23
Olivia did more than come out swinging; she came out kicking butt. If Matt had thought Olivia would shy away from him or the audience after he'd saved her glorious rear end, he was dead wrong. And if he thought she was upset by his attitude about their night together, well, he had that wrong, too.
He'd actually been relieved when she pronounced their encounter a one-time thing. As a master of disengagement, he'd been quick to use the opportunity to piss her off and push her away. Somehow the woman had gotten too close and become much too important. Again.
He could have told her it wasn't the sex that muddied the water. It was the totally unfamiliar and completely unacceptable urge he kept feeling to protect her that was screwing everything up. And of course she wasn't behaving even remotely like he'd anticipated. He'd expected some sort of reactionâtears, recriminations, something. Instead, she'd been prancing around the living room all night, flaunting herself in front of him and the Internet audience as if she had nothing on her mind but winning rating points and votes.
At nine forty-five they both went on headphone with
his
producer to discuss her coming stint as host of
Guy
Talk
.
She was coolly professional, not at all like the naked woman who'd come apart in his arms the night before. Focused and competent, Olivia appeared ready for four hours of live radio with potentially hostile callers, while he sat on the couch fantasizing about her like some teenage boy with a thing for the teacher.
“Hello, everyone. Welcome to
Guy Talk
. I'm Dr. Olivia Moore, and I'm here to field your calls and take your pledges. The number is 1-555-GUY-TALK. Call me.”
She punched up Matt's theme song, and once it was established, she lowered the volume until only the tune remained audible. “Okay, guys. You can put away the baseball scores and forget about your automobiles. I'm here to help, and I'm ready to talk to anyone who's prepared to share their feelings.”
Matt held back a laugh. Like his listeners had any interest in baring their innermost thoughts to a total stranger. Sheesh. He settled in, certain they would either refuse to call in or, better yet, call and make mincemeat out of her. Each option held its own special appeal.
“Ah, good,” he heard Olivia say. “I see we've got callers lined up waiting to go on the air.”
Okay, so he'd go with the mincemeat. He bit back another grin as she took on her first caller.
“Hi, Marvin,” Olivia said. “Tell me what's on your mind.”
“Well, it's my wife.”
“Yes?”
“She wants me to give up golf and I can't do that, not even for her. I won't.”
Matt thought Marvin sounded a bit hysterical, and no wonder, the poor slob had married a woman intent on sucking the last kernel of enjoyment out of him.
“Has she asked you to give it up?”
“Well, not yet, but I know it's coming. She says it takes up too much of my time.”
“How much time do you spend playing golf?”
“Not so much.”
“How much, Marvin? Once a week, twice?”
“Well, let's see. I have a regular foursome on Saturdays. I usually play another nine Sunday. On Tuesdays, I may go out and hit on the driving range after work. And, well, of course on Wednesdays I take off from work to play, but everybody does that.”
“And this doesn't seem excessive to you?”
“No, why?”
“Okay. Let's look at this in another way. Do you ever ask your wife to join you on any of these occasions?”
“Well, she used to play on Sundays with me, and sometimes we'd go to the driving range together on Tuesdays, but she's kind of lost interest.”
“Because?”
“Because we have one-year-old triplets?”
Matt saw Olivia's eyes narrow and began to suspect it wasn't Dr. O who was going to get minced.
“You have three one-year-old babies in your home?”
“Yeah. Two boys and a girl. Very cute. My wife's doing a wonderful job with them.”
“And you're wondering why your wife resents all the time you spend playing golf?”
“Well . . .”
Matt could almost see the guy squirming in his chair.
“Marvin. Grow up. Get with the program. You're lucky you haven't been murdered in your sleep or had your golf balls cut off.”
Matt grinned. Olivia looked like an avenging angel ready to swoop down and give old Marvin a head butt with her halo.
“Marvin. Your wife and children deserve more of you than what you're squeezing in between golf games.”
“I've already traded the Porsche for a Suburban, and I've cut my golf trips down to two a year. A guy's gotta have some fun.”
“Marvin. Do you hear what I'm saying to you?”
“Well, I . . .”
“Marvin. Fix it. Do better. Please. Or the next show you'll be appearing on will be
Divorce Court
.”
And then she dumped the call. Impressed despite himself, Matt nonetheless wanted to rub his hands together in glee. After hearing Olivia maul Marvin that way, 90 percent of the waiting calls had probably hung up. He'd just sit here and watch her shoot off her own foot with all that feminist business. Guys didn't want to hear that kind of stuff.
“Well, look at those phone lines light up,” Olivia crowed. “Hang on, fellas,” she said as she prepared to punch up a commercial. “I want to talk to each and every one of you.”
Olivia turned to Matt. “Gee, this is kind of fun. Maybe I've been preaching to the wrong half of the relationship all this time.” She stood and stretched, drawing his gaze up her long torso, over the wonderful breasts, and up her long, sinewy arms. She threatened everything he cared about: his show, his equilibrium, and, at the moment, his ego, and still he couldn't take his eyes off her.
She brought a Diet Coke back to the audio board with her and sipped it thoughtfully, totally tuning him out as she prepared to take her next call. It galled him that she could do that, when all he could think about was her. And it irritated him even more that
his
audience seemed to be falling all over themselves to talk to her. Traitors.
The next caller was young Jason of Fantasy Island fame. Matt perked up.
“Hi, Dr. O.” Jason's voice broke on the “O,” turning it into a painful symphony of sounds.
“Hi, Jason. Are you sure you're allowed to be up this late?”
“Sure.” His voice broke in the middle of the word, and Matt bit back a laugh. Olivia hastily disguised hers behind a cough.
“So, what are you calling about, Jason? No more raft fantasies, I hope.”
“No'm.” Jason evidently had a parent somewhere who believed in manners. “I'm real sorry about that. My mom says it's this puberty thing. I . . . well, I'm always imagining everyone naked.”
“Gee.” Olivia's tone was dry. “That is rough. Now, what can I do for you?”
“Well, actually.” He cleared his throat, and his voice broke, yet again. “That
is
my problem.”
“I'm sorry?”
“Every time I see a good-looking womanâeven older ones like youâI...”
Olivia blinked, and once again Matt managed not to laugh.
“I get, um, well, you know. Sometimes I can barely walk. And I spend a lot of time hiding behind things until I can get the picture out of my mind, you know?”
“Well, Jason, I think thatâ”
“I mean, I even imagine my Sunday school teacher without her clothes on. Religion class is getting really rough.”
Unable to stop himself, Matt laughed out loud as memories of his own adolescent fantasies came rushing back to him. One of the steamiest had starred Victoria Ramsfeld, the local librarian.
Olivia shot him a murderous look but kept her tone calm as she addressed her caller. “Jason, I think thatâ”
“And I was wondering, too.” The boy's voice dropped to a whisper. “Is it true that you can go blind from too much . . .”
Olivia opened her mouth to answer, while Matt's memory slipped backward again. He and Adam had been twelve when they discovered the joint marvels of
Playboy
magazine and their own anatomies. If that old wives' tale had been true, he would have required a seeing-eye dog by the age of fifteen.
“How old did you say you were?” Olivia asked.
There was a telling pause while Jason evidently tried to figure out how many years to pad.
“Seventeen. I'm seventeen.”
“Right,” she said. “Well then . . .” Olivia tried once again to reassure her caller that his vision was safe, but suddenly Jason's already urgent tone turned frantic.
“Sorry, I have to go.” And then, with all the anguish of adolescence, he wailed, “I think my mother's coming.”
Olivia laughed. “Hang in there, Jason. I promise you what you're experiencing is extremely normal. Everything will, uh, ultimately calm down.”
Still smiling, Olivia took the next call. And the next. And the one after that.
Matt's own smile over her deft handling of the boy began to fade as he listened to his callers lap Olivia up like cream. They called in unprecedented numbers, pledged huge quantities of food, and then waited their turn to spill their guts, thanking her for her sage advice when she was done.
The very same men who had screamed for her blood when her advice interfered with their love lives now couldn't wait to beg her advice. They were Benedict Arnolds the whole bunch of them, thought Matt. Put a pretty woman with a Ph.D. in front of them, and they fell all over themselves to share their most intimate secrets.
Or else they called to hit on her. Like Beau from Beaufort, South Carolina, who spent a nauseating amount of time explaining just how easy it would be to pop into the Mercedes and head on down to Atlanta. And who apparently had nothing more pressing to share than his lust for Olivia Moore.
“So, Dr. O.” Beau's voice was Southern and smooth. “From what I can see on my monitor, you are looking lovely tonight. Are you feeling better?”
“Why, I'm just fine,” Olivia drawled back, her voice like honey. “I think you could say I've recovered fully from what ailed me.” She shot Matt a “take that” kind of look. “Is there something you want to discuss with me?”
“Well, I'd rather talk over drinks and dinner.”
“All right, already.” Matt jumped up from the couch. “What is this,
The Dating Game
?”
Olivia ignored him. “Did you have a question, Beau? Or are you just trying to make my heart go pitter-pat?”
“I'd like to know if there's something going on between you and Ransom. Because if there isn't, I'd like to ask you out.”
“Olivia?” Matt strode over toward the control board, covering the floor in two angry strides. “Do you really think this is appropriate on-air behavior?”
Olivia spoke into the microphone, but her gaze stayed on Matt. “There is nothing
important
going on between my colleague and myself. But I don't date listeners any more than I would date patients. That would be inappropriate behavior.”
“Well, damn,” said Beau as Olivia dumped his call. Her obvious lack of interest in the man cheered Matt considerably.
And so it went until well after midnight, Matt's irritation growing with each fawning caller, his hackles rising with every flirtation and sexual innuendo. For a man who believed he didn't have a jealous bone in his body, it was downright disconcerting.
At 1:45 A.M. Dawg called in. Olivia had been drinking coffee since midnight, but Matt could see the fatigue setting in. He had the strangest urge to lift her in his arms and tuck her into bed. It took him a full minute to pull himself out of that fantasy and into the conversation with her last caller of the night.
“Okay, Dawg. You're on the air. I've been waiting to hear what's happening with you and JoBeth.”
“Oh, lots of things are happening, and none of them are good.”
“Why do you say that?”
“JoBeth went out with her old boyfriend todayâthe one her parents thought walked on water.”
“And why does that bother you? When she told you she needed a commitment, you told her no. What's the problem?”
“I love her, Dr. O. I told her that. I was very clear.”
“And?”
“And I even told her why I don't want to get married. I mean, after my wife walked out on me when my life and my career were in the toilet, I said never again.”
“Do you think JoBeth is like your ex-wife?”
“No.”
“Can you see her treating you that way? Walking out, leaving you to fend for yourself?”
“Hell, no. She nursed her parents, both of them, for almost two years, and I've never met a meaner, less appreciative couple.”
“Dawg, don't you see? You've tarred JoBeth with your ex-wife's brush. Your fear of being hurt again is causing you to lose the woman you love. Are you going to let that happen?”
Matt listened to the urgency in Olivia's voice as she tried to make Dawg grasp her point. For the first time, Matt realized her words could apply just as easily to him. Dawg had at least had a wife. He'd never let anyone in after Adam died. Not even Olivia had been allowed, though she'd made the biggest dent in his heart.
He glanced over and noted the surprised look on Olivia's face and wondered if her advice to Dawg held special meaning for her, too. The unwelcome bout of introspection left him feeling decidedly grumpy. And like a bear with his paw stuck in an unfamiliar honey jar, he couldn't quite figure out how to shake it off.
24
Olivia hadn't seen the vote tally yet, but she'd been in the business long enough to know her Saturday night stint as the host of Guy Talk had been a resounding success. Matt's listeners had been incredibly responsive, and there'd been a ton of them. She only hoped her own audience hadn't deserted her after her birthday slide under the table and the alleged bout of food poisoning that followed.
Olivia yawned. Finishing one show at 2:00 A.M. and starting another at 9:00 A.M. wasn't something she'd want to do on a regular basis. She could understand why Matt was not a morning person.
Her stomach growled. She'd forfeited breakfast in favor of sleep, and she definitely needed some fuel. This morning's show had been her last of the survivor seriesâ thank you, Godâand it had gone well enough. The topic, temptation and how and when to avoid it, had seemed particularly appropriate to a Sunday morning crowd. And she'd needed to hear the message herself.
She was sitting at the counter waiting for a fresh pot of coffee when Matt appeared. Once again he had on considerably fewer clothes than she deemed acceptable or wise, and she bristled at his total disregard for her wishes. With effort, she kept her gaze averted from his bare chest and somehow managed not to swivel on her barstool to catch the back view as he passed her on his way to the refrigerator.
“Morning.” He sounded surprisingly cheerful for someone who had to be trailing badly in both votes and donations.
With only twenty-four hours left in captivity, Olivia decided she could afford to be magnanimous. “Good morning. Sleep well?”
“I did.”
Her gaze dipped down below his neck and got stuck in his chest hairs. Gravity being what it was, it took a massive act of will to keep her gaze from straying to the waistband of those dratted gym shorts. Or past what lay under them to the muscled thighs below.
Better to focus on Matt's annoying habits rather than his physical attributes. Luckily there were plenty to choose from. Like the way he was leaning against the open refrigerator door with the carton of orange juice raised to his lips.
“You just waking up?” she asked.
He lowered the carton, shook it to see if there was anything left, and took one final swallow before putting the empty carton back in the fridge. “Nope. I've been up since nine. Didn't want to miss your show.” He smiled. “I didn't realize you were planning to give a sermon.”
“A sermon?”
“Well, you did cover quite a lot of biblical groundâ temptation, the wages of sin. I just kept waiting for the prerecorded amen's. Who was the sermon for, sweetheartâyour poor listeners or yourself?”
“Why, you sanctimonious . . .”
“Hey. I'm not the one who spent three hours harping on the pitfalls of purely physical relationships. But I am probably the only listener who had any idea what you were ranting about.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really.” Matt advanced to the counter.
On the bright side, she no longer felt even remotely tempted to look at Matt Ransom's chest.
“I think you can't stand being out of control for a second, Olivia. You are horrified that you can't control how your body reacts to mine. And it galls you that you want more of what we had the other night.”
Olivia gasped in outrage. “Is that right?”
“That's right. I don't need a Ph.D. to recognize lust when I see it. You're just upset that it's me you want. I'm not exactly thrilled about the fact that my body seems so intent on yours either, but you don't see me wasting a show beating myself up about it.”
“No, you're not wasting shows, never that. But you sure are wasting your life.”
One of Matt's eyebrows shot up, but Olivia ignored the warning. Something perverse in her wanted him just as angry as she was. Getting up off her stool, she marched around the counter so she could confront him without anything blunting her anger. She could feel it bubbling up through her bloodstream, and for once she didn't smash it back down. If he felt free to bash her over the head with his version of the truth, then she would do the same.
“Maybe if you stopped swaggering around sleeping with every woman you meet, you could actually explore what it is that keeps you from sharing yourself with anyone. For an allegedly outgoing guy, you are one of the most secretive people I've ever met.”
She pointed a finger at his chest, and in her anger practically drilled a hole with it. “Getting to know you feels a lot like extracting teeth. Without Novocain. You call me buttoned down, but you are completely zipped up, and you aren't even trying to let anyone in. Pretty soon people will just stop bothering. And then you can have what you wantâlots of unimportant sex with women who don't really care about you.”
They stood there toe to toe, neither moving. Olivia's finger felt welded to Matt's chest, and both of them were breathing heavily. In a romance novel, the sexual energy surging between them would have forced them into each other's arms and ultimately led to declarations of undying love. But romance novels weren't set in front of Webcams and didn't feature diehard fans eagerly waiting for the hero and heroine to tear each other apart.
Matt found his voice first. “Well done, Olivia. Wouldn't want our last afternoon in captivity to be as ho-hum as your last show. I'll write you a check for your on-the-spot analysis.”
Olivia took a step back. “Don't bother.” She looked up into the brown eyes that moments before had sizzled with heat and now revealed absolutely nothing. “Let's just consider it a parting gift. Someday you might actually use it.”
JoBeth sipped her wine and looked longingly around her. Kevin's vacation place, a two-bedroom stilt house on a mountain overlooking North Georgia's Lake Burton, nearly took her breath away. Both bedrooms were masters, separated by a central great room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the view. The house, which Kevin walked her through with obvious pride, had two fireplaces, a wraparound deck, and a screened dining porch off the fully equipped kitchen.
JoBeth loved the house, its location, and its incredible view. She especially liked rocking on the deck and looking down the mountainside at the now placid lake below. It was only Kevin she wasn't so sure about.
“What are you thinking, JoBug?”
He'd already started calling her by the nickname she'd once found appealing. And she had the traitorous thought that if he'd just stop talking, everything would be fine.
“Oh, I'm just swept up by the view, Kevin. It's incredible out here. So still and beautiful.”
“It is, isn't it?” He rocked in silence for a moment and then said, “I bought this property while we were still together.”
“You never told me that.”
“I know. I meant it to be a wedding present.” His tone grew wistful. “I had this crazy idea of us camping out up here for our honeymoon.” He gave an embarrassed laugh and looked away.
“Oh, Kevin. I'm so sorry.”
“Well, it all worked out okay. I've enjoyed the house. But I always wondered what you'd think of it.” He turned back to her, waiting for her response.
“Why, it's fabulous. I can't think of a thing I'd change.” She only wished she could get as excited about him as she was about the stacked-stone fireplaces and the two-person Jacuzzi. She rocked a little harder as she puzzled it out.
Kevin smiled, and JoBeth reminded herself what a good catch he was. Kevin Middleton was attractive and nice, and he'd certainly done very well for himself. Apparently “catching” him would not be a difficult task, since he didn't appear to be running at all.
She could tell from the way his doelike brown eyes regarded her when he thought she wasn't looking that he still cared about her, and she tried to dredge up some answering feeling of her own. But all she could think was how much Dawg would enjoy fishing on the lake. And how fine it would be to sit and rock with him on a summer evening while the fireflies sparked around them.
“It's getting late, Kevin. I have to go.”
She stood and walked to the railing for a last look at the view. Kevin joined her and she fell back a step, realizing that the last thing she wanted to do right now was kiss this man, when Dawg was so much on her mind.
Ignoring her body language, Kevin stepped closer and put a hand out to caress her cheek. “You never stopped being important to me, JoBug, and I plan to be important to you again. In fact, I'm going to make sure of it.”
Charles Crankower sat in the control room while Matt and Ben talked on headphone. Within twenty-four hours they'd have the consultant's report, and in another few weeks the book would be out with the final ratings breakdown. Right now, the only existing measurement of talent popularity was the weeklong printout of votes and food donations Charles held in his hand. There'd been the expected upward swings after noticeably strong shows, but in the end the statistical difference between the two hosts didn't amount to much.
In Charles's experience “too close to call” wasn't anywhere near as promotable as a landslide victory and somebody eating crow. Matt Ransom knew these facts as well as he did. He had one more show and almost twelve hours left to put Olivia out of the running, but for some reason the man seemed to have lost his edge.
Charles reached a hand out to tap Ben on the shoulder. “Let me borrow your headphones, will you?”
Matt's producer eyed him as suspiciously as ever, but passed them over without protest.
Charles fit the headphones onto his head and spoke into the tiny microphone. “Hey, Matt. Hope you're getting ready to pull out all the stops. I know you don't want to lose out to the doctor at this stage.”
“What do you want me to do, Crankower, set myself on fire? I don't have to see the numbers to know the station has no room for complaints.”
“Well, I just don't want to see you blow this opportunity for a decisive victory. If Olivia were compromised in some way . . .”
Charles saw Ben's head whip around. Turning away from the producer, he lowered his voice. “The sexual thing between you is already obvious to anyone who's paying attention. Maybe it's time to let our listeners know what happened between you two in Chicago.”
There was a long silence and then, “Forget it, Charles. I'm not interested in your bag of dirty tricks. The show I've got planned will be more than enough to keep me on the air.”
“Goodness, you've gone all noble on us.”
Ransom actually growled at him, which Charles found very interesting. “Give me Ben, Crankower. And keep your sticky fingers out of my pie.”
Charles returned the headphones and fiddled with the Webcam a little longer. Every once in a while Matt looked up and glowered through the lens at him like some jungle animal protecting his lair, which Charles found intriguing as hell. Could the luscious Dr. O mean more to Matt than a convenient piece of ass? Now there was an idea with incredible potential.