Because a Husband Is Forever by Marie Ferrarella Page B

they ran across the street, entering the urban anomaly. “In case you need one. Sensible.”
    She blew out a breath. It was going to be a long five miles. “If you say so.”
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    Forty-five minutes later, they were back in her apartment. Dakota did her best not to let him see just how much she’d pushed to keep up. She could swear she felt every bone in her body and they were all protesting. As they’d talked—or he’d lectured and she’d retorted—Ian had consciously or unconsciously set the pace. It was faster than her usual pace, but she was damned if she was going to ask him to slow down or shorten his stride.
    She’d pushed harder this morning than she could ever remember pushing. She felt exhaustion, mingled with the special brand of euphoria that set in whenever a runner hit that magical zone where all things came together, made sense and created a sense of well-being.
    Upon their return, Ian closed the door behind them.He didn’t even look winded, the rat. He did look sweaty, which was sexy on him.
    Then again, blueberry muffins would have looked sexy on him, she decided.
    â€œWhy don’t you shower?” he suggested, taking the towel she’d handed him. He could smell her perspiration on it. Something small, anonymous and disconcerting tightened in his gut. “I’ll get breakfast going.”
    The thought of cleanliness and distance appealed to her. She didn’t argue.
    Fifteen minutes later she was looking down at French toast and an arrangement of small turkey sausages surrounding a single fried egg, over easy. It was as if he’d entered her head.
    She looked at him warily. “How did you know?”
    â€œResearch.” Walking out of the kitchen, he went to take his own shower. Dakota noted that there were no pans or utensils in the sink. They were drying on the rack. The man was in a class by himself.
    That still didn’t change the fact that having him underfoot and wedged obtrusively into her life was going to be a problem.
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    She drove to work with Ian in the passenger seat. She was surprised that he relinquished control this way without a word.
    But the words came soon enough. And they centered around the hazards of jogging by herself and of opening the door without first checking to see who wasstanding on the other side. Then he got on to the topic of her having a security system installed.
    He was taking all this much too seriously, she thought. She spared him a look at a red light. “You’re just pretending to be my bodyguard, remember?”
    â€œThe risks you’re taking aren’t pretend. You’re inviting trouble.”
    Dakota bit her tongue as she glanced at him. She already had, she thought. And the invitation was not by choice. There was no way she was going to be able to survive two weeks of this.
    Parking the car in her spot in the underground garage, she went to the elevator and punched the up button, fleetingly debating taking the stairs. She wanted to see the producer posthaste.
    As Ian began to follow her out of the elevator, she looked over her shoulder at him and ordered, “Stay.”
    â€œI’m a bodyguard, not a dog,” he told her. “Maybe you should look into the difference.”
    â€œI already know the difference,” she told him. “Dogs obey. Look, I have something private to discuss with Alan. You have to wait in the hall. If Alan turns out to secretly be a Ninja warrior, I promise I’ll call for you.”
    She left him scowling in the hallway as she marched into Alan Curtis’s outer office. Felicity, Alan’s secretary, looked surprised to see her. “He’s on the phone—”
    â€œHe’s got two ears,” she answered tersely.
    She swung open the door to Alan’s inner office. Alanwas indeed on the phone, but this didn’t stop her. Without any greeting or preamble, Dakota held up her index finger and declared,