7 Days and 7 Nights (5 page)

It sounded like a bad game of bingo, but Olivia understood that audience preference was what it all came down to.

“At the end of the week,” T.J. concluded, “I should have what I need to make an informed decision. If you're not in on the remote, it's going to be a very uneven playing field.”

Olivia sat back in her chair, stunned and silent, listening to the excited chatter around her. She felt Matt's gaze on her and turned in her seat to face him. As usual, his eyes were too warm and his smile too knowing.

Agreeing to Charles's scheme would be a mistake of epic proportions. If she were half as assertive as she advised her listeners to be, she'd stand up and commit harikari before she allowed herself to consider a promotion as outlandish as the one Charles had just put before them.

Matt leaned in closer, and the blood whooshed through her veins with the force of a tsunami. The sooner she said no, the better.

It didn't matter what Matt or anyone else thought. Before she'd say yes to a plan as potentially dangerous as this one, they'd be holding the Winter Olympics in hell.

5

Does it feel cold in here to you?” Olivia stood inside the doorway of the apartment, trying not to hear the front door click shut behind her. Or the dead bolt slamming into place. Or Crankower's footsteps echoing down the empty hallway toward that final elevator ride to freedom.

She reached for the thermostat and adjusted the dial, even though she knew the chill cutting through her had little to do with the temperature and everything to do with the panic that gripped her.

Taking an exploratory step into the room, Olivia set her suitcase on the floor and let her gaze wander around the living area. What she saw did nothing to calm her nerves.

To the left was an upside-down U of a kitchen in varying shades of beige. Its eat-in counter jutted back toward the front door, and a wooden dinette set sat next to it. A postage-stamp window above the sink admitted a dollop of daylight.

Straight ahead of the entryway, a gap in the apartment's longest wall led to the bedrooms and bath. To the right of the gap, two nubby brown sofas formed an L around a mission-style cocktail table and faced a bulging entertainment armoire on top of which perched the eyeball-shaped camera that would document their every move.

Glimmers of daylight teased through French doors set into the far wall, and next to them stood a portable punching bag with a caricature of Matt's face emblazoned on it.

Squeezed in between the front door and the armoire, a desk with computer, audio mixer, and telephone had been set up as a temporary audio console. Matt leaned across her to punch a series of keys on the computer, and seconds later, everything in the camera's path appeared on both the computer monitor and the television screen.

“Smile, Olivia. It's show time.” Matt's mouth brushed against her ear, and his warm breath tickled her neck.

Determined to ignore him, Olivia peered at the television screen. She could see herself and Matt in the foreground with the kitchen and bedroom area behind them, but because of the wide angle required to cover the whole space, subtle movement and fine detail were lost. As a test, she raised one hand and waggled all five fingers at the camera. A glance at the monitor confirmed what she'd hoped—though the raised hand was obvious, what it was doing was not.

The lack of audio was another blessing. Since sound would only be broadcast during their shows, they wouldn't have to guard their words as closely as their actions. Olivia took a step back from Matt. “I'm going to put my things away. Do you have a bedroom preference?”

Matt's lips parted in a grin, and Olivia realized she did, in fact, need to choose her words with care. “Let me re-phrase that. Do you care which bedroom you sleep in?”

His dark eyes glittered.

“Never mind.” Olivia picked up her suitcase and strode across the room to the first door on the left. “I'll take this one.” Then she sailed through the bedroom door.

The bedroom, like the rest of the apartment, had a certain minimalist quality. Which was to say it was small and sparsely furnished. After laying her suitcase on a luggage stand she found in the closet, she sat on the edge of the queen-size bed and contemplated the Victoria's Secret bag that someone had placed in its center. Fifteen minutes alone with Matt and she was tripping over her tongue; adding lingerie to the equation seemed decidedly . . . stupid.

Wary, she reached into the bright pink tissue paper and pulled out the skimpiest black satin nightgown she'd ever seen. Feather light and boasting more slits than satin, it came with an equally skimpy thong. She had just lifted the tiny triangle of material gingerly between two fingers when she heard Matt's voice coming from the doorway.

“Olivia . . .” Whatever Matt had been planning to say died on his lips at the sight of the thong dangling from her fingertips.

She crammed the slip of satin back into the bag, and turned to face him.

“You seem to have picked the right room,” he said.

Olivia refused to show any embarrassment. “What, no goodies in yours?” she asked.

“I got cologne and green plaid pajamas.” He leaned nonchalantly against the doorjamb. “The sponsor was planning to send you a matching pair, but I told them you belonged in black satin . . . or nothing at all. Looks like they sent the best of both.” His gaze swept over her body. “Too bad you don't have the nerve to wear the black number on the air.”

“I didn't build my career strutting around in black satin.”

“A real shame. You could score two, maybe three rating points with the thong, Olivia, and I don't think I could bring myself to object.”

“Very sporting of you. But I have every intention of beating you with all my clothes on.” She opened the nightstand drawer and shoved the pink and white bag inside. “In my experience, most people prefer their therapists dressed.”

One dark eyebrow sketched upward. “Yeah. Don't ya just hate those naked counseling sessions? So hard to maintain eye contact.”

Unable to stop herself, Olivia laughed out loud. She'd forgotten how on target Matt's humor could be. And how handsome he was when his smile leaped up and lit his eyes. Her laughter faded and she fell silent under his regard. It was time to get out of this room and back on a professional footing. Now. She rose and walked toward him.

Matt didn't move when she stopped just inches from where he stood. Instead, he looked down at her with eyes that were frankly assessing.

“Was there something you needed?” Olivia asked.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Still he didn't budge. Olivia's pulse rate kicked up. It was impossible not to be aware of his broad shoulders brushing the doorjamb, and his muscled chest pulling the black T-shirt taut. She resisted the urge to let her gaze drop lower, below the silver belt buckle and down the faded blue jeans that rode his slim hips.

“And you're in my room because . . .”

If he was surprised at her tone, he didn't show it. “You have,” he glanced down at his watch, “about ten minutes until you go on the air. Diane wants to set levels.”

“Oh.” Less than thirty minutes in his company and she'd already forgotten why she was here. “If you'll excuse me?”

With a cocky bow he stepped back to allow her to pass.

Sitting down at the microphone, Olivia put on her headphones. “I'm here, Di. Let me know when you've got what you need.”

Matt still lounged in her bedroom doorway, coffee cup in hand, watching her with interest. Everything about this place was too close and too intimate, including Matt Ransom. Clearly, it would be up to her to maintain some distance between them.

“Testing. Testing. This is Olivia Moore broadcasting live from the smallest apartment on Earth.” She dragged her thoughts from Matt. “How's the dieting, Di?”

“Great. I just switched to the All-the-Sushi-All-the-Time Diet. It's supposed to burn the fat right off you.”

“You know, I can help you with this food thing. These extreme diets are not—”

“Yeah, thanks, boss. But I really think this one will do it. I'm good for level. Do you need anything in there?”

“How about a new roommate and a couple thousand more square feet?”

Diane laughed. “Wish I could deliver on that.”

“I'd settle for a plate glass window with you on the other side.” She and Diane had been together since the first
Liv Live
in Tampa, and her presence would have gone a long way toward restoring Olivia's equilibrium.

She glanced over at Matt, who still lounged in the bedroom doorway, and wondered who she was kidding. Real peace of mind would require more than Diane or additional square footage. A continent or two placed directly between her and Matt Ransom ought to do it.

Matt watched Olivia start her show, while his mind painted pictures of the no-nonsense woman before him clad in the no-holds-barred black satin. The good doctor could square her shoulders and march away from him all she pleased. In the end, the contest would be won by the person who managed to harness and control the raw current that surged between them. Olivia might choose to dabble in denial, but he preferred to acknowledge the truth: They were sitting on a powder keg of sexual attraction, and he was itching to light the fuse.

Wandering into the kitchen, he rifled through cupboards and listened as Olivia advised her callers. A peek in the pantry confirmed that Crankower had delivered on their sponsors' promises. The pots and pans came from Williams-Sonoma, the produce from Diangelo's, the imported foods from Gourmet to Go. A case of his favorite wines sat on the counter waiting to be unpacked, and two six-packs of Newcastle were already chilling in the fridge. All in all, everything a man required for a civilized existence was on hand.

His roommate appeared to have simpler tastes. From what he could see, she intended to subsist on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with occasional infusions of chocolate chip cookies. Her refrigerated goods consisted of two packages of processed American cheese food, a quart of skim milk, and a case of Diet Coke. If she'd requested anything remotely resembling a fruit or vegetable, he hadn't stumbled across it. In fact, for a doctor, she seemed woefully unconcerned with the basic corner-stones of good nutrition.

Matt walked back through the living area to observe Olivia more closely. When she bent over to retrieve a slip of paper, he couldn't help noticing how nicely she filled out her jeans. Her legs were long, her rear perfectly padded. As she settled back into her chair, his gaze traveled up the lean length of her to the high, full breasts that strained against the cream-colored T-shirt. If she was undernourished, she was hiding it beneath some pretty impressive curves.

Crossing to the seating area, Matt plopped down on the sofa and put his feet up on the cocktail table. It didn't take him long to decide that Olivia Moore was not deficient in vitamins or anything else that mattered. In fact, she was such fun to watch that he gave himself up to the pleasure of it.

Her white teeth tugged at her full bottom lip, and her green eyes radiated concern as she listened to a caller's problem. When she leaned forward to make a note on the pad in front of her, a curtain of blonde silk swirled over one slim shoulder and hid her features from view.

His pleasure was short-lived. Olivia's hands stilled and her voice sputtered out and died. Then she looked up and, for a full ten seconds, watched him watch her. When she finally spoke, it was to put her caller on hold for the commercial break. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Who, me?” He pointed a finger at his chest and checked the room as if looking for another culprit.

“Of course you. Why are you sitting there? I'm in the middle of a show.”

“Where else would I be, Olivia? I've had too much coffee to take a nap, and I'm not about to spend three hours in the bathroom.”

“Well, you can't just sit there and watch me.”

“Because?”

“Because I don't like it.”

“We have 850 square feet of living space. My options are limited. You're going to have to do better than that.”

“Okay. You're interfering with my concentration.”

“Then concentrate harder.” He glanced up at the TV monitor and saw them squared off against each other. The Webcam might not broadcast their audio, but no one watching could miss the adversarial body language.

Olivia took off her headphones and stood. “I'm not kidding, Matt. You cannot just sit there and stare at me while I'm working.”

“Fine. I'll read.” He yanked his briefcase off the nearby chair and rifled through it, ultimately taking out a dogeared copy of the
Sports Illustrated
Swimsuit Issue that he'd brought along just to annoy her. He also pulled out his own headphones, the ones with the cord long enough to allow full range of the living area, plugged them into the control panel, and sat back down on the sofa, raising the magazine up in front of his face with a flourish. When the silence continued, he lowered the magazine and peered over it. Olivia still stood there, headphones in hand, her mouth open in surprise.

She was very cute when she was stunned.

“I believe I hear your cue.”

“What?”

“I said, you're on the air, Olivia.” He pointed to his headphones. “It's time to talk to those people who call in and ask you questions. You know . . . your listeners?”

He gave her a wink, the raunchiest one he could come up with. “If you don't get back to work, you're going to be trailing so far behind me by the end of the week that you'll have to wear that thong.” Confident that he'd offered the perfect incentive, Matt raised the open magazine in front of his face once again.

How he managed to stifle his laughter and feign interest in the magazine for the remainder of her shift, he didn't know. Olivia pointedly ignored him, which he chose to interpret as an indication of her interest in him. But his musings were cut short by the tremulous tone of Olivia's final caller.

“Dr. O? I did what you said.”

“What's that, JoBeth?”

Matt's ears perked up. JoBeth was the name of Dawg's girlfriend.

“I told Dawg that I wanted to get married,
again.
And he told me I was ruining a perfectly good relationship.”

“Then what?” Olivia's tone was calm and soothing, in stark contrast to JoBeth's quiet distress.

“Then he wanted some, um, milk, and I told him he'd have to find himself another cow.”

“Good for you, JoBeth. You did the right thing.”

“It didn't feel right, or good.”

“What happened then?”

“He said he didn't understand a word I was saying, and that if I didn't want to be with him, no one was forcing me to stay.”

Matt turned a page of the magazine, but his attention was riveted on the drama being played out on the air.

Olivia waited out a long pause and then said, “What did you do?”

“I moved out. I left him.” JoBeth's voice vibrated with regret, and Matt took the opportunity to steal a glance over his magazine at Olivia. She sat very still, and the triumphant smile he'd expected to see on her face was absent.