Because a Husband Is Forever (14 page)

“Olaf wants his merchandise back now?” he queried. He tried to temper the heat he was feeling with amusement. But all he could think of was making love with her again.

After tugging the garment from his arms, she tossed it over the back of the sofa. “I want to see what it looks like back in the box.”

He laughed, staying her hands as her fingers reached for his shirt. “I think you had a little too much to drink.”

She pretended to be indignant at the implication. “I had only two glasses. Besides, my intoxicated state has nothing to do with alcohol.” She sniffed. Then a huge grin broke out with the ease of sunrise. “Larry told me
that he'd never raised as much money for The Parkinson's Foundation as we did tonight.”

“As
you
did tonight,” he corrected. Whoever this Larry person was, from what he could see, the man had been content to stand back and let Dakota do the bulk of the work.

Beaming, Dakota paused in her assault on him to take a little bow. “I guess I did have something to do with it.” Her eyes shone with mischief as she looked at him. “Hey, don't change the subject, we were talking about seeing the tux back in the box.”

“No, we weren't.” He took a step back from her. If she kept this up, he wasn't going to be responsible for his reaction. “But if that's what you want, give me a second to change.”

But as he began to leave the room, she caught hold of the bottom of his shirt, pulling it out of the cummerbund. Tugging, she managed to stop him in his tracks. “Where are you going?”

He nodded in the direction of his bedroom. “I thought—”

Maybe her little bit of champagne had gone to her head, but she doubted it. She'd been able to consume much more than that and not feel its effects. No, this was something more. This was euphoria coupled with the very real knowledge that their time together was finite. And she'd made up her mind to make the most of what she had in front of her. Sans consequences, sans regrets.

“No, don't think.” It was a request, not an order. “Just for tonight—”

“This morning—” he corrected.

“See, you're still doing it.” She framed his face with her hands and stood up on her toes. “No thinking,” she urged. “Just feeling.”

Any hopes of withdrawing, if they had truly existed, faded from view. Ian slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “What if I don't want to feel what I'm feeling?”

“And what is it you're feeling?” Her voice was soft, seductive. His pulse scrambled.

He couldn't get himself to look away from her eyes. Couldn't get himself to do the right thing and leave. Nothing existed beyond this room. Beyond her. But on some level he knew that there was a minefield to cross.

“That if I'm not careful, I'm going to make another mistake.”

She tilted her head ever so slightly, her eyes still on his. “Sure it's a mistake?”

“I'm sure.” It was a mistake to let himself be drawn out, a mistake to allow any of his feelings to surface. Nothing could come of these moments they spent together, as much as he wanted them to continue. Already he'd stopped being his own man. He wanted to be hers.

“Are you going to make it, anyway?”

He cupped her cheek, then slowly drew a lock of her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Looks like.”

Dakota shook the lock free, letting it fall into her face again. Very carefully, she drew a few pins out, letting
the rest of her hair fall around her shoulders. She looked like a blond gypsy.

Smiling up into his face, she brushed her lips against his. “Good. I thought I was going to have to use your gun on you.”

“My gun?” To his surprise, she stepped back, her eyes laughing at him. In her hand she had the service revolver that he thought was still holstered at the small of his back. As if to assure himself that she had it, he felt the space. Nothing but an empty holster met his touch. “How did you—?”

“I learned a lot of tricks growing up on movie lots,” she told him. Stunt people and doubles were always showing her how to do things that she wouldn't have ever been able to place on her résumé. “Don't worry.” Very gingerly, she handed the weapon to him butt first. “The safety's still on.”

Stripping off his holster, Ian placed it and the weapon on the coffee table. “I wish I could say that about us.”

“You want to be safe?” Again she searched his face, seriously this time, for some sign that she could work with.

Ian moved his head slowly from side to side, his eyes never leaving hers. “No.”

Her smile returned, taking possession of all of her this time. “Me, neither.”

He couldn't resist any longer. He'd wanted to kiss her, to hold her and run his hands along her body, canceling out the possessive glances all the other men had been giving her all evening.

With hurried hands, Dakota began working the buttons on his shirt, pulling them out of their holes, tugging the rest of the shirt out.

“Hey, hold it,” he chided, stopping her hands before she could tear something. The tuxedo was scheduled to go back to her friend later that morning. “Aren't you afraid you might rip it?”

That was the last thing on her mind. “I'll pay for anything I damage,” she promised.

He wondered if that included something a lot less tangible than a custom-made shirt. But there already was damage to the insulating wall he'd kept around himself. And he was the one who was going to have to pay for that, not her. Tomorrow or the next day or the end of the week.

But all of that seemed so far away right now, and she was so close.

As close as his desire for her.

Passions he'd held in check all evening, all day, exploded. Executing sure, true movements, he had Dakota out of her gown before she could finish undressing him. She stood before him in stockings, heels and a thong that exposed more than it hid. He thought he was going to swallow his tongue.

His eyes seemed to devour her, and she felt her body heating. “If I'd gone like this, I could have doubled the donations,” she speculated, her voice husky.

“You wouldn't have gone like this,” he said, his fingers tangling in the silken scrap that served as underwear.

She shivered as he worked the tiny bit of material down the length of her thighs. Dakota stepped out of it, kicking the thong aside. “Why?”

He grasped her buttocks, pressing her against him. Against the desire that ran full-blooded through him. “Because I wouldn't have let you.”

Since the day she'd first opened her eyes, she'd never doubted she was an independent woman with a mind of her own. So why wasn't she balking at this display of male possessiveness? Why was her heart racing this way?

Because he wanted her. And she wanted to be wanted.

I
n the next moment all logic evaporated completely, sizzled into nothingness by the heat Ian generated just by touching her. By kissing her. And by the promise of what she knew was to come.

He was making her go limp even as everything within her tightened in anticipation.

With urgent fingers, she forced herself to pull off the rest of his clothing before her energy vanished. She sent them flying out of the way.

Dakota desperately wanted to run her palms along his hard, taut body, wanted the thrill that touching him evoked within her. A hunger gnawed at her belly to the point that she hardly recognized herself.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but this moment. And him.

This was no less a mistake the second time around than it had been the first, and yet Ian didn't care. If anything, he had even less willpower to resist her now than he did then.

This lack of restraint would have worried him had he been able to think clearly. Or at all. But what governed every ounce of his being now was the desire to have her again. To make love with her as many times as was humanly possible and then, if there was an ounce of mercy in the universe, to expire with her in his arms.

This connection couldn't go anywhere. But it didn't matter. Later it would. But now was all there was.

Pushing her down to the floor where she was cradled in a makeshift comforter made up of their tangled, discarded clothing, Ian sought to ignite every inch of her skin by deftly passing his hands, his lips and his tongue over her twisting body.

The sound of her breathing, growing audible and shorter, had the blood within his veins accelerating faster than he thought possible. Her belly quivered as he stroked the taut area with his tongue, working his way lower. Anticipation and desire urged him on.

Dakota grabbed fistfuls of the clothing beneath her as she scrambled inwardly toward the pulsating excitement. The climax came from nowhere, exploding, lighting up her world. Leaving her tottering on the brink of exhaustion.

And then he began again.

Gasping for air, she somehow managed to pull herself up on elbows that were the consistency of spaghetti. With what very probably was her last ounce of strength, Dakota pushed him down to the rug and reversed their positions.

“What are you up to?” His voice was husky. Thrilling as it rippled along her skin.

Mischief curved her mouth. “Watch and see.” She began to return the favor by initiating the exquisite torture. Anointing his body with her lips and tongue, she heightened both their anticipation and excitement.

He felt himself coming to the point of no return. He gripped her shoulders and drew her up until her body covered him and her face loomed over his. There was confusion in her eyes.

“Together,” was all he said.

She understood. Parting her legs, she made the invitation clear.

And then he was there, inside her, moving so that the exhilaration built between them. The sensations immediately began to climb, to escalate, as they swiftly approached the highest summit.

She cried out his name as she reached it.

 

Dakota sat before her dressing table, staring at the various, carefully lined-up little jars, not seeing them at all. Seeing instead the inside of sadness. The emotion was large and empty and threatened to swallow her up whole.

She struggled to keep out of its reach without knowing if she was destined to win or lose.

After the night of the fund-raiser, their evenings had fallen together naturally. She and Ian silently stopped pretending that they could just walk away from the lovemaking. They couldn't. Every night was a celebration. And in the wee hours after that, they talked. He even told her about his son, about how much he missed Scottie, missed being with him.

“Then do something about it,” she'd counseled.

“I can't. He's on the West Coast. In San Francisco.”

“Last I checked, they had planes that went there. Telephone wires that hook up there. E-mail.”

But he'd shaken his head. “My ex said she didn't want me in the picture, that it would only confuse him.”

“What will confuse him is that the dad he loves doesn't want to have anything to do with him,” she'd said. “Kids are like flowers with sunshine—they need lots of it. Find a way to get in contact with him. Neither one of you will regret it.”

He'd held her tighter and she'd felt for the first time that she was really a part of his life.

The rest of the time, Dakota felt as if she was playacting, engaged in some vast charade, pretending that their nights together didn't leave an imprint on her heart.

She sighed as she picked up a makeup brush. She was in love with the man.

In her soul she knew that it wasn't a by-product of his being her bodyguard because, outside of the inci
dent at the nightclub, Ian wasn't really her protector at all.

He was the other half of her soul.

The problem was Ian didn't know it. Had made no indication that once he was on the show again today and the “noble experiment” was over, that he wanted to remain in her life. He didn't talk about the future, didn't talk about anything but the moment.

That should have been enough, but it wasn't.

Picking up a tube of lipstick from the tray, Dakota forced herself to apply it. She had to get ready. It was almost time to go on.

Funny, she'd thought living in the moment was what she wanted. But she'd lied to herself. What she wanted was the future on a silver platter. What she wanted was what her parents had. Forever. And a family.

Boy, she could sure pick 'em, she thought, putting the tube back down. Here she was, placing her hopes and dreams on a man who was all set to vanish into the night like smoke. She'd given Ian every indication this last week that she was willing to continue if that was what he wanted. Every indication that was nonverbal. Because he wasn't the type of man to talk about feelings, and she wanted to respect that…even as she mentally threw darts at the concept.

She looked for her eyebrow pencil and sent things scattering as she foraged. Damn it, she wanted words, wanted to hear him say “I love you,” “I want you” just once.

Finding the pencil, she glared at it.

Okay, not just once, maybe a few times. Like every other week and twice on holidays.

She sighed, shaking her head as she twirled the unused eyebrow pencil in her fingers. She stared at the reflection in her mirror. A less-than-happy woman stared back at her.

Because, as of today, it was over. As of today, she was once again a liberated woman, free to come and go whenever and wherever she pleased without a shadow dogging her every movement. As of this afternoon, right after the show, she wouldn't have a bodyguard in her life.

Wouldn't have
him
in her life.

The thought was killing her, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it, because she wasn't going to beg, wasn't going to ask.
Something
had to come from him. Ian Russell was an alpha male, for heaven's sake. He knew how to make the next move.

So why didn't he?

The answer was painfully clear. Because he didn't want to.

Looking into the mirror again, she saw a sheen covering her eyes. Terrific, five minutes before airtime and she was going to cry.

Banishing the disgust from her face, she braced her hands on the vanity table and took in several deep breaths, blowing each one out slowly. Trying to cleanse her mind and her soul.

It wasn't working.

“Aren't you supposed to be pregnant before you start
practicing Lamaze techniques?” MacKenzie quipped, peering into the dressing room. She let herself in and then stopped dead. Huge green eyes turned on Dakota as if seeing her for the first time. “Oh, my God, you're not—” She swallowed, unable to force the word out. She looked as if she was going to hyperventilate. “Are you?”

“No!” Dakota declared emphatically. “I am not pregnant.”

MacKenzie scrutinized her face. “But you are sleeping with him.”

Dakota avoided looking at her best friend's eyes. She hadn't told even MacKenzie that she was.

MacKenzie had a way of seeing into her, which was not always welcome. “What makes you say that?”

So that Dakota was forced to look at her, MacKenzie rested her posterior against the vanity table. “I'm your best friend, Dakota, and I've known you for a very long time. You have that look on your face. That look that says you think you're headed for trouble. Being a vastly self-assured and immensely competent woman, that only happens when you're sleeping with someone.” No longer searching Dakota's face, she had her answer. “You overthink relationships, you know.”

Dakota blew out an impatient breath. “There is no relationship.”

“Then you're not sleeping with him?” The tone of MacKenzie's voice said she thought otherwise.

Dakota opened her mouth, then shut it again. “There is no relationship,” she repeated, pushing away from the
table. This, she thought as she regarded her reflection, was as good as it was going to get today.

“Sex with no commitment,” MacKenzie said. “Welcome to my world.” She tried to offer condolences, but the effort fell short of being convincing. “I'd say I'm sorry, but he
is
beautiful. Better to sample paradise and walk away than never to have sampled it at all.”

That sounded like something that had been stuffed into a fortune cookie. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Rising to her toes, MacKenzie kissed her cheek and then patted her shoulder. “No, that's supposed to get you in gear for the show. You're on in a minute and you have to say goodbye to him on the air.” She paused, realizing how somber that sounded. “At least goodbye to him as your bodyguard.”

She knew MacKenzie was trying to spare her feelings.
Too late.
“It'll be an all-round goodbye.”

On her way out, MacKenzie paused to straighten the cameo that had twisted slightly on its black velvet ribbon. Her smile was encouraging. “Who knows? You can never tell about these things.”

Dakota was tempted to rip off the cameo. Had she not been wearing it, had she never gone to that quaint little shop with its supposedly ethereal saleswoman, she wouldn't have been unconsciously predisposed toward finding someone. Wouldn't have let herself believe that things like true love still happened.

But as her hand covered the small oval, Dakota re
lented and then dropped her hand to her side. There was no point in yanking the cameo off. It was just a lovely piece of jewelry, a keepsake, nothing more. She'd just gone temporarily insane for a while, that was all. But she was better now.

“I can,” she informed MacKenzie just before she walked past her. Trying not to think about anything but her cues, Dakota hurried down the corridor to the soundstage.

Ian was waiting in the wings, looking uncomfortable, just as he had the first day.

Good, she thought. Squirm a little.

But even as the thought emerged, she banished it. There was no point in being angry at him. Ian couldn't help being what he was any more than she could help being what she was. A dreamer. A dreamer in love with a man who didn't dream.

Coming up to him, she forced an easy, impersonal smile to her face. “Ready?”

Ian was ready to leave, to throw caution to the winds and just run off with her. But that would be stupid. And she would live to regret it, forcing him to feel the same.

So he took a deep breath, then nodded, keeping his mind on the show. “I guess.”

With a quick nod of her head, Dakota sailed out onto the set, her audience face in place. Applause swelled as she sat down on the sofa where she conducted her interviews.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, the day's finally here. The experiment is over, and after the show, I'm going
to be officially bodyguardless.” She rolled her eyes for their benefit. “It has been a very long two weeks.”

But not nearly long enough, a voice in her head echoed.

“Bring him out, bring him out.” A chant swelled until it included most of the audience.

Dakota held up her hands to quiet them. “Never let it be said that I don't listen to my audiences.” Did her laugh sound as forced as she thought it did? Going through the motions, she beckoned to the wings. “Send the man out, MacKenzie. Settle down now,” she ordered playfully as several women yelled out encouragements to Ian.

She waited until he was seated and the noise had died down again.

“So, tell me, what's next for you, now that you don't have to be guarding my body anymore?” she asked.

Instead of answering right away, Ian attempted to get comfortable on the sofa. He crossed his ankle over his knee and tried to focus on her question and not on the fact that she was no longer going to be part of his everyday life. He was supposed to feel relieved that it was over, not annoyed.

And certainly not grappling with this sadness that kept surfacing.

“Well, we—the firm,” he quickly clarified, “have been getting a lot of calls requesting our services—” According to Randy, they were booked solid for the next nine months.

“I'll bet!” someone in the audience shouted.

“Behave,” Dakota chided playfully. She felt anything but playful, but her acting genes refused to show what she was really feeling. “Go on,” she urged Ian.

Leaning forward, he tried not to notice the way the light was hitting her face. Tried not to notice that the twisting feeling in his gut was all but cutting off his air supply…and that he was miserable.

“There's too much work for just the two of us anymore. Randy's already taken on a few employees and we might have to hire more.”

It sounded as if he really was going to be busy for the next few months. Which left her out of the picture. No matter how she approached it, she couldn't find a way to make peace with the concept. Except that she knew she had to.