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, although 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