7 Days and 7 Nights (17 page)

She slipped the transmission into drive, blinked back a fresh crop of tears, and whispered, “You take care of yourself now, Dawg. You hear?”

And then she pressed her foot to the accelerator and drove right out of Dawg Rollins's life.

19

No,” Matt said for the hundredth time. “Olivia just did a little too much celebrating. I'm sure she'll be fine by morning.”

Amazing how preoccupied his listeners were with Olivia's well-being. Virtually every one of his callers had inquired after her health or begged for intimate details. They'd all either seen or heard about the proper Dr. Moore “unbending” on her milestone birthday; but while her dignity might have suffered slightly, her reputation was still intact. And it was his own damn fault.

Only he had witnessed the determination with which she crawled into his lap and her all-too-successful efforts to rouse him. And then when he'd had the chance to turn the camera on her and squash her once and for all, what had he done? Covered for her, that's what. He'd acted like she was ill and carted her off to bed, going so far as to come right back out of her room so there'd be no speculation. What the hell was wrong with him?

For four long hours, he bantered with callers while he fought off images of Olivia in the black satin thong. Finally it was time to sign off and he was able to turn the controls over to Ben.

Still on headphones, he started to pack up his things.

“Great show, Matt,” said Ben. “I haven't been able to get anything out of T.J. or the consultant about what the research is saying, but I'm sure this show will put us back on top with the popular vote.”

“Thanks, Ben. Everybody was definitely fired up tonight.”

“Yeah.” Ben cleared his throat. “Speaking of ‘fired up,' do you really think Dr. O is okay?”

“I'm sure she'll be her old bushy-tailed self by morning.” Matt started to remove his headphones.

“But nobody's heard a peep out of her since you . . . since nine-thirty. Aren't you going to check on her?”

Actually, Matt was planning to do exactly that, though he doubted Olivia would appreciate anyone knowing it. “Didn't anyone ever tell you you're too young to be such a worrywart?”

“I think one or two people may have mentioned it.” Ben's voice turned conspiratorial. “Do you want me to adjust the camera so you can check without everybody knowing?”

“How would you do that?” Matt asked.

“Well, the camera's remote is here in the control room. Crankower monitors it a lot of the time, and all of the producers are supposed to keep an eye out during their shifts. All you've got is the power cable.”

Hmmm. The power cable. The old on, off. Matt stroked his chin and thought about the possibilities. “Thanks for the offer, man, but I'm sure Olivia's fine. I'm going to unwind a little bit, and then I'll probably just call it a night.”

Matt shot his most innocent look up at the camera lens as he took off his headphones. Then, to throw off anyone who might be watching, he puttered around for a while.

He blew out the candles still flickering on the table and poked around the kitchen long enough to bore to tears anyone watching. Then he stretched out on the couch and read for another thirty minutes, almost putting himself to sleep in the process.

At 3:00 A.M., when he figured anyone still watching would be too glassy-eyed to notice, Matt ambled over to the entertainment armoire. Careful not to look down, he used his foot to gently work the power cable away from the wall.

When he had a sizable loop around his shoe, he turned away from the armoire, stepped forward, and pulled the cord out of its socket.

For appearances, he stumbled slightly and made a point of not looking over his shoulder to watch the monitor go dark. It seemed important to be able to claim ignorance later, though why he felt compelled to protect Olivia's reputation was a question he refused to ponder.

Unwatched for the first time in five days, Matt walked purposely toward Olivia's room. Once through the doorway, he moved to the bed for a closer look and immediately wished he hadn't.

Olivia lay on her side, her dress rucked up around her waist. His gaze followed the tempting trail from delicate ankle, up lightly muscled calf, across sculpted thigh to the smooth white swell of a nicely rounded buttock.

One bare forearm disappeared upward beneath the pillow on which her head rested, while the other hung limp across her waist. Her breasts strained against the clingy black material of her halter top, filling it to overflowing.

Olivia moaned in her sleep and rolled onto her back, throwing both arms out wide and opening her eyes. Matt sucked in his breath and sank down on the edge of the bed.

Even heavy with sleep, Olivia's green eyes carried an awareness of him that hiked his pulse up another notch. As he settled down beside her, the confusion that had clouded them gave way to alarm.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Good grief, Matt . . .” She went up on her elbows and turned her head toward the bedroom door.

“It's okay.” He reached out to smooth the dress back down to her knees. “The Webcam suffered a mysterious accident. No one saw me come in here. And no one will see me leave.”

She collapsed back down onto the bed, and he could almost hear her trying to kick her brain back into action.

His own brain and all of his senses were full of Olivia. She was the magnet that never failed to draw him, and as he stared down into the green depths of her eyes, he realized there was no way in hell he was leaving this room without making her aware of at least one elemental truth.

“I don't know what it is, but you do something completely . . .” He tried to find the right word and failed. “. . . visceral to me. And I know I do the same to you.”

Olivia went still.

“I want to make love to you. Right now. Right here.” He reached out to caress the corner of her mouth with his thumb. “I'm tired of being this close to you and not having you.”

He bent down and brushed his lips over hers. “And I think you want to make love to me for the same reason. Not because you've had too much to drink and can't help yourself, or because you're thirty. But because you want to.”

She regarded him silently.

“It's your call, Livvy. I want you, but what happens next is completely up to you.”

Olivia slipped off the last bonds of sleep and wine to stare up into Matt's assessing brown eyes. Her brain had cleared enough to comprehend what he was saying, and she could feel her blood beginning to boil. Not because he assumed she wanted him—he was, unfortunately, completely right about that—but because he was trying to make her admit it.

She sat up, bringing her face in line with his. “You're going to force me to decide?”

She put her hands on his shoulders. “What's wrong with you? Have you forgotten how to get a woman drunk and take advantage of her? I've been responsible my entire life. I have always done the right thing, the well-considered, logical thing. And now, after thirty years of toeing the line, I'm going to be denied this one perfectly good opportunity to hide behind alcohol and be swept away by . . . by . . . blinding passion?”

She shook him. “How dare you?”

Matt laughed. “Are you telling me you'd prefer drunken groping under a kitchen table to getting the attention you deserve?”

Olivia jumped off the bed and turned her back on him to pace the narrow confines of the room. “You are so dense!”

She paced for a few seconds while she worked up a good head of steam. She'd dreamed about this man for most of her adult life. For five days she'd been actively fantasizing about this very possibility, and what did he say to her?
I'm tired of waiting, so let's hop in the sack!

He wasn't even allowing her time to worry about whether reality could compare with the memories she'd hoarded. Or how in the world she would find the strength to deny herself the thing she wanted most.

He stood in the middle of the room, next to the bed. “Come here, Miss ‘I Am Woman Hear Me Roar.' ”

She made a military pivot and marched back to face him.

“Your time is up,” Matt said.

When she just stood there glaring at him, he pulled his shirt up over his head and dropped it on the floor.

“Oh.” Her gaze fell to the broad shoulders, the wide expanse of chest, the arrow of dark hair beckoning downward. As she watched him unbuckle his belt, she realized that the pounding in her veins was no longer a result of anger.

“What'll it be, Olivia?” He smiled a lazy, sensuous smile that turned her bones to butter. “You still want to bite my head off?”

Boy, did she ever! And she wanted to do a whole lot of other stuff, too.

She took a step closer. “My listeners
are
wondering whether you're a brief or boxer kind of guy.”

“Well then.” He cocked his head and moved his hands away from the waistband of his pants. “Let's conduct a little audience research.”

Olivia Moore did something then that she'd never done before in her life. Tired of thinking, tired of doing the right thing, tired of denying herself what she wanted most—she just reached up in her brain and like a metaphoric hand on a light switch, she flipped the damn thing off.

Then she reached for the snap of his pants.

20

Matt and Olivia lay spoonlike, their naked bodies tucked into each other, their breathing and heartbeats eerily in sync. With her backside wedged against his front, and the top of her head jammed up into his chin, Matt could feel the rise and fall of her chest beneath his arm as she burrowed deeper against him.

He let his fingers skim over the warm silk of her breasts and breathed in the scent of lovemaking that still clung to her skin.

Olivia moaned and pressed her fanny tighter against him, and Matt pressed a sleepy kiss to the hollow of her shoulder.

It had taken turning thirty and an impressive amount of alcohol to unleash the passion beneath the controlled facade, but once she let go there was no one like her.

Matt swept the tips of his fingers up one bare arm and back down to rest on the curve of her hip.

She'd tried to use wine to drown the chemistry between them; then she'd tried to use the wine to allow it— and ended up under the kitchen table.

He smiled slowly over the annoyance in her eyes when he'd forced her to admit she wanted him. But once she'd given in to it, they'd made love for hours, their bodies reconnecting like parts of some not-quite-forgotten whole. Even now, they fit perfectly together, two spoons lined up snugly in the drawer. It was amazing how entirely right it felt to wake with Olivia in his arms.

Matt's eyes flew open at that alien and alarming thought. A heartbeat later a cell phone rang shrilly beside the bed.

His mind still on Olivia, he flipped open the phone. “ 'Lo.”

“Matt?” Diane Lowe's shocked whisper carried the impact of a pail of cold water. “Why are you answering Olivia's cell phone? Is she all right? What happened to the Webcam?”

“Whoa.” Matt sat up in bed, trying to gather his wits. “Hold on a minute. I'll be right with you.”

He covered the mouthpiece of the phone with one hand and used the other for an exploratory nudge of Olivia's shoulder. She yawned and rolled over onto her back with her eyes squinched shut.

Matt uncovered the mouthpiece and brought the phone back up to his ear. “Olivia's a little under the weather right now. I'm sure she'll be fine in a little while.”

“She doesn't have a little while, Matt. She goes on the air in fifteen minutes. Let me speak to her.”

Shit.
Matt looked down at Olivia. Her blonde hair swirled over the pillow in total disarray, and her body had spread across the space he'd just vacated. He wanted to drop a kiss on her left breast and then work his way down to the heart-shaped freckle on the inside of her right thigh.

Instead, he reached a hand out and shook her a little harder. Her naked body did some really wonderful things, but her eyes remained shut. “Too tired,” Olivia muttered. “Have to sleep.”

“She, um, can't come to the phone right now, Di.”

“What have you done to her, Matt? Is she all right?”

“She'll be fine. Why don't you just—”

“Oh, no you don't,” Diane hissed. “You're not going to get away with this.”

“There's nothing to get away with. I told you she's just not feeling—”

“Fine.”

He could hear the panic in Diane's voice now, but really didn't think Olivia would appreciate his describing exactly what kind of condition she was in.

“You talk to Charles, then. He's right here cackling in my ear.”

Matt sighed. He looked down at the sleeping woman beside him, taking in the satisfied smile on her lips—the smile he'd put there and kept there throughout the wee hours of the morning.

“Yeah, Charles. What's the problem?”

“Problem? No problem.” Charles's gleeful tone brought home the possible repercussions of the situation more forcefully than Diane's panic had.

Matt almost laughed. Here he was in the exact position he'd worked toward most of the week, and all he could think of was protecting Olivia . . . and keeping that smile on her lips. He heard Crankower's weasely voice on the other end of the line and knew he couldn't throw her to the wolves.

“Why don't you just plug that Webcam back in, Matt, and then wake the woman in bed beside you,” the weasel chortled. “I should have trusted you'd have some scheme up your sleeve.”

Matt cradled the phone against his shoulder and tried to rouse Olivia, but she rolled over onto her side and drew her legs up beneath her. His gaze swept down the elegant curve of her naked back.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Crankower. There is no scheme. Just too much to drink and maybe a touch of”— this one was going to hurt—“food poisoning.”

Matt walked around the bed and crouched down to peer into Olivia's face. She wore a dreamy expression, and she looked so peaceful he couldn't bring himself to haul her out of bed.

“So is she planning to do her show or what?”

“I'm not sure, Charles.” Matt picked her dress up off the floor and tossed it on the bed. “I'll go into her room and see what she's decided. Hold on, okay?”

Feeling slightly foolish, he went over to her door and slammed it. With a groan, Olivia flipped over on her other side and pulled the covers up over her head. He stomped loudly across the bedroom floor for effect, then quietly tried to shake Olivia awake once more.

“Come on, Liv,” he whispered. “You can do it. Just get up so you can do your show.”

He could hear Olivia's muffled voice through the bedding.

“Can't.” She balled up tighter. “I'm so tired.”

Matt sat down on the side of the bed next to the mound of covers that was Olivia. “Charles? She's not feeling well.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So, uh, we've decided to switch shows today.”

“You what?”

“Yeah. We thought it would be a good gimmick, you know, to give our listeners a dose of a different perspective.”

“You're going to do
Liv Live
?”

“Yep. I just over-slept, that's all. I'm not used to getting up this early.”

“You're joking, right?”

“What, you don't think I can keep a bunch of women entertained?” Matt made a point of sounding offended.

Charles laughed aloud. Matt could almost see him rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the rating points. Of course, just whose points they'd be was an interesting question.

“Oh, no, Matt. If anyone can keep a group of women happy, it's you. Just do me a favor, will you?”

“Sure, Charles.”

“Don't forget to plug the Webcam back in. I don't want to miss a minute of this.”

“Good morning, everybody. Welcome to
Liv Live
, or maybe we should call it
Matt Live.
Actually, I'm more like semi-alive this morning. You're going to have to bear with me. The good doctor and I have decided to switch shows for the day. You can catch her tonight at ten doing her version of
Guy Talk
.”

Matt punched up the theme song, left it up full as he marshaled his thoughts, and took the music back down.

“This is all a little new to me. But I'm here and ready to, uh,” he cleared his throat, “discuss your problems.”

He looked down at the computer screen to check the list of waiting callers, but there were none.

“All right. No wimping out now.” He drummed his fingers on the table, but nothing happened. Not a name. Not a blip on the screen. He didn't know if it was Diane's doing or if there just weren't any women out there who wanted to speak to him.

“Right. Okay. So I don't have the doctor's credentials, but I do have something better.” He paused while he tried to figure out what he had that Olivia didn't. All he could come up with was a penis.

“I'm a guy. I can tell you what men really think. And what they want.” He paused again for emphasis. “I'm here to answer your questions. Truthfully. Completely. Anything you want to know about the man in your life and how he thinks, I can tell you. Start dialing.”

Matt punched up the commercial break and went to put on a much-needed pot of coffee. When he got back to his seat, the monitor was full of waiting callers.

“Okay, that's better. Let's start with caller number one. Rita M., you're on the line.”

Rita sounded nervous and very Southern. “I'd really feel a lot more comfortable talking to Dr. Moore about this.”

“Well, you can call back tonight between ten and two, or you can go ahead and give me a shot. How bad can it be?”

“Okay.” There was a brief pause and then, “I went out with someone for the first time last week. And it was great and all. He made me feel really special.”

“And the problem?”

“Well . . . he said he'd call, but he hasn't.”

It didn't sound all that pressing to Matt, but it was, as they said, her dime. “All right, let's take a look at this. How many days has it been since your date?”

“Five. It's been five days, but I'm thinking maybe my answering machine is on the blink.”

“Nope. Sorry, but if he were planning to call you, he would have done it by now.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I'm a guy. And because there's a sort of unwritten time limit in the guy handbook. If a male over the age of fifteen hasn't called within two or three days after a first date, he isn't going to.”

“But he said he was going to call.”

Matt shrugged. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, Rita, but ‘I'll call you' is kind of like ‘Have a nice day.' Nobody really cares whether you have a nice day or not. It's just an expression.”

“But is there a chance he'll call?”

“After five days?” Matt shook his head. “No way in hell.”

Matt moved on to the next call. “Okay, who's up next?” He cracked his knuckles and settled back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “This is Ransom. You're on the air, Marty.”

“Hi, Matt.” The caller responded with the upbeat cadence of a former cheerleader. “How are you this morning?”

“Just fine, darlin'. What's on your mind?”

“Well, it's my boyfriend's friends.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. They keep dragging him to bars and strip joints.”

“And he's complaining about this?”

“Well, not exactly.” Some of the perkiness went out of her voice.

“And he'd rather be . . . where? The symphony?”

“Well . . .”

“The opening of a new gallery?”

“Well, I don't—”

“Dinner at your parents'?”

There was a protracted silence.

“Marty, sweetheart, wake up and smell the coffee. Unless your boyfriend has been bound and gagged, chances are he's a willing participant.”

“But—”

“Men like strip clubs. That's why they exist. You know, naked women shaking their ta-ta's in your face? Guys love that stuff.”

“But they go every week. He stuffs money in their . . . well, I
hope
he's only putting it in their garters.”

“Marty, it's relaxation, an innocent taste of the unknown, a chance to unwind. A guy always appreciates a woman who understands that.”

“When will Dr. O be back?”

“Tonight, sweetheart. But believe me, I know what I'm talking about. Dr. O may not recognize the value of strip clubs in male bonding, but I do. Give the guy a break.”

Pleased, Matt waited out another batch of commercials—confirmation of
Liv Live
's popularity—and walked over to the kitchenette to pour himself a cup of coffee.

He couldn't detect sound or movement from Olivia's room, which meant she must still be asleep. He had no doubt she'd have been out of bed and dressed in a heartbeat if she could hear him doing her show. Truth was, he was starting to enjoy himself. Hell, you didn't even have to stop and think about this stuff, you just told everybody the way things were and moved on to the next caller. He was practically performing a public service.

Matt took his coffee back to the control panel and sat down to wait out the end of the last commercial.

As woman after woman called to complain about the behavior of husband, boyfriend, or lover, he began to wonder how men and women ever managed to connect at all. Women obviously didn't see things the way men did, and in his humble opinion, women wasted an inordinate amount of time worrying about how their relationships were going.

Other than trying to let women down easy, he'd never really stopped to think about what they might be feeling. And he'd certainly never fallen for any of their protestations of love for him. All he'd ever wanted was to have a good time.

His next caller was JoBeth, Dawg's girlfriend, and he could tell from her tight little hello that she was not a happy camper. “I just want you to know that I don't appreciate any of the advice you've given Dawg.”

“Me? Up until today I've been very careful
not
to give advice. I just told him to stop sniveling and get on with his life.”

“You made him feel like there was no reason to make a commitment.”

“Hey, I just call 'em like I see 'em. It was not my intention to get in the middle of your life.”

“Well, you're there. Smack dab in the center of it.”

Matt ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. He wouldn't have minded Olivia poking her head out about now.

“You told him to be a man and hang tough, Matt, whatever that means. Dawg Rollins loves me and I love him. And now we don't live in the same house, and in an hour I'm going to be eating barbecue with an old boyfriend.” JoBeth's voice broke.

“Jeez, JoBeth. Don't cry.”

“I'm not crying. I hate crying.” She blew her nose. “It's just that everything's such a mess.”

Her misery traveled through the phone line and all but smacked him in the face. Had he ever really thought about what his comments to Dawg might mean to this woman? No, of course not. He'd been flip, half-assed, and unwilling to be bothered with their personal problems. Now, dangling on the hook as he was, he forced himself to think about his response.