly wrapped her delicate fingers around the fabric of the coat. “You are giving this to me?” The words cascaded with an accent sweetened by an island melody. Her perfume, a coconut and flower concoction, tugged him closer.
With a shake of his self-discipline, he refocused on the mission. He wasn’t here to meet the coat check girl—he was here to meet a queen. “To hang up, yes.” He dropped his gaze, tugging his white shirt sleeves down inside his jacket.
Her mouth dropped open for a moment, and then she brightened. “Of course, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Her round cheeks lifted with an intriguing smile as her eyes dropped to his tie.
“No thanks.”
“Are you sure?” One dark eyebrow rose as she looped his jacket over her arm and let it hang there.
“Yes?” The way she looked at him made him wonder if meeting a queen could be any more intimidating.
Stepping forward, she reached towards his neck. He snatched her wrist, holding just tight enough that she couldn’t pull away, nor could she advance on him. “What are you doing?” he demanded.
Her eyes widened as she stared at their hands. The big guy by the door took a step their way, but she shook her head at him and he stepped back, scowling.
“I was going to fix your tie.” Her gaze went from his hand to his tie and then to his eyes. “You have a four-in-hand knot. The guests tonight have adopted the Pratt knot in honor of the king of Zimrada, who wears his no other way.” She lightly tugged on her arm and he released her. The separation was felt throughout his entire body, a sensation that was as uncomfortable as it was a relief. He’d locked away many things and somehow, with just a touch, she’d infiltrated those areas.
Feeling as though he’d personally offended her with his tie, Tatum scratched at his scruff. “I-I didn’t know.” He loosened the knot and handed her the silver-and-white-striped fabric. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to women’s … hands … I …” He was botching this.Not used to women’s hands? What?“Did I hurt you?”
She pressed her lips together, but her cheeks pulled up. “You did not. I am from a strong island people.” She pulled the knot out of the tie and smoothed the wrinkles before looping it around her neck. “A Pratt knot is tied with the tie upside down so the seam shows.”
“Oh.” So much for that excellent public education Nelson was always teasing him about. He didn’t even know there were different ways to tie a tie. He had caught her reference to being from an island, though. Was she one of many servants who traveled with the queen?
“Are you here to meet the princess?” she asked as she slipped the tie over her head and reached up to put it around his neck. She paused, questioning him with a look to see if he would grab her again. He winked instead, and she sucked in quickly before schooling her features and looping his tie over his head.
Tatum held still as she worked, letting her tropical scent waft over him like a warm ocean breeze. “It’s the queen I’ve come to meet,” he answered quietly.
Her smile dimmed. “I’m afraid you are in for a disappointment. It is the princess who is the official Zimradian representative.”
“Oh.” He lowered his brow. He didn’t seem to have many words tonight. Not any intelligent ones, anyway.
Thankfully, he’d found out about the queen before he went in there and embarrassed himself in front of a future client. “It must have been fate that brought us together.”
“Fate? Fate would mean we had no choice but to meet.”
He cocked his head. “You don’t like fate?”
“I prefer destiny.” She smiled, her eyes full of an intelligence that twinkled, it shone so bright.
“What’s the difference?”
“Paulo Coelho once said, ‘I can control my destiny, but not my fate. … We all have the choice as to whether we fulfill our destiny, but our fate is sealed.’”
Tatum had never heard of Paulo Coelho, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “I think I agree with you, although I like the idea that fate would master a moment I may screw up.”
“Your answer implies a lack of faith in yourself.” She fit his collar over the tie and brushed her hands over his shoulders, smoothing out his jacket. “Did you recently have a setback?”
He took her by the elbows in an effort to steady himself. Her words had shone a spotlight on that place where he wondered if he still had what it took to do his job, to be the fearless leader.
She placed her hands on his chest, his coat bunching on her arm. “I think you’ve got this moment well in hand,” she said, her tone flirtatious. She smelled expensive and knew what she was doing with his tie. Maybe she also knew what she was doing with him. He could be falling for a trap. If nothing else, his guard was down. He had no idea who was within ten feet of them—friend or foe.
He stepped back, letting his fingers caress her soft skin as he slipped away. “I chose my destiny a long time ago.”
She dipped her head in acknowledgement even as her cheeks flushed. “If you are interested in meeting the royal representative, I suggest monitoring the ice sculpture, as she has a weakness for the orange caramel tarts.”
