Because a Husband Is Forever

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Most people don’t get their photograph splattered all over the place when it does.” Out of all of them, he was the one who had shunned the spotlight and notoriety as if it was a second calling. He was the exact opposite of their mother, who loved it. There had been a time when their mother would have gone bareback riding on an eagle if it would have gotten her attention. Paul paused, then asked, “Are you okay?”

  At the show of concern, the dark thoughts she was having about him faded. “I’m fine.”

  She heard paper rustling on the other end. She wondered which story he’d read, but thought it best not to ask.

  “Lucky that bodyguard you have was so alert,” he commented.

  “He’s not my bodyguard.” The protest was automatic. Unless you were being stalked, she saw no reason to have bought and paid for muscle tracing your every step—unless you were vain. “He’s just an experiment.”

  She heard her brother clear his throat. “I think I’m probably better off not knowing what that means.”

  “Watch some of those tapes of the show you’re always claiming you’re making and maybe you’ll get a clue.” She knew Paul was busy at work while her show aired, but he was always saying that he was faithfully taping each episode.

  “I’ve got to go, Dakota. Next time, try to be more careful.”

  She promised and hung up. She certainly had no intention of being reckless or punching out someone else. Her problem now was that she still couldn’t shake the restlessness that had been humming through her all day. It seemed to grow as the day progressed.

  By all rights, because she was so tired, she should have just gone straight to bed the second she walked into her apartment. The thought of making contact with her king-size bed and its soft satin comforter had loomed before her like a seductive goal all day long.

  But as the day progressed, as one thing built on another, the thought of going home and sharing the space with just Ian again created a nervousness within her that seeped into the center of her exhaustion. The tension continued to grow until it infused her with a shot of energy or adrenaline or something along those lines.

  And it had her accepting Jerry Cole’s invitation to dinner in a moment of complete distraction, not to mention madness. Jerry had cornered her just after the show, before she’d had time to even begin preparing for the next day’s program.

  He might not have gotten to her if she’d been thinking straight, Dakota ruminated now.

  Jerry wasn’t awful. There was just no chemistry between them, even though he thought there was. But when he asked, she’d said yes, and now, as she walked into her apartment, she went straight for her closet to try to put on something that would trouble Ian but not arouse Jerry.

  Not exactly an easy task.

  She worked her way from one end of her closet to the other. Then, in another moment of weakness, she decided to sacrifice Jerry in order to get back at Ian. She chose one of her sexier dresses, an electric-blue dress that appeared simple on the hanger, gorgeous on her body as it clung to every inch of her, beguilingly tantalizing the imagination it had set off.

  Dakota wasn’t even sure why she was going through with this, other than the fact that she felt she needed a breather from this man who was all but hermetically sealed to her side. That and it was Friday. She liked unwinding on Fridays.

  So why did she feel so damn wound up? she wondered as she quickly showered and reapplied her makeup. Things were going well. Except for that blip in the road caused by John, her life was on track. She had a wonderful career and a better family. If ever there was a candidate for contentment poster child, it should have been her.

  But it wasn’t.

  She decided it was best not to explore that until she had more sleep under her belt.

  “You have the night off,” she declared as she walked into the living room.

  There was a novel on the coffee table, awaiting his pleasure. The bookmark indicated that he was about halfway through the tome, a novel by James Michener. The man had to be a speed reader, she thought. Either that, or he skipped huge chunks of the book.

  Right now, he was making notes in his black notebook. When she’d asked him about it the other day, he’d said simply that he kept a journal while on the job. Curiosity had eaten away at her. She wanted to know what, if anything, he wrote about her that was remotely of a personal nature. But the book, like his tongue, seemed to be kept under lock and key. When he wasn’t making entries, the book was completely out of sight.

  Ian glanced up, and only restraint had him keeping his eyes in his head. The woman could have accomplished just as much wrapping herself in electric-blue plastic wrap. Had there been a pencil in his hand, it would have found itself broken in two, a casualty of the surge he felt inside. As it was, he managed to bend his pen.

  Still, he kept his voice steady. “The agreement is, I don’t take nights off.”

  “I have a date,” she told him. She watched his face for a reaction, hating herself for caring.

  His expression never changed. “I know.”

  Of course he did. Why did she think it would be otherwise? Annoyed that he seemed so all right with it, she dug in.

  “Dates usually mean two people, unless it’s a group date, at which time an even number of people go. You might not know this but you alone are not an even number, hence, you’re not coming.”

  There was just the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “I’ll be there, you just might not know it.”

  She blew out a breath. This definitely wasn’t going the way she wanted it to. She wanted him to stay here—and possibly sulk. But at the very least, she wanted to get away from him. Then maybe she could stop thinking about him and wondering why it had been so easy for him to walk away last night.

  “Are you planning on wiring me?”

  “If you ask me, you’re already pretty wired.” He leaned in to her, trying not to notice that she was wearing a sexier perfume than usual. One that made him want to slip back into the transgression he’d committed last night. It took effort not to visibly react, but he congratulated himself on holding firm. “Don’t worry, I won’t interrupt anything. I’ll be discreet.”

  “How do I know you won’t pop up in various disguises?”

  He laughed then, a small, mirthless sound. “You watch too many bad movies.”

  Annoyed, stymied, she threw up her hands. “And I’m stuck in a bad nightmare.”

  His eyes met and held hers. “Are there good nightmares?”

  Dakota didn’t answer. Or maybe her huge sigh did her answering for her. Like an eleventh-hour savior, the doorbell rang. She began to cross to the door when Ian placed himself between her and her goal.

  “I’ll do it,” he told her.

  Exasperated, she raised her hands as she stepped back. “Knock yourself out.”

  Rather than ask who it was the way he’d told her to do, Ian opened the door. But then, given that he was eight inches taller and about a hundred pounds heavier, Ian was far more of a force to be reckoned with than she was. The look on Jerry’s face certainly said as much.

  The latter’s brown eyes darted back and forth between them. “Is…is she ready?” he asked uncertainly.

  He was not going to speak for her, Dakota thought. She deliberately slipped out around the barrier Ian had formed with his body. “I’m ready.” Thinking this was not one of her better ideas, she still forced cheer into her voice.

  “Um, is he going with us?” Jerry looked up at Ian, then back at her. The uncertainty on his face increased.

  “Not exactly,” Dakota responded. Grabbing her coat, she wrapped both her arms around one of his and drew him toward the elevator. “There’s a hundred in it for you if you lose him,” she whispered.

  Jerry laughed nervously in response.

  Dakota had a sinking feeling that they weren’t going to lose Ian anytime soon.

  They didn’t.

  Even though Ian had told her that he would be discreet, she was acutely a
ware of him the entire time. In the restaurant he was seated at a table for one twenty feet away. Close enough to spring into action if necessary. He’d said he’d be far away enough to give her some privacy. It wasn’t enough, in her book.

  She did her best to pretend that the tall, dark man wasn’t there. It was like being on the edge of a forest fire with your back to it, pretending not to feel the heat.

  Impossible.

  The evening turned out to be relatively short. She and Jerry ate, made the smallest of talk, and before she knew it, she was back at her door, relieved that it was over, unhappy that she felt that way. Jerry was attractive and intelligent. Why couldn’t she enjoy herself in his company? Why did she feel like yawning every two seconds?

  She forced herself to appear reluctant to have the evening end.

  “Would you like to come in?” she suggested once he’d brought her up to her penthouse apartment. For the moment, Ian still hadn’t joined them. But she knew his absence was going to be short-lived. He was probably parking his car in the garage even now.

  For a fleeting second, Jerry seemed tempted, but then shook his head. “I get claustrophobic with someone breathing down my neck.”

  She laughed shortly. “Welcome to the club.” It hadn’t been fair of her to say yes to Jerry. Not under these circumstances, and had they not been in place, she would never have thought of going out with him. Guilt strummed through her. “I’m sorry about this.”

  “Don’t be. Maybe we can do it again sometime when you don’t have to have a chaperon around.”

  “Russell isn’t my chaperon,” she insisted, “he’s my bodyguard.”

  “In this case, same difference,” Jerry countered.

  He started to lean in to kiss her. She supposed she owed him that much, although the thought of kissing Jerry left her cold. She braced herself. Just then the penthouse elevator doors opened and Jerry jumped back like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

  “Maybe a rain check.” He took a couple of steps back. “Take care of yourself. See you Monday.” Passing Ian on his way to the elevator, he nodded nervously. Ian inclined his head as the man got into the car.

  “First floor’s already pressed,” he said, turning away.

  Dakota glared at Ian as the elevator doors closed. “You scared him away.”

  “If you ask me, I did you a favor. The man’s a loser.”

  She’d come to the same conclusion, but she wasn’t about to concede the point. “What would you know about it?”

  “It’s my job to be able to read people, make quick judgments. You could do a lot better.” Ian waited for her to enter, followed, then locked the door again. “You should be a little more discriminating in your choice of men.”

  “Look, I’m really getting tired of you telling me what to do.”

  He loosened his tie, then slipped it into his pocket before taking off the jacket. “I call them as I see them. That’s part of the package.”

  “Is being irritating as hell part of the package, too?”

  He saw the fire in her eyes and felt himself reacting to it again. To her again. When he’d gotten out of the elevator and seen that weasel about to kiss her, something inside of him almost snapped.

  She was pressing his buttons. Buttons she didn’t even know she had under her fingertips. Buttons that spelled disaster for him.

  He admitted to himself that Dakota Delany was the first woman who had ever really rattled his cage, at least to this extent. Even his ex, Marla, hadn’t. Not so that down was up and night was day. Not so that he was tempted to…

  He shut the thought away.

  Because of the way he was and the way he’d been raised, a part of him had always been unreachable. He’d been as open with his ex as he thought humanly possible. And because he was the way he was, that wasn’t very far.

  But Dakota was different. She made him feel different, think different. With this woman, he thought of doing crazy things, of being someone other than who and what he was.

  She made him want to start fresh.

  But that would mean risking everything. He would be putting himself in jeopardy at the center of an emotional earthquake—the last place he wanted to be.

  “That’s a fringe benefit,” he reminded her.

  Tossing her purse onto the sofa, she glared at him. “How is irritating the hell out of me a fringe benefit for me?”

  “It’s not.” He laughed, and this time the sound was rich, rounded and she was in danger of getting lost in it. “It’s a fringe benefit for me.”

  Becoming instantly four inches shorter as she kicked off her shoes, she shook her head. But the look of exasperation had faded from her eyes.

  “Just when I begin to despair that you’re nothing more than a robot with good skin work, you pull a sense of humor out of the hat on me.” She ran a hand through her hair. It was late. Maybe she’d finally get that sleep she needed. “I’m going to the kitchen to get some coffee. You want some?”

  Traces of sleepiness showed around her eyes. That pull he kept feeling refused to leave him alone, and it was getting harder and harder to resist. What he needed more than coffee was a shower. Preferably one with ice cubes.

  “I thought you’d want to get some sleep.”

  Amusement curved the corners of her mouth. “I do.”

  “So you’re drinking coffee,” he said like a man searching for the sense and finding none.

  “Coffee puts me to sleep,” she told him innocently as she watched the confusion etched on his face.

  “And night is day and day is night.”

  This time she grinned. “Hey, we all march to a different drummer.” She waved her hand at him. “Look at you.”

  “What about me?” The question wasn’t so much defensive as it was curious.

  She rotated her shoulders, feeling an ache. Feeling more aware that he was watching her every move. Something warm and personal began to spill inside of her. “You spend your time in other people’s lives, neglecting having one of your own because it’s too scary.”

  Now Ian looked defensive. “Not that it’s true, but who said you could analyze me?”

  She lifted a single shoulder, then let it fall. The strap slipped down with it, and she tugged it back into place. “You scared off my date. I need some kind of diversion.”

  “He wouldn’t have given you any kind of diversion. The man was more of a rodent than a human.” He shook his head decisively. “He’s not your type.”

  She raised her chin as she fisted her hands at her waist defiantly. “Oh, and what’s my type? You?”

  The look he gave her turned her tongue to cotton. “More than he is.”

  Still, she wasn’t about to capitulate so easily. There was a stand to be made here, although what kind and for what reason seemed to escape her. But she couldn’t have him thinking that she walked around, waiting for him to indicate that he was interested in her.

  She didn’t want him to be interested in her, she insisted silently.

  The hell she didn’t.

  But Dakota had never been one to give up without a fight. “At least he ran off because he was afraid of you. You ran off because you were afraid of me.”

  “I wasn’t afraid of you,” Ian informed her darkly.

  “Okay then, what were you afraid of?”

  How she came to be in his arms, he wasn’t altogether sure. All he knew was that one moment they were verbally sparring, creating a chasm between them, the next moment his arms were around her and he was looking down into her face. The air stood still in his lungs.

  For one brief instant, the barriers inside of him, the ones that kept all of his emotions so carefully dammed up, cracked right down the middle, allowing his feelings into the light of day.

  “Me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Desire instantly took possession of her, like some sort of madness enveloping her—body and soul. Dakota didn’t pause to think through her feelings or even acknowledge the fear that this mi
ght be a mistake. For now everything had burned away in the heat of what she was feeling.

  Her lips clung to his, melting, questing.

  She wasn’t the kind who needed the physical aspect of lovemaking strictly for its own sake. Rather, she was the sort of woman who needed to feel something for the person she was with. Needed to believe that the man she was sharing this most intimate of moments with cared for her on some level.

  Her mind would have told her no on both counts. But her soul whispered otherwise. She listened to her soul and gave herself up to the moment and the man.

  Still lost in the kiss flowering through her, she was vaguely aware of stumbling backward toward the living room. Piece by piece, their clothing fell to the floor faster than leaves being stripped from a tree. The path from the kitchen to the living room was littered with them until there was nothing left between them but passion and skin.

  His touch quickened her insides, making them tight. Making her anticipate. His hands seemed to be everywhere, caressing, molding, creating an inferno everywhere he touched. And everywhere he was destined to touch.

  Dakota did what she could to share the experience, her hands passing over his body with searching, kneading fingertips. The very feel of his hard body heightened her excitement tenfold.

  Damn it, what was he doing? Ian silently demanded of himself while he still had the strength to form a question. Was he crazy?

  The answer came from somewhere within, far more serene than he felt at the moment. No. He wasn’t crazy.

  Kissing Dakota was the sanest thing he’d ever done. The fight against his desire to kiss her, to have her, was short-lived and fleeting.

  Ian gave himself up to this sensation, to this woman who had been fashioned out of the fabric of life for this very purpose only, to complete him. To make him feel strangely whole, as if there’d been something missing all this time and he hadn’t realized it until just this very moment.

  Until he kissed her again.

  Everything inside of him shook from the import of the revelation, even as he touched Dakota with a steady resolve and steadier hands.

  Inside him nothing was steady.