Because a Husband Is Forever (11 page)

“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.”

D
esire 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 might 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.

His breath became short. Though in incredible shape, he felt as if he'd just run the marathon of his life. Every pulse point in his body throbbed wildly. From wanting her.

A part of him wanted to give in to the madness, to ravage her on the spot, but even in his delirium, he knew that wasn't right. It wasn't the way he wanted her to remember this. It wasn't the way he wanted to remember this.

Somehow they managed to reach the sofa, and there he pinned her down with his body. But rather than take her, rather than drive himself into her and secure the release he so desperately wanted, he refrained.

A gentleness came in the midst of the storm.

He laced his fingers through hers as he raised her hands over her head and branded her body with his lips, making her his. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, the tempting space between her breasts, working his way slowly down her body.

Dakota twisted and turned beneath him, bucking like an untamed mare. Sending the fire inside of him up more degrees than he could begin to calculate.

Arrows tipped in flame went searing through her.
Dakota could barely focus, barely stay within her head. Somewhere a distant thought told her she couldn't just let him do this to her, that she needed not only to be the recipient of lovemaking, but the provider as well.

But there was honey as well as fire inside her veins, creating a complete contradiction in terms, and there wasn't enough energy within her to push him away and weave her own spell. All she could do was absorb. Absorb and want more. Raising her body to his roaming lips, Dakota moaned his name.

The sound of her voice against his ear as he once again kissed the sensitive area along her throat inflamed him even further. Had she asked him to leap off a building for her at that moment, he would have. Would have done anything she wanted of him.

Except walk away.

Because he was her prisoner.

He knew it, and the very idea that someone had control over him to this extent shook him down to the foundation of his soul. He thought he'd lost his soul when he'd watched his ex-wife walk away with their son.

Dakota wrapped her legs around him. He could feel heat emanating from her very core. The urgent motion of her body was his complete undoing. Unable to hold back any longer, he pivoted his body over hers ever so slightly and then drove himself into her. As he did so, he felt her teeth gently catch his lower lip and suck it in.

It pushed him on.

His hips fused with hers, he began the dance that was
to become their own, moving at first slowly, then faster and faster until he brought them both up to where they desperately wanted to be.

Up to the top of the world.

She could feel stars bursting in her veins, could feel that wild rush that threatened to sweep her out into oblivion. She clung to him, wanting to prolong the sensation.

Wishing it would go on forever.

But forever had a limited life expectancy.

The descent back to the earth below, down to reality, was slow, made so because neither wanted the moment to end. Neither wanted to face the moments that came after.

They came anyway.

A coldness wedged its way into the warmth that had existed only seconds ago. Dakota tried not to notice. She struggled to catch her breath as Ian shifted his weight from her. She was afraid she would squeak if she tried to speak too soon. Stalling for time, she dragged her hand through hair that was all but plastered against her face.

Slowly, a rhythmic breathing pattern returned. She ran her tongue over her lips. “You're not going to have to put this down in your journal, are you?”

He had no idea how he managed to keep a straight face. Thoughts, emotions and, damn it, another volley of full-blooded desire rushed through him like a forest fire raging out of control.

He tucked his arm around her in the tiny space that existed between them. “Maybe under ‘miscellaneous.'”

Pinned against the back of the sofa, she somehow
managed to lift up on one elbow and stare at Ian. Her eyes widened. She might have just made love with the man, but she still had little to no idea what made him tick. Each time his sense of humor surfaced, it was a surprise.

Her eyes searched his expression. “You're kidding, right?”

He wanted to kiss her again, to catch her small, perfect face in his hand and bring her mouth down to his. What was going on here? Why wasn't he getting up, walking away? Why was he lingering at the scene of a trespass that shouldn't have happened in the first place? “Yes, I'm kidding,” he told her. “This is not the kind of thing you write down.”

Not the kind of thing.
The phrase rang in her head. How many others had he guarded, then wound up making love with? One? Two? Ten? She steeled herself off for the answer. “So you've done it before.”

His eyebrows knitted together, forming a dark squiggle across which she wanted to feather her fingertips. “I have a son, Dakota. Yes, I've done it before.”

Did this mean something to her? he wondered. Did all the lights suddenly go out in her world the way they had in his because the surge was too great to be handled? Where were these thoughts coming from? he demanded of himself. He never overthought a liaison before. Why now? What was it about this woman that turned his world on its ear?

She was still waiting, he realized. “No,” he told her quietly, giving her more of himself than he would have
wanted to under normal circumstances. But the look in her eyes forced him to be truthful. “I've never done it before with a client.”

She wanted more than anything to believe him, not really knowing why it was so important to her, only that it was. But Ian was nothing if not devoted to the sanctity of his clients, to their right to privacy. “Would you tell me if you had?”

She was asking for his soul, Ian thought, without recognizing the fact that she had it. And he needed it back. But he hadn't a clue as to how to secure it again. All he knew was that he was nervous as hell.

He combed his fingers through her hair, pushing a stray lock away from her face. “Yes,” he told her quietly, “I would.”

Dakota wanted to feel that this night was different for him, different from all the others that had come before. Because it was different for her. She couldn't remember when her world had been rocked this way, and although the man was more than just an astute and competent lover, she knew it wasn't just because of the physical pleasure she'd experienced. Something had dislodged within her when they made love, and she was terrified.

Suddenly, right before Ian's eyes, she had turned pale. Concern nudged at him. Had he missed something? Done something wrong? Because it had all felt so right. “What's the matter?”

“Why?” She would have turned away from him if she
could, but there was nowhere to even avert her face in her present position.

He caught her face in his hand and forced her eyes to his. “Because you look as if you've just seen a ghost.”

Dakota tried very hard to sound nonchalant and had no idea if she succeeded. She shrugged carelessly, acutely aware that she was completely nude, lying next to a man equally so. “Maybe the ghost of romances past.”

“And?”

She blew out a breath, her eyes searching his. Looking for help. “And I don't know what to think.”

“Maybe that's the problem.” His voice was so low, he sounded as if he was giving voice to his own insecurities, not hers. “Maybe you shouldn't think. Maybe, just for now, just for tonight, thinking should be placed on the back burner.”

And then, before she could answer, he shifted against her and, in so doing, made all the smoldering embers within her turn into bonfires again. Making love with Ian had exhausted her. But now that seemed like a hundred years ago. She was ready, willing and eager to share her body with him again. The thought slammed into her as her lips found his. What had come over her? Was she turning into some kind of a sex-starved woman?

And how could she be starved after she'd feasted so well just moments ago? There were no logical answers to her questions. All she knew was that she wanted him again, and this time, Dakota promised herself, she was going to make him just as insane as she had felt the first time.

Turning her body into his, she could feel his instant response to her. His body had hardened on first contact. A secret smile bloomed inside of her, spreading like wildfire.

“Consider it placed,” she whispered, her breath caressing his face as she wove her arms around his neck and kissed him for all she was worth.

She'd sparked him. There was no question about it. Ian could feel desire closing its iron grip around him. Could feel how every point where their bodies touched aroused him again.

“This is really a first,” he murmured against her mouth as he kissed her over and over again. When she drew back her head and looked at him quizzically, he realized he'd said the words out loud. He hadn't meant to. Ian searched for a way out that wouldn't give too much away. “First time with a client—”

“Pretend client,” she interjected. Did that make it all right? No, it didn't. Because even as she grasped the tiny straw, she knew that her being a client wasn't what was bothering her. The problem was her reaction to him.

“And first time for other things,” he finally added when she continued looking at him expectantly.

“What other things?”

He nipped at her lower lip, suckling on it as he cupped her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple. “You can't drag out all my secrets at once.”

But she meant to, she thought, struggling to hang on to her mind. To herself. She was swiftly losing her hold
on both. She didn't want the second time to be like the first. So, with her lips sealed to his, she surprised him by managing to turn their bodies around on the wide sofa until she was on top.

The maneuver caught Ian off guard. He stopped kissing her and looked up at the woman straddling his body. Explosions began going off in his veins. He tucked his hands around her buttocks, pressing her even closer to him.

It was all she needed to set her off and running. She drew him into her and began to move, her eyes fixed on his for as long as she could maintain the pose. Before stretching her body out along his.

She made him crazy, weaving her magic. There was no other term for it. Magic. He was a man who didn't believe in magic.

Until now.

The rest of the night was consumed in a blur of lovemaking and subsequent exhaustion. Somewhere along the line he managed to carry her into her bedroom. After placing her on her bed, he meant to go to his own room. But he stayed with her. And made love with her one more time.

Spent beyond measure, they fell asleep right after the last act, their bodies still entwined and strangely innocent.

 

The rosy hue that pulsed softly around her gave way to the sharp edges of fear as Dakota surfaced from a world of dreams and made her way back into reality.

There was a man in her bedroom, walking toward the door. He was completely nude, and even as the unnamed, cloudlike cloak of fear draped itself heavily over her, she couldn't draw her eyes away from a body that was damn near perfect.

She searched for something to say. Something to make him stay without her asking. She wanted him to look at her, to tell her not to be afraid. That he was the one she was looking for. She wanted a fairy tale served on a silver tray.

Clearing her throat, she asked, “Are you sure this isn't going into the journal?” She saw him stiffen at the threshold of her room.

Damn it, she was awake. He'd hoped to be able to sneak out of the room before she opened her eyes. Served him right for not leaving the second he'd opened his.