She folded her arms in front of her chest and tilted her chin up another notch. “If this is all so insignificant to you, why don't you just concede right now, Matt? Call a halt to this whole charade and move your show someplace else. You were pretty hot in Chicago, as I recall.”
“I'm not conceding a damn thing. But I'm sorely tempted to teach you how to enjoy yourself. Without the ability to relax and enjoy, all the success in the world isn't going to do a thing for you.”
“Thank you so much, Professor Ransom, for that introduction to Fun and Frolic 101. I'm sure you're qualified to teach at the graduate level.”
Matt looked down into Olivia's face. Her eyes glittered in challenge, and her tone dripped scorn. He kept his own tone light because he knew just how much it would piss her off. “I've never met anyone who needed tutoring in the subject as much as you do, Olivia.” He let a small smile play around the corners of his mouth and gave her an impudent wink for good measure. “I'm thinking I may have to design some sort of crash course.”
11
Olivia didn't see Matt again until the next afternoon. She was staring out the French doors at the tiny park across the apartment parking lot when she heard a noise behind her.
His jaw looked slightly puffy, but otherwise he seemed none the worse for his encounter with her foot. He tipped a Coke can at her in greeting. “Morning.”
“It's way past morning.”
“So it is.” Matt seemed unconcerned with the distinction.
“How's your jaw?”
He ran a hand down the smoothly shaven side of his face, pausing momentarily over the point of impact. “I'll survive as long as you keep your feet to yourself.”
Matt's gaze strayed to the jar of peanut butter sitting on the counter. “I see you've dined.”
“Do you have something against peanut butter and jelly?”
“No. I just hate to see you go through life undernourished.” He yawned and scratched at his midsection. “Mind if I turn on the TV?”
“TV?” Olivia glanced down at her watch. “But there's nothing on right now but theâ”
“Soaps.” He checked his watch. “It's too late for
All My
Children
, but
One Life to Live
will be on in a few minutes.
General Hospital
comes on at three.”
Olivia could feel the disbelief etched all over her face, but there was no way Matt Ransom watched daytime television.
He flicked on the set.
“You watch soap operas?”
“Um-hmm.”
“Soap operas, as in âMy mother slept with your father and you're my second stepbrother twice removed so we shouldn't be having this affair' soap operas?”
“Well, I don't remember that exact story line, but that's the basic idea.”
“When did this happen?”
Matt laughed. “It's not a disease, Olivia, or a sign of mental deficiency. I've been watching
General Hospital
since we . . . I was twelve. I discovered some of the other shows later in life. I work until two in the morning, go to sleep about four, and get up around noon.” He shrugged. “I watch soap operas in the afternoon.”
He moved over to the sofa, once again sitting right in the middle of the area she'd designated for herself, and picked up the remote. “
GH
doesn't start for another hour, but we can watch
One Life to Live
or
As the World Turns.
” He turned to her as if asking nothing more surprising than how she took her coffee. “Which would you prefer?”
Matt propped his feet up on the cocktail table and settled back into the couch, patting the space beside him. “Come sit down. If you leave the remote to me, we can watch both of them.”
Olivia eyed Matt suspiciously. “You're kidding, right?”
“No. Come on.”
She knew he was going to spring something on her or find a way to make her look bad, because this just couldn't be true. “You're telling me that Atlanta's âHundred-Time Bachelor of the Year, Mr. Macho Guy Talk,' is a closet soapie?”
“There's nothing closet about me, Olivia. I'm hooked. Have been since I watched my first episode back in '78. That's when Bobbie Spencer brought her big brother Luke to Port Charles to try to land Laura in reform school.”
Olivia took a seat, though not quite so close as the one Matt had indicated. “You started watching
General Hospital
when you were twelve.”
“Pretty much.”
“Because?”
“Because our older sister didn't get home until fifteen minutes after the show started, and she paid me a dollar to watch the beginning and fill her in on what she missed.”
“You must have amassed a small fortune by now.”
Matt threw back his head and laughed, and Olivia caught herself wanting to join in. It was all so wonderfully absurd.
“So why are you still watching?”
“Well, when I was about fifteen, I discovered what a great pick-up tool it was. Just me and the girls discussing who was cheating on whom.” He looked incredibly pleased with himself.
“And you still need pick-up material?”
His smile was slow and sensual, the brown of his eyes turning as warm as a tumbler full of whiskey. Suddenly, it felt as if someone had sucked all the air out of the apartment. “Not usually. Now it's just a great escape. After all those hours of talk, it feels good to be brain-dead for a while.”
“I wasn't aware you used your brain all that much in your work.”
Matt didn't bite or react to the barb, but leaned in closer until she could feel the warmth of his breath tickling her cheek. “Don't you ever want to shut that overworked brain of yours down, Olivia? You know, just turn it off and enjoy yourself?”
It must have been the power of suggestion. Or maybe it was how close he was and how husky his voice had goneâas if it were completely weighted down with sexâbut Olivia felt her normally nimble thoughts slow to a crawl. Then her vision blurred around the edges and the air turned hot and thick with something she did not want to identify.
“Don't think, Olivia. Just feel.”
He lowered his lips to hers and kissed herâa soft, gentle joining that took her completely by surprise. The breath caught in her throat, and her pulse fluttered like butterfly wings beneath her skin.
Cradling the back of her head in the palm of his hand, he drew her closer and deepened the kiss, his gentleness giving way to something more urgent.
She wanted to do just as he'd instructed, wanted to lose herself in his touch, wanted to let him make love to her once more, wanted to forget about the silly competition between them.
Competition.
Olivia's body stilled, only this time it was due not to desire but to dismay. She was sitting on a couch in plain view of their audience, being kissed by Matt Ransom. In another second she'd be kissing him back. She had a very clear idea of the kind of reaction the focus group would have to that.
“Olivia?”
“Why, you . . .” Appalled, she pulled back. Her brain, still struggling to get back up to speed, couldn't come up with anything bad enough to call him.
Matt's eyes lit with amusement. “I was just trying to help you relax.”
“If I want to relax, I'll take up yoga.”
What she wanted to do was slap his smug, handsome face. Hard. In front of the world. So that no one would know just how much she'd wanted him to kiss her. Her hand itched to make contact, but she'd already perpetrated too much violence in the last twenty-four hours, and she didn't intend to win her time slot by maiming her opponentâno matter how much he deserved it.
Olivia retreated to the other couch. “I don't know what you're trying to do here, but it's not going to work.”
“I'm not trying to
do
anything. You looked like you needed to be kissed, so I kissed you. Let's not make a big deal out of it.”
“We're not going to make
anything
out of it. And in the future, I'll decide when I need to be kissed. And by whom.” Olivia crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at Matt.
From his seat on the opposite couch, he winked and offered her a mock salute. “All right, then. When you're ready to be kissed, you just let me know. I've been waiting for more than twenty years for all the loose ends to get tied up on
General Hospital
. I think I can wait a day or two for you to beg for a kiss.”
Olivia picked up the phone and speed-dialed the station. Though she and Matt were allowed free access to their producers, up until now she'd only called Diane to discuss business. At the moment, however, thoughts of her show were running a distant second to the need for human contact with someone other than Matt Ransom. Someone in the real world. Someone she could trust.
“Hi, Di.”
“Oh. Hi, Olivia. Great show this morning.”
“Thanks.”
There was an expectant pause, during which Olivia wracked her brain for a topic of conversation.
“How's the new diet going?”
Diane sighed. “I've lost roughly one tenth of one pound, and if I eat another piece of raw fish I'm going to have to apply for a job at SeaWorld. In the tank.”
“You know, if you'd just give up on these crazy diets and let me help you explore why you're using food toâ”
“I know, boss, I know. I just keep thinking one of them will actually work.” Her laugh was rueful. “So what can I do for you?”
“A jailbreak would be nice.”
“Hey, I'll be outside at dawn with an extra horse if that's what you want.”
The idea of escaping was all too appealing. She drummed her fingers on the table, not ready to hang up, but unable to come up with a legitimate reason to stay on the line.
“So, um, is there something in particular you wanted to talk to me about?” Diane asked.
Olivia felt like a mountain climber dangling off the side of a cliff clutching her lifeline. If she hung up, would she go careening down the side of the mountain?
“You know, if you ever really need out of there, all you have to do isâ”
“No. Don't even go there, Di. Quitting is not an option.”
“Okay, then. What would you like to talk about? The show? The weather? Kissing Matt Ransom?”
Olivia groaned. “I was hoping no one had noticed.”
“I can think of a whole lot of adjectives that could be applied to that kiss, but unnoticeable isn't one of them.”
Diane's curiosity hummed across the phone line, and suddenly a free fall down the mountainside seemed safer than pursuing this particular line of conversation.
“Yes, well. I think I'm going to have to go now, Di.”
“You're going to hang up without telling me how it felt?”
“Afraid so.” She lifted a hand and waggled it toward the Webcam.
“Not even a few descriptive words for those of us who've always wondered?”
“Sorry.”
“I don't suppose you'd consider describing his veal marsala?”
Matt drizzled lemon butter over the pompano fillets and wrapped them in parchment. Yellow rice simmered on the stove, and a bottle of chardonnay sat open on the counter. An Anita Baker CD infused the room with an intimate warmth.
It was 7:00 P.M., three hours after the conclusion of
General Hospital
, which Olivia had watched, spellbound, and pretended not to enjoy. He'd prepped for his show, worked out on the bag a bit, and taken a cold showerâa blessed relief after spending most of the afternoon in an unexpected and unwelcome state of arousal.
As soon as his lips had touched Olivia's, he'd realized his mistake. Within minutes, what had begun as a calculated maneuver to unnerve Olivia and keep the audience tuned in had turned into a humbling struggle for self-control. She should be sued for hiding all that heat and turbulence under that cool, touch-me-not exterior. It would take real agility for him to keep fanning the flames without getting burned.
Backing away from the refrigerator, Matt turned to find Olivia studying him from the other side of the counter. Her smile was wary, but she sniffed appreciatively.
“It's pompano
en papillote
. There's enough for two if you're hungry.”
Her smile warmed. “Gee, I don't know. I was really looking forward to my usual peanut butter and jelly.”
“I'm not going to tie you to the chair and force-feed you, but if you want to set the table, you're welcome to join me.”
“Okay.” Maintaining the maximum possible distance, Olivia set the table and took a seat on the opposite side of the counter.
Matt slid a glass of wine toward her, and they drank for a moment in silence. Olivia sat on the very edge of her barstool, as if she expected him to lunge across the counter and drag her into his arms at any moment. Whether the idea intrigued or appalled her he couldn't tell, but it sent his thoughts scurrying back to the kiss he'd stolen earlier.
He stirred the rice, and put a salad together, while his brain replayed the feel of her lips against his. It took a considerable effort to keep his responses to Olivia's questions even.
“How long did you stay at WZNA after I left?”
Matt pulled the fish out of the oven. “I did afternoons there for another two years, and then I took over morning drive.”
“The King of Darkness made chitchat and played music at 6 A.M.?”
“It wasn't pretty. I only made it a year and a half before my body clock shorted out.”
“Then what?”
He stood and shrugged. “Then I stopped fighting Mother Nature and moved to late night talk.”
“Not a blatantly upward move.”
“No.” He forced his thoughts back to the choices he'd made in Chicago. “When I approached the Program Director about doing a guys-only talk show, he couldn't believe I wanted to give up morning drive for what he assumed would be perpetual obscurity.”
Olivia carried their wineglasses to the table, and they started on their salads. “
Guy Talk
was obscure for about five minutes, as I recall.” She took a bite of salad and chewed appreciatively. “Weren't you pulling a fifty share within the first six months?”
“Yeah.” Matt speared a piece of romaine. “As it turned out, I really liked the talk thing.”
He removed her empty salad plate and replaced it with a serving of pompano and rice, slicing open the parchment as she watched.
Olivia closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. “Oh, God, Matt. This smells heavenly.”
Her first mouthful of fish and rice produced a sigh of ecstasy. She took a second bite and a third, and he suspected she'd never again see peanut butter and jelly in the same light.
He let her wash it all down with a long sip of wine before picking up the conversation. “You've made some history yourself.”
Her laugh was rueful. “Yeah, most of it because I married a guy who couldn't keep his pants zipped. Therapists are supposed to know better.” She speared him with her gaze, and her tone turned dry. “I seem to have a weakness for men just like my father.”