Because a Husband Is Forever (2 page)

MacKenzie pressed her lips together. Her eyes searched Dakota's face, looking for a telltale sign that she was about to break. It wasn't like her just to take off like that without leaving some kind of word. “I was afraid you'd do something drastic.”

Close as they were, Dakota didn't like to expose her feelings. Especially not when there was a third party present. Her voice lowered. “Over John? Please, I'm not some teenager.”

They'd known each other too long for pretenses. MacKenzie had never thought she'd see her gregarious friend give her heart to any man. When it happened, she
held her breath, waiting for a shoe to drop, praying it wouldn't. But it had. With a resounding thud.

“No,” MacKenzie said quietly in a tone that matched Dakota's, “you're a grown woman whose heart was stomped on by a big ape in combat boots.”

Dakota waved a dismissive hand at the words. “Past history.”

Glancing at her makeup artist, Dakota held out her hand for the lipstick she favored. Alicia dug the tube out of her makeup caddy and placed it in Dakota's palm. Without benefit of mirror, Dakota did the honors quickly. Finished, she handed the tube back to Alicia and squared her shoulders.

She was going to wear what she had on, she decided. “Now let's move on to our present history.”

But as she began to walk out of her dressing room, MacKenzie placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “Small problem.”

Dakota narrowed her eyes. “What kind of small problem?”

“That animal trainer who was scheduled to be on the show—”

Dakota nodded. It was Monday. She'd gone over the week's guest-star list, skimming over their biographies and trying to get to know a little about them before she faced them on her program. “Fearless Frederick. What about him?”

“Seems that Fearless was taken to the emergency room last night. One of his animals decided to challenge
his title and took off the tip of one of his fingers. I hear Fearless turned the E.R. blue.”

Dakota stifled a shiver, trying not to envision the gruesome sight. “Is he okay?”

“They sewed it back on, but needless to say, you won't be holding on to one of his trained snakes today.”

“Can't say I'm really disappointed.” Though she was game for anything, there were definitely things that went to the bottom of her list. Holding wriggling snakes and animals that viewed her as a substitute for lunch sank right down to that level.

MacKenzie resumed walking toward the set. Dakota fell into step beside her. “Fortunately, I had a backup plan.”

Dakota laughed under her breath. Her best friend had always been an overachiever. Had she been on the
Titanic,
the diminutive woman would have found a way to float the ship to safety.

“Never doubted it for a second. So, who am I interviewing?”

“No!”

The deep male voice rang out with dark authority that made the stagehand in the distance jump. MacKenzie rolled her eyes. “Him.”

Making a half turn, Dakota temporarily abandoned her path to the stage and instead followed the single word to its source. Nothing like meeting the guest just before the show, she thought.

She looked to her right at MacKenzie. “And ‘him' being?”

MacKenzie, shorter than her boss and friend by some three inches, clutched her clipboard to her chest as she lengthened her stride and hurried to keep up. “Ian Russell. Of Russell and Taylor, bodyguards to the rich and famous,” she added when Dakota looked at her quizzically.

Dakota remembered the names. They were the former homicide detectives. The two men were scheduled for the end of the week. She decided that the bodyguard business must be slow to be able to get them on such short notice.

“You come near me with that powder brush, and you're going to find yourself walking a whole lot stiffer,” the man in the guest-star chair warned Albert, their head makeup artist, just as Dakota rounded the corner and came on the scene.

Highly frustrated, the makeup artist rolled his small dark eyes and looked helplessly at Dakota. “Dakota…?”

A wealth of emotions and entreaties were locked into the single intonation. Dakota rose to the occasion. Smile in place, she took the brush from Albert with one hand while placing the other on the annoyed guest's chest. Dakota gently but firmly pushed the tall, dark, brooding man back into the chair he was attempting to vacate.

Apparently caught off guard, the man gave little resistance. There was no doubt in Dakota's mind that, had her guest star resisted, she could have jumped up and down on his chest with her full body weight and made no impression whatsoever. Unless he wore armor,
her hand had come in contact with rock in human form. Splaying her fingers wider, Dakota wasn't sure she even detected a heartbeat.

“Hi,” she murmured, “I'm Dakota Delany, and you really don't want to come off looking like Casper the Friendly Ghost.”

Staring at her, realizing introductions were necessary, he began saying, “I'm Ian Russell and—” The rest was swallowed up as Dakota began to deftly apply powder to the rugged planes and angles of a face that could have easily belonged to Hollywood's newest action star. Damn, but he was attractive. She could see women lining up six deep to avail themselves of his services. Some of which might even have had something remotely to do with bodyguard work.

As she applied the brush in short strokes that seemed to vibrate down her arm into her own soul, her eyes held his for a very long moment. The magic she'd laughingly told the woman in the antique store she was waiting for felt as if it had just arrived.

She found herself struggling, just for a single heartbeat, to remove the brush from the man's face. But for that moment she felt as if the brush was an extension of her fingers. Very odd.

“There,” she finally murmured, hardly aware of forming the word. “Done.”

A deep laugh from the next chair brought Dakota back to her surroundings. Tilting her head, she spared a glance at the other man in the area. Dakota assumed
the brown-haired, green-eyed man to be Randy Taylor, Ian's partner.

“I'm afraid there's little chance that anyone's going to mistake Ian for a friendly anything. That scowl was chiseled in when he was three days old. Been there ever since,” Randy said, grinning broadly. He crossed the room to her and offered his hand. “Hi, I'm Randy Taylor. I'm the reasonable one. And you've already met Ian Russell, my not-so-silent partner.”

Ian's scowl deepened as he rose to his feet and yanked off the makeup apron. He towered over the woman who'd just dusted him with something. “Look, you'll be better off talking to Randy on your show. I don't know about the ‘more reasonable' part, but he's the more talkative one.”

Randy laughed, shaking his head. “He's right. He's as talkative as a tree when he gets into a mood.”

Dakota smiled, remembering an old Broadway song she'd heard in a recent revival. It was from
Paint Your Wagon
and entitled, “I Talk to the Trees.” Suddenly she found herself wanting to talk to the trees.

M
oments before show time, Dakota gave her reluctant guest her brightest, ten-thousand-volt smile as she looked up into his stony face. “I'm sure you'll be fine.”

As she assured him, she casually slipped her arm through his. She slowly began to stroll in the general direction of the soundstage as if it was the one true destination for them all.

It took a great deal of self-control for Ian not to snort at her remark. He was just as sure that he wouldn't be fine at all, and he at least had a basis for the opinion. He knew himself a hell of a lot better than this blond woman with the electric-blue eyes did.

This was all Taylor's fault, he thought, annoyed that
he'd allowed himself to be roped into this fiasco. Taylor was the one who had pushed for the appearance, claiming they could use the publicity that the syndicated talk show would bring them. Taylor was always in a rush.

He wasn't. As far as
he
was concerned, things were going fine just as they were. It took time to build up a decent clientele. Word of mouth was what did it—words from satisfied customers. A prolonged sound bite wouldn't ensure success.

Ian didn't bother suppressing his frown as he allowed himself to be steered. He saw no purpose in making an appearance on a program like some sideshow clown, having a bunch of strangers stare at him and pass judgment. The audience wouldn't care about his and Taylor's credentials. They wanted sensational entertainment.

That kind of thing didn't matter in the bodyguard business. Nor did it reflect the hard work he and Randy did every day.

Ian blew out a deep breath. He really regretted letting Taylor have his way in this. Even if the beautiful talk-show host did smell of something seductively floral and mind bending.

Randy inclined his head toward MacKenzie as they followed his partner and Dakota. It took a bit of doing, given that there was almost a foot between them. “She's good.”

MacKenzie took great pride in compliments sent Dakota's way. They were a team, she and Dakota, and each reveled in the other's good fortune. It was she who had
first suggested to Dakota that she become a talk-show hostess. If ever there was a natural for this kind of format, it was Dakota.

She flashed a smile at the good-looking man on her left. “You don't know the half of it. If she set her mind to it Dakota could get the sphinx to talk and reveal its secrets.”

Which was exactly what made Dakota Delany such a hugely successful talk-show host. Her audience had multiplied exponentially since her debut four years ago. Friends called just to tell one another about it. Soon, everyone was tuning in, wanting to know what the party was all about. Her fans were legion.

MacKenzie firmly believed that her friend had the kind of face people talked to, a manner that almost verbally declared that she could be trusted. And why not? With her easy laugh and quick wit, Dakota reminded people of their sister, their mother, their best friend or a favorite aunt, someone they could turn to in both good times and bad.

It wasn't so much the way Dakota looked—which was gorgeous with a capital
G
—as it was her manner. She seemed genuinely interested in whatever was being said to her, whether a guest was trying to explain medical science's latest attempts to cure a major disease, or some Hollywood star expounding on his or her most recent misadventures. Dakota would always manage to get to the heart of the matter and extract the one thing that would make her audience sit up and take notice. Make
them feel as if they were right there with her in the simple living room setting she'd made as her center stage.

Every weekday at two o'clock, her audience felt as if they were being invited into her home for a friendly chat. With good reason. Dakota made sure that the soundstage where they taped looked exactly like her own living room. Being at ease herself was the first step toward getting a good interview.

MacKenzie watched her friend work her magic on the day's reluctant guest.

 

If the man beside her were any stiffer, he would have been a tree, Dakota thought. She could feel him champing at the bit to get out of there. She'd interviewed and talked to enough people to know that this man was not exactly a willing guest. She suspected that his partner had everything to do with their appearance on the show.

Well, it didn't matter how he had gotten here, it was up to her to make him feel at ease. Or as much at ease as a man like Ian Russell could be.

Rising up slightly on her toes, ignoring the fact that MacKenzie and Randy Taylor were right behind her, Dakota brought her lips close to Ian's ear. “This isn't going to hurt, Ian, I give you my word.”

The woman's warm breath swirled around his ear, forging a path along his neck and traveling the short distance to his chin. Rather than calm him, the simple act succeeded in creating a sensual riot that ran amok through his system.

Unaccustomed to being the one who needed to be assured of anything, Ian pulled back to look at her. “What?” he demanded sharply.

“The interview,” Dakota explained quietly, never taking her eyes from his. “It's painless. And it'll be over with before you know it.”

He really doubted that. He'd once been on a five-day stakeout, living in his car and subsisting on cold burgers and colder fries. Right now that seemed like a day at the amusement park in comparison to the way he felt about the next twenty minutes.

Ian slanted a look toward the woman whose parents had named her after two states. Obviously they were one sandwich short of a picnic basket, just as she was.

“We'll see,” Ian muttered under his breath as they turned down the long corridor. He glanced at the photographs of celebrities hanging on either side and was completely unimpressed.

That we will, Dakota thought.

Reaching the perimeter of the soundstage where her show was taped, she saw that the crew had already assembled. Billy Webster, a comedian she'd seen at one of the local comedy clubs and liked instantly, was out in front of the curtain, warming up the audience for her. He was nearing the end of his monologue.

That meant that they were going to be on the air in less than five minutes. Dakota glanced at the last-minute fill-in at her side. Standing ramrod straight, he looked even taller than he was. And more foreboding,
if that was even possible. She needed this man to be more fluid, or at least in some kind of condition that didn't immediately bring Dutch elm disease to mind.

Usually, the touch of her hand and the warm look in her eyes was enough.

But not today.

Positioning herself so that he was forced to see only her, she tried again. “Look, the process is a lot easier if you forget about the audience and just talk to me,” she coaxed. “Tell me why I'd want to hire your firm instead of some other. Most important, I want the audience to understand the difference between what you do and what they've seen in the movies.”

“I get it. Kind of like reality TV,” Randy interjected.

Her eyes shifted to Randy's face for a moment. “Something like that.”

Instincts she'd been blessed with told her that she would undoubtedly have a better show, or at least a better chance of attaining one, if she directed her questions and the interview toward tree man's partner. Unless she missed her guess, Randy Taylor seemed to be a live wire, capable of talking the ears off an African elephant.

But she was her parents' stubborn daughter. Given a choice, she had never picked the easier way. If she had, she'd be lolling on some absurd flotation device in her parents' Beverly Hills pool, absorbing the California sun and letting life just drift by.

She lived for challenges, and right now the close-mouthed Ian Russell was her challenge. Besides, al
though both men were notably good-looking, it was Ian Russell who rightfully earned the label of tall, dark and handsome.

Dark. Dakota couldn't help wondering if that went clear down to his soul. From the look in his eyes, she was willing to bet that it did.

The show's director caught her eye and nodded. Which meant her introduction was coming. She gave the bodyguard's arm a quick squeeze.

“My cue's coming up,” she said suddenly. “Zee will send you two out as soon as I announce your names.” She paused to add, “Remember, this is going to be fun.” With this, Dakota vanished from the small space, leaving him behind the curtain with Randy and the production assistant.

Ian frowned. It was obvious that he and the incredibly perky blonde had completely different definitions of the word fun. To be honest, he wasn't sure if he defined anything as fun. The absence of tension was good enough for him. And right now he wished he was in that state.

It annoyed him that he could feel his adrenaline kicking in. That was supposed to happen when he was faced with a fight-or-flight situation, not because he was going to be sitting on some overly warm soundstage, looking into the eyes of some motor-mouth talk-show hostess while he was waiting to be humiliated.

Actually, that had already happened. And it would only get worse.

He looked at his partner accusingly. “Don't know
why I let you talk me into this,” he growled, his deep voice even lower.

Unfazed, Randy shook his head. “Because, at bottom you know I'm right.”

“At bottom,” Ian echoed. The soft buzz of the woman's voice floated backstage. He couldn't make out the words, only that the audience was laughing in response. His discomfort grew.

“Right now I'd rather be at the bottom of some lake than waiting to be stripped bare in front of—” he turned toward MacKenzie suddenly “—how big did you say that the audience was?”

Her expression told him that didn't think this was the time to repeat that particular statistic. She probably thought he'd get stage fright. If that was the case, she was dead wrong. It didn't matter to him if there was one person sitting out there or one million. The numbers didn't change the fact that he didn't like the prospect he was about to face.

“We need the publicity,” Randy had insisted when he'd brought the idea to him. He'd presented it right after a week had passed with both of them staying at the office, waiting for the phone to ring. It didn't seem to matter to Randy that the week had come on the heels of three very hectic months where neither of them had had more than a day off at a time.

Even when they'd been on the force together, his partner's mind was always racing ahead, always thinking about the next case that would come their way. In a
moment of weakness, Ian had given in to his partner about this show. Giving in to Randy was something he rarely did and never with this kind of consequence.

Makeup. He'd been asked to wear makeup, for pity's sake. He should have walked out then, leaving Randy holding the bag, instead of allowing that Delany woman to take over and actually apply some to his face. He didn't care what the reasons were, a man's face was not made to have makeup on it.

As if to reinforce his convictions, he could feel his skin growing itchy. Could feel himself growing itchy, as well. Itchy to get the hell out of here.

Ian turned on his heel, ready to put thought into action, only to find the little production assistant blocking his way. The look in her green eyes forbade him to move.

Like that could actually stop him, Ian thought. It would have taken no effort at all just to place his hands on her shoulders and lift her out of the way.

“Don't even think it,” MacKenzie warned, digging the heels of her soft leather boots into the floor.

Ian's eyes narrowed even as he fought back a grin. He always admired displays of courage, even baseless courage. But before he could say anything to Dakota's second-in-command, he heard his name being called. Ian instinctively stiffened. The fledgling grin faded.

Taylor clapped his hand on his shoulder. “That's us, Russell.”

Turning to look toward the set, Ian felt the little brunette's hands on the small of his back. The next moment
she was pushing him in the direction of the set. Rather than take the lead the way he was so inclined to do, this time Randy fell into place behind him. Which meant that if he wanted to leave, he was going to have to send them both flying out of his way.

All right, so not today.

Muttering an oath about Taylor's not-so-distant lineage under his breath, Ian squared his shoulders and began to walk out toward the set.

The noise level seemed to grow with each step he took.

“You owe me, Taylor,” he growled at his partner. “Big-time.”

“We'll settle up later,” Randy promised through lips that barely moved. The next moment he smiled broadly. “Smile, damn it, Ian,” Randy hissed. “We're not exactly walking out to face a firing squad.”

“Might as well be.”

Stoically Ian pushed back the curtain and walked out, blinking as he tried to accustom his eyes to the bright lights. He forced himself to endure this and made an effort to change his expression. He wasn't about to become some grinning hyena. But he knew that if he continued to look as somber as he felt, not only would business
not
grow, it might even drop off.

Dakota deliberately made eye contact with the taller of the two men, smiling warmly and willing him to loosen up. He looked as if he expected her to start poking at him with a hot branding iron.

“And here they are now, folks.” Placing herself tem
porarily between the two men, she escorted them the final ten steps to the set.

An arm hooked through each of theirs, Dakota nodded first to the right. “I want you to meet Ian Russell,” she said warmly, then nodded to the left, “and Randy Taylor, the two men who pooled their considerable abilities to form Bodyguard, Inc.” Gesturing for the men to take a seat on the cream-colored Italian leather sofa, she sat down on the overstuffed armchair that faced them. Only then did she glance toward her audience. “Not a very flashy name, I know, but it gets its message across, and I'm a firm believer that sometimes simple is best.”