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.”
He clasped her hand. “Do you pay this close of attention to all your guests?”
“Only the royals and the attractive men.” She patted his cheek before shaking out his coat and turning toward the coat room.
Tatum caught himself staring after her, enjoying the sway of her hips—like soft waves on the shoreline. Worried she’d turn and catch him drooling after her, he squared his shoulders and headed into the ballroom, ready to take control of his destiny.
Chapter Five
Nyssa grinned the whole way to the coat room. The real coat attendants had stuck close to the room all night, barely keeping an eye on the guests that filtered into the ballroom. For an expensive hotel, they weren’t paying much attention, and she prayed that those inside were doing a better job.
But then, if one of the young men had been by the door when the handsome stranger walked in, she wouldn’t have had the opportunity to get so close. Not that they’d been officially introduced. She didn’t know his name, and more importantly, he didn’t know hers. The anonymity was powerful—like a strong drink that bolstered courage and hindered rational thought. Thoughts that would have kept her from calling him attractive—to his face!
She’d long ago mastered the art of being in a room with strangers who knew much more about her than she knew about them. There were banquets and feasts back home that were filled with new faces. The women would hug her as if she were their daughter. The men would pay compliments as she passed. The situation created a feeling she termed public loneliness.
Having a gentleman not know her name put the two of them on equal ground. Which she found she enjoyed much more than being on a pedestal. Usually, she was a princess first, but with this man she was a woman first. A woman who was desired by a man. She pressed her cold fingers to her warm cheeks, remembering the way his fingers had left rivers of heat on her skin.
Kingston’s chest expanded as he took a deep breath to announce her entry to the room. Nyssa waved
