Because a Husband Is Forever (3 page)

The woman probably wouldn't know simple if it bit her, Ian thought. Because of the nature of his work, he was more than passingly acquainted with celebrity types. The moment any kind of fame came their way, they lost all perspective, became little demigod dictators without any sense of reality. Opulence became their king, not simplicity.

“What these men provide,” Dakota was telling her audience, “is a very basic service.” A chuckle rose from the middle of the crowd, swelling and working its way to the outer perimeter until it seemed to encompass most of the room. “Okay, minds out of the gutter, people,” Dakota instructed with a laugh. “It's not
that
kind of service.” Although, she could see why her audience, comprised predominantly of women, would think so, given the men they were ogling at. “It's protection. These men are modern-day white knights. Ian,” she
said, suddenly turning toward him, “why would I come to you?”

“What?”

He'd allowed his mind to wander, and Dakota had caught him completely off guard with her question. He'd been convinced that for the most part, since she appeared to be a savvy-looking woman, the talk-show hostess would know to focus her attention on and direct her questions to Taylor. Anyone could see that his partner was obviously the more gregarious of the two. Scratch that. “More” had nothing to do with it. He was the
only
gregarious one of the two of them.

Maybe Ms. Dakota Delany wasn't as savvy as he thought she was.

Dakota shifted in her seat, her body language telling him that despite his hesitation, she wasn't backing off. Her attention was completely focused on him.

Damn you, Taylor, he thought, hating the trapped feeling that threatened to possess him.

“There are a lot of other companies out there,” she persisted, her blue eyes never leaving his face. “Companies that are more established than yours. They all offer bodyguard service—something,” she said in an aside to the audience, adding a familiar wink, “that I would personally never avail myself of.” Her audience must be aware she had an aversion to having a paid-for shadow following her every move. She looked back at Ian. “Why come to you?”

His eyes met hers dead-on, letting her know he didn't
appreciate being placed on the spot. He was here as a silent support, a nonverbal backup. He wasn't the firm's spokesperson. “Because we'll get the job done,” he told her simply.

Randy finally rode to the rescue. “Between us we've got fifteen years of experience on the force,” he interjected. “And we know the kind of precautions that need to be taken.”

Dakota glanced at the silver clipboard MacKenzie had shoved into her hands at the last minute. Typed notes in neat, short paragraphs summarized the men and their firm. Already familiar with what was written there, she looked only to reinforce herself.

“That's right, both of you are former homicide detectives.” Turning toward the audience, she winked and said in her intimate way, “I do believe I feel safer already.”

If Ian was hoping to catch a respite, the next moment found him disappointed. Dakota's attention was back on him.

“Being a former homicide detective makes you more familiar with the criminal mind than the average bodyguard might be.” She leaned into him, effectively blocking out the audience and making this a conversation between the two of them. “Tell me, why did you leave the force?”

Randy was ready for this one. He had a pat answer all prepared, dealing with their wanting to grow as people, with their feeling that it was time to strike out on their own, etcetera.

But just as he opened his mouth to reply, Ian was the one who replied, “Too much paperwork.”

Delighted by the honesty, the studio audience roared in response.

The laughter surprised Ian. He hadn't expected this kind of reaction. He certainly hadn't said it to be clever. He'd said it because it was true. Too much paperwork and too much red tape had driven him and then Taylor away from NYPD. There were too many rules to follow, and in his opinion a great many of them got in the way of doing decent police work.

Some of the other rules were just too damn frustrating. He'd seen too many bad guys go free on technicalities. So much so that one day, he, the son of a cop and the grandson of a cop, didn't want to be part of that system anymore.

Protecting people, men, women, and especially children, from any impending dangers meant something. He felt it made a difference. Enough of a difference for him to change what he'd thought was his life's calling in order to form this partnership with Taylor.

Actually, the company had been Taylor's idea, fashioned one lazy, sweltering-hot New York summer afternoon as they sat in O'Hara's, nursing two well-deserved beers.

The moment the suggestion had come out of Taylor's mouth, he remembered taking to it wholeheartedly. Ian knew that Taylor had espoused the idea because he felt that there was a great deal of money to be made, pro
tecting the rich and famous. His own reasons were different. He'd taken to it because, the way he saw it, there was a difference to be made. Even the rich and famous deserved to be free of fear.

The laughter died down. Ian wasn't following up his words so Dakota pushed a little bit more, hoping to get the reluctant guest to speak on his own volition. She had a feeling that once this man finally became vocal, he would have things to say that were worth hearing.

“Any other reason than your dislike of putting things down on paper?” she asked innocently.

Ian realized that just for the tiniest slice of a second, he'd gotten lost in her eyes, lost in her expression. Had to be the hot lights. They were all over the place and so intense they could make a grown man dizzy if he wasn't careful.

“Yeah, I like keeping people safe.”

The smile Dakota gave him in response to his answer made him feel as if warm butter flowed in his veins.

Reorienting himself to the immediate situation, he glanced at his watch. Only three minutes had gone by. That meant there were seventeen more minutes to endure, seventeen more minutes pregnant with sixty seconds apiece.

Eternity loomed before him like a dark specter.

Suppressing a groan, he sincerely began to miss his stakeout days.

D
akota knew in her bones that the segment would be good.

She knew if she could just move her less-than-talkative guest in the right direction, the audience would meet him more than halfway. Once that was accomplished, this portion of her program would be off and flying.

She did what she could to make it happen.

Rather than ask what the audience could do to protect themselves against a potential stalker, Dakota had given her question a more personal ring by asking what
he,
Ian Russell, would do to protect a woman who came to him seeking help. As he cleared his throat, a hush fell
over her normally boisterous audience. It was as if every woman there was hanging on his every word, probably envisioning herself as a damsel in distress being rescued by this modern-day Galahad.

Everyone loved this kind of fantasy. Dakota was counting on it.

Ian didn't disappoint her.

Even though his response was mostly technical, it was enough to arouse the imaginations of the women in the audience. Randy was quick to chime in, augmenting points here and there, adding layers to the audience's daydream. And it didn't hurt any to have the two men casually mention successfully foiling a kidnapping attempt of one of their clients.

As she listened, the details had a very familiar ring. Her eyes widened.

“That was Rebecca Anderson,” Dakota suddenly realized out loud. Six months ago the story about the A-list actress and her would-be kidnapper had made all the major papers, not to mention the rounds of evening tabloid TV. “You two were responsible for saving her?” How could she have missed something like that? Dakota upbraided herself silently.

“Actually, Ian was.” Randy looked at his partner with the kind of pride that only the closest camaraderie bred.

Well, that explained why she didn't know, Dakota thought. The man probably vanished at the first sign of a reporter, like any superhero caught slipping into his secret identity.

Dakota looked at the man on the sofa, no small amount of admiration flooding through her veins. She recalled that the kidnapper had been a burly, giant of a man who must have had seventy pounds and five inches on Ian. The lightest thing about the stalker had been his mind, which had clearly taken a holiday when it came to the subject of the glamorous Rebecca Anderson. When the police took him away, he was screaming that Rebecca was his wife, that she'd promised undying love to him and he was going to see to it that she never looked at another man ever again.

Dakota leaned into Ian and asked in a stage whisper, “Want to talk about it some more?”

If there was a man who was less uncomfortable than Ian Russell at this moment, she would gladly have paid for his passage to oblivion.

“No,” Ian replied.

“Okay then, it's time for questions and answers,” she glibly informed her audience.

The moment the words were out of her mouth, a veritable sea of hands shot up, all waving madly to catch her attention. Dakota didn't recall ever having seen so many hands raised as she did this afternoon. Delighted, she got started, selecting women at random.

Ten minutes later there was no indication that the questions were going to abate in the near future. Addressing questions to both men, the audience was leaning sixty-forty toward Ian.

Dakota briefly debated terminating the segment, then
decided to go for it and let it continue. When you had a hit on your hands, you just kept going. Wasn't that something her grandfather had once taught her? So, Dakota “just kept going.”

It was evident to her that the last-minute interview would go down as one of her best. There was no doubt in her mind that the segment was an unqualified hit.

As it ran over its allotted time slot, Dakota made a quick decision to ask Joe Lansing, their musical guest, to return the next day in order to showcase his new CD. A twenty-year veteran of the business, Lansing was far too much of a professional not to know that when you found yourself holding lightning in a bottle, you didn't set it down.

Other than pointing to various waving hands, Dakota mostly kept her silence, letting Randy and, on occasion, Ian answer the questions. Her audience appeared to be in seventh heaven. Which placed her there as well.

She'd never had an hour slip by so effortlessly, so quickly.

Even as the strains of her theme song began to weave themselves through the air, the audience gave no sign of being sated.

But all good things had to end, and her program would be over in less time than it took to say it. Time to wind things up.

She rose from her seat, immediately followed by the two men.

“All right, ladies, Ian and Randy have to get back to
doing what they do best.” She beamed at the two men. Randy was grinning from ear to ear while Ian looked just the slightest bit befuddled. Funny, she wouldn't have thought anything could have accomplished that. The man seemed far too on top of things for that to have happened. “Maybe we can persuade you two to come back sometime.”

Before either could answer, the audience cheered and chimed a resounding “Yes” in response.

Dakota laughed. “I guess that settles it, then.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw the director signal her. She gave a slight inclination of her head then looked toward the main camera. “This is Dakota Delany, thanking you for tuning in. Come by tomorrow so that I can get in another word edgewise.”

She winked, knowing that the camera was fading to the credits.

“And it's a wrap,” the director declared, crossing to them.

Dakota looked to the wings where her own security people had converged. “Looks like the bodyguards just might need bodyguards to make their way off the stage,” she quipped.

“We finally through?” Ian asked. He didn't bother hiding the impatient edge that had slipped into his voice. When she nodded, she suddenly felt him place his arm about her waist and abruptly guide her toward the rear. She half expected him to keep on moving once they reached backstage, but then his arm slipped away. An
odd sort of regret filtered through her but she dismissed it in the next moment.

Behind her she could have sworn that she heard some of the audience audibly sighing. She became aware that Ian was watching her with more than a hint of an accusation in his eyes. Obviously this hadn't been as good an experience for him as it had been for Randy or the audience.

“I thought your assistant said the segment was only going to be twenty minutes long.”

Dakota raised one shoulder, letting it drop casually. “Ordinarily it is. On the average, we fit in three guests every hour. But you two were an unqualified hit.” She grinned at both of them, but only Randy responded. “In the four years I've been doing this, I've never seen an audience take to guests the way they did to you two.”

Randy's eyes were all but gleaming. With a barely concealed whoop, he looked at Ian. “Business is going to be booming,” he predicted.

Dakota nodded. “I'm sure it will be. You might even have to hire extra people.”

Ian shook his head. “I really doubt if any of those women in the audience are going to need a bodyguard in the near future.”

Her eyes met his. “You never know. As you pointed out, it's not just celebrities who have stalkers. Regular people are plagued by them, as well.”

MacKenzie sailed up to join them, her feet barely touching the floor. She'd witnessed the show inside the
production booth, having full advantage of all the cameras trained on the set.

“That was wonderful,” she enthused. She grabbed hold of Dakota's hands. “Could you just feel all that energy out there?”

“Feel it?” Dakota laughed. “A couple of times I thought it was going to swallow us up.”

As far as Dakota was concerned, this was almost the best part of the show—the aftermath when, if the show was a particularly successful one, the energy level surged almost through the roof. She felt far too charged to retreat into her dressing room to go over the next day's show.

She glanced at Randy and saw that the man was making more than a little eye contact with her production assistant. Maybe this could use a little nurturing. She tried to remember the last time MacKenzie had mentioned going out with someone. Nothing came to mind. Her friend needed to get out.

“Listen,” she said suddenly, placing her hand on Randy's wrist to get his attention, “do you two have to rush off just yet?”

Randy avoided looking in Ian's direction, as if he knew a contradiction was in the offing. “Not particularly.”

“Good.” Dakota's smile took in both men and her best friend. “Why don't the two of you join Mac and me for a drink—or whatever?”

One dark eyebrow rose in a quizzical crescent. “Whatever?” Ian echoed.

Dakota played back her own words. Oh God, did he think she was propositioning him? Her voice as smooth as silk, she was quick to clarify the potential misunderstanding. “Early dinner, late lunch, whatever you feel like having.”

Ian shifted his weight. The backstage area was quickly filling up with people whose jobs he couldn't begin to guess at. That created a very small space for the four of them to occupy.

Most especially, for the two of them, he thought darkly. The bubbly woman could have been his shadow, or at least an extension of him, she was standing so close. Close enough for him to feel her breathing. Close enough for the scent she was wearing to infiltrate his senses. Consequently, when she ended her offer by saying “whatever you feel like having” he found himself thinking that he felt like having her.

The thought surprised him. He took a second to get his bearings and himself under control. He was a great believer in instinct, and right now instinct told him that Dakota Delany was the type that if you gave her an inch, she found a way to turn it into a town.

There was no way he was about to get socially mixed up with someone like that. Or anyone else for that matter. He was still one of the walking wounded as far as romance was concerned. He'd learned the hard way that he wasn't cut out for relationships. There were ways of satisfying sexual urges without getting sucked into a situation that required talking afterwards, or even interac
tion—both of which he preferred to avoid if at all possible. With everyone.

The best way was to beg off at the very beginning. “No, I don't—”

He felt Randy's hand suddenly on his shoulder. “We'd love it,” Randy declared firmly. “Wouldn't we, Ian?”

Trapped, Ian shrugged dismissively. “Yeah, love it,” he echoed.

Dakota noticed how the look on Ian's face was akin to thunderclouds descending over the plains. But she felt too good to allow him to dampen her mood. On a whim, she decided to bring him around, just as she had on the show.

“Well, that was certainly a resounding positive vote.” She laughed as she threaded her arm through Ian's, beginning to forge a path for them. “C'mon, I know a great place to go. We can walk there.”

A slight din began to come from the front of the stage. It seemed that security hadn't managed to clear away their audience just yet.

MacKenzie fell quickly in behind Dakota. “I suggest walking fast,” she told the group, “before the audience decides to make a break for it and cut us off.”

The people around them parted, but only enough to allow them to wiggle through. Acutely aware that his arm was still in Dakota's possession, Ian glanced over his shoulder toward the stage as they made their way out.

“I had no idea women could be that, um—” He paused, searching for a word that wouldn't ultimately be offensive, then finally settled on “pushy.”

Dakota caught her tongue between her teeth to keep from laughing. So, despite his somewhat gruff demeanor, the man could be innocent, as well. She had to admit she found it rather refreshing.

“You'd be surprised,” she said before turning back to the task of getting them out of the studio.

He was trying not to be, Ian thought, attempting not to notice the way her hips swayed as she pulled out in front of him. He was definitely trying not to be.

 

Heaven, Dakota's restaurant of choice that night, was located only three blocks from the studio where her program was taped. In the last four years Heaven had become a home away from home to her. Certainly the food there was better than anything that could be found in her own kitchen.

Today, as always, Heaven was fairly humming with patrons, both regulars and first-timers. An elegantly decorated restaurant, its walls were lined with photographs of celebrities who frequented the premises. As on any other day, several could be spotted seated at the scattered tables and booths, enjoying the fare.

It was damn crowded, Ian noted. The line they'd just circumvented was clear out the door. He didn't take Dakota for the type to cut in front of people, which meant that he was off the hook. “I guess we came at the wrong time,” he said to Dakota.

About to retreat, he found his path impeded by the effervescent woman.

“Not so fast,” she told him as she turned to the maître d'. Dakota greeted the man and subsequently was embraced in what amounted to a Russian bear hug.

Ian sighed. Looked as if he'd failed to factor in the magic of star power.

The tall, mustached man in the dark suit smiled broadly as he released Dakota. “For you? How could there not be a table for you, my friend? Always, always there will be a place for you and your friends anywhere I will be,” he swore, dramatically hitting his chest with his fist.

Dakota inclined her head with a smile. “Thank you, Dimitri.”

The aristocratic man looked around for a waiter. Spying one, he was quick to dispatch the man into the center of the dining area. Within two minutes Dakota and the others were ushered to a booth that was off to the side.

The tables around them were filled to capacity with people who clearly enjoyed themselves and their meals. It seemed rather improbable to Ian that this plum location had gone begging all this time. He looked at Dakota as the waiter distributed elegant black menus with gold lettering. “He kill the people who were sitting here?”