7 Days and 7 Nights

by Wendy Wax

  “Look, I’m sorry about the pie thing yesterday. I didn’t care for the way Emmylou was behaving, and I took it out on you. You have every right to rub up against anyone you want to.”

  Dawg grunted and shook his head, but he didn’t tell her he didn’t want Emmylou, or that he was ready to settle down and get married.

  “I’m too old to play games, Dawg. I love you, but I expect I’ll get over it.” She felt a tear slide down the side of her cheek to mingle with the apple green paint, and before she could stop it, another one slid through the mess.

  “Aw, hell, JoBeth.” Dawg drew her into his arms and cradled her against the soft cotton T-shirt that stretched across his rock-hard chest.

  For all his great strength, his touch was remarkably gentle. As unwilling as he was to make a commitment, he’d never been shy about showing his affection. She closed her eyes to hold back the longing when he placed a kiss on the top of her baseball cap and used his big fingers to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

  “Lord, but you are one hardheaded woman. I cannot for the life of me figure out why you are so hell-bent on getting married. It’s just words and a piece of paper, JoBeth. And you are tossing everything away to get them.”

  He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face up to his. She knew she must look ridiculous with the paint running down her face and the ugly tears welling out of her eyes, but she saw only tenderness reflected in his. When he joined his lips to hers, it was with a sweetness that made her heart ache inside her chest.

  To JoBeth’s way of thinking, you signed the piece of paper and spoke the words because the other person brought out the best in you; because you were more with them than you could ever be on your own. It proved you meant to stick when it would be easier to give up.

  But she didn’t know how to explain that to Dawg, any more than she could explain how important it was to make the commitment out of love and not the stifling sense of duty that had held her parents’ marriage together.

  She wanted to lift her arms up around Dawg’s neck and whisper her love for him, but she couldn’t give in now. Nor could she follow him back home with her tail between her legs, grateful for whatever scraps of commitment he was willing to toss her way.

  He released her lips but held her gaze with his. “You know where to find me when you come to your senses, JoBeth.”

  “And you know where to find me,” she countered. “But I really can’t say for how long.”

  Olivia prowled the apartment like a caged animal. From his seat at the kitchen table, Matt watched her pace off the confines of their prison, past the couch to peer out the French doors of the balcony, back to the tiny kitchen to stare out the postage-stamp window at the brick wall beyond.

  For a while he just enjoyed the long-legged grace of her, the swirl of blonde hair teasing against slim shoulders, and the way the occasional ray of sunlight caught her hair and separated it into a hundred different shades of gold.

  She ignored him as she paced, her gaze skimming over him, then moving away.

  “It is a bit tight in here, isn’t it?”

  She continued to pace. “A bit tight? I have clothes bigger than this apartment.”

  She turned her back on him and strode over to the television armoire, not even sparing a glance for the camera perched on top. “I’d give anything to head out for a run right now. Just a little one. I’d come back.”

  “Yeah, I’ll mention your idea to T.J. and Charles. Maybe they’ll let me out after my show for a couple of drinks. I’d come back, too.”

  Her snort of laughter was not at all flattering, but she did stop pacing. “Do you think it’s possible to accrue time out for good behavior?”

  Her desperation added a sparkle to her green eyes that Matt found oddly endearing.

  “Or maybe we’re just going to be stuck in here until we’re so old it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” He wagged his finger at her. “I believe you’re allowing your glass to become half empty rather than half full. It’s just a week out of your life, Olivia.”

  “At the end of which, one of us, preferably you, will be out of a show.”

  Matt shrugged and stood. “You have to admit it does add a certain . . . piquancy to the whole situation.”

  He walked around the table to stand beside her. He moved a little closer, intentionally invading her space, and watched her eyes glaze over. It was obvious Olivia wanted to step back and put more space between them, but she held her ground. “You’ll forgive me for saying so, but you seem a little tense.”

  She averted her gaze. “Tense? Me?” She shook her head and offered what he supposed was meant to be a smile.

  “Turn around.” He took hold of her shoulders and spun her around. Without asking permission, he began to massage her neck. When she tried to pull away, he pulled out his trump card. “You don’t want our viewers to think you’re afraid of me, do you, Liv?”

  Olivia stopped struggling, but she didn’t relax.

  He worked his way down the graceful column of her neck. “Jesus, Olivia, you feel stiff enough to break in half.” Who said they had nothing in common? “This much physical tension is not good for a person.”

  A quick glance up at the monitor told him that, once again, he and Olivia looked decidedly cozy. But then the viewing audience couldn’t feel what he felt beneath his constantly moving hands. Olivia was as tightly strung as a bow, and he knew it was only pride that kept her from jerking away. Working his way down her throat one last time, Matt brought his hands to rest on the nape of her neck and thought about making her quiver.

  With strong fingers, he kneaded her warm, taut flesh. And suddenly he was remembering details he’d put out of his mind long ago: the feel of her supple body shifting under his, the delicious length of her thighs wrapping around him, her hands on his buttocks urging him inside.

  Olivia didn’t relax under his ministrations, but she did respond.

  And, damn it, so did he. He willed himself into submission, offered himself some very direct words of discouragement, but crucial body parts didn’t seem to be listening. In fact, he seemed to have gone completely deaf below the waist.

  If there was one thing he’d always been able to count on, it was his self-control. Not that he’d needed to call on it all that often, of course, but it had always been there at the ready. He was fairly certain of this.

  Now he was the one taking a step back, carefully separating his front from Olivia’s behind before she encountered the evidence of what touching her did to him. It would never do to let her hold it against him the way he’d been planning to hold it against her.

  He turned Olivia around to face him and saw her eyes narrow with suspicion. “What are you doing?”

  “Just trying to help you relax.”

  “You want to help me relax?”

  “Um-hmm.” Relaxed and sloppy and no longer in control would be just about perfect. As long as he didn’t find himself in the same condition. He nodded toward the couch. “Of course, it’s easier to do that horizontally than vertically.”

  “Gee, how tempting. I’ve always dreamed of performing nude before a national audience.”

  “I’m here, Livvy. Willing and able to make that dream come true.”

  “An incredibly generous offer, Matt. But I don’t think I need to be quite that relaxed. Any other ideas?”

  “Feel like hitting something?”

  She tilted her head at him and cocked an eyebrow. “Absolutely. Are you volunteering?”

  “In a way.” He pulled the punching bag away from the wall and dragged it to the patch of space between the dining and living areas. “It’s not quite as effective as sex, but it will release some of the same, er, energy.”

  The caricature of his face stared out at them from the side of the bag. Beneath it were the words PLACE FIST HERE.

  Olivia smiled. “Great target. Very motivating.”

  Matt worked the gloves onto her hands, careful t
o keep his distance as he laced them up.

  “Right.” He aimed her at the bag and pulled the gloves up in front of her face, the right slightly above the left, in the classic fighter’s stance. “I hope this won’t be too complicated for you.”

  “Why don’t you use real small words like you do on your show while I listen real carefully? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “Touché.” He moved beside her and raised her gloves. “Okay. First you’re going to jab with your right hand, but you want to keep your left up where it is in a defensive position.”

  Olivia put her right arm out and connected with the bag.

  “Not bad. But you need to do it like you mean it. A real quick extension and a hard jab before you pull back.”

  She jabbed harder, making solid contact with the picture of his face.

  “Ouch. Very impressive.”

  She smiled and took a bow.

  “Okay, champ. Why don’t you try that with your left, now? Take it across your body at an angle, like this,” he pulled her glove forward, “and jab hard.”

  Olivia followed his instructions and clipped the side of his caricature’s face.

  He knew he should move around behind her to better help guide her punches, but was reluctant to get too close to the delicious backside. It would be a hell of a lot easier to use his body to unsettle her if his own weren’t so eager to take the bit in its teeth.

  Matt stayed where he was as she began to dance around on the balls of her feet. Something about the way she held her body gave him the sense that she’d done this before.

  “How’s this?” She jabbed harder, pummeling the bag with both gloves, working into a barrage of blows. Right after left, then two quick lefts and another right.

  “I feel like the crotchety old trainer in Rocky.” He hummed the movie’s theme music as he directed her attack on the bag and earned an unguarded flash of white teeth.

  Her arms were tanned and gently muscled, and her full breasts bobbled beneath the sleeveless T-shirt that had come untucked at the waist. He liked watching her body move. Whether pacing or punching, she had a natural grace that drew his eye and definitely held his attention.

  Matt stepped in closer and crouched over a bit, intrigued by the rotation of her hips as she moved from foot to foot. Her belly was flat, and there was an occasional flash of smooth skin as her T-shirt rose with her movements. The way she bobbed and weaved struck a chord in the back of his mind.

  “That’s it. Now you’re cooking.”

  He forgot both his plans and her flying fists as her hair came loose from its clip and swirled seductively around her shoulders. In fact, he was at exactly breast height and getting quite a jiggly eyeful when he saw her body start to whip around and heard the beginning of her breathless warning.

  “Matt, watch out for—”

  And then he heard nothing but the resounding thud of her foot connecting with the side of his jaw, followed by the slap of his body hitting the floor.

  And then there was silence, followed by a merciful layer of dark.

  10

  None of your publicity mentions a former career as an assassin.” Matt lay flat on the floor where Olivia’s kick had sent him.

  “Are you all right?”

  He turned his head toward her and slowly opened his eyes. “What in the hell did you hit me with?”

  “Try not to talk.” Olivia squatted down next to him and pressed a dishtowel stuffed with ice against his jaw.

  Pushing her hand away, Matt pulled himself into a sitting position and ran a hand tentatively along the side of his jaw. When it reached the big tender spot, he winced.

  “Jesus, Olivia. What happened?”

  “Here. Hold this on it.” She placed the makeshift ice pack in his hand and directed it toward his face, noting the grimace when cold met throbbing skin. “It was a spinning hook kick. I didn’t see you bend over.”

  “You’re a kickboxer?”

  “Well, I’m not a professional or anything.” She put a hand out to stop him when he started to remove the ice. “Keep the cold pack on it, Matt. You’re going to have a big-time bruise as it is.”

  She stood and took a step away.

  “How long have you been kickboxing?”

  “I was only on the amateur circuit for a couple of years.”

  “Oh. Well. That must be why I’m still alive.” He leaned back so that his shoulders rested against the back of the sofa and drew his knees up in front of him. “How long was I out?”

  It was Olivia’s turn to wince.

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “You don’t need to spare my feelings now, Olivia. The station’s recording the Webcam feed twenty-four hours a day. They’re probably already rerunning the KO in slow motion.”

  “You were only out for about a minute. Not all that long.”

  “Oh, great. I was afraid this was going to be embarrassing or something.”

  “Do you want me to call a doctor?”

  “No, I don’t want you to call a doctor.” He moved as if to stand, but seemed to reconsider. “I thought you were a runner.”

  “I was until it got too hard to go out and sweat in public. You’d be surprised what my listeners have decided I should and shouldn’t do.”

  “Yeah. I bet they feel real good about your ability to tear men apart with your feet. Aren’t people in the helping professions supposed to be nonviolent? I mean, what did you do, get a doctorate in psychology and a master’s in martial arts?”

  The phone rang, eliminating the need for a response, and Olivia left him propped against the couch while she went to answer.

  “Oh, hello, Charles.” She walked the cordless phone back toward Matt. “No, he’s fine. No, you don’t need to call 911.” She covered the mouthpiece with one hand and looked down at Matt. “He wants to send in the paramedics. Someone told him that might warrant a segment on Real Life Rescues.”

  She handed him the phone and then stood beside him to eavesdrop.

  “No, Charles. Don’t call anyone. I’m fine. Olivia just kicked the shit out of my face. It’s no big deal.” He started to grin up at her, but the grin turned into a grimace of pain. He moved the ice to another spot on his jaw. “Yes, if anyone’s going to hurt anyone again, we’ll be sure to call you first.” Matt rolled his eyes, a move that didn’t require the use of his jaw. “Yes, I promise. Yes, I’ll get up off the floor now. Goodbye, Charles.”

  Matt turned the phone off and rose slowly from the carpet. “He wasn’t happy about not being able to promo our altercation, and he doesn’t want me sitting on the floor. Evidently my pain and suffering aren’t visible enough from down here.”

  He walked around to the front of the couch and plopped himself down on it, offering a jaunty wave to the Webcam as he went. “Charles is becoming quite the tyrant, isn’t he?”

  Olivia sat down on the edge of the couch and pressed the ice back against Matt’s jaw. “And why not? He’s got us performing like a couple of trained apes, while he’s out there poking sticks through the bars of our cage.”

  “Well, this monkey’s thirsty. How about a cold one from the fridge?”

  “I guess I did more damage than I realized. Aren’t your arms and legs working?”

  “My injuries are not all visible. You coldcocked me in front of a live audience. Just think of the dent you put in my masculine pride. We’re talking major emotional pain and suffering.” He kept his expression tragic, but there was an unholy twinkle in his eye. “I’d say you owe me some special treatment.”

  Olivia went to the refrigerator and extracted a Newcastle, which she presented to him with a flourish. “For you, Your Injured Highness.”

  Matt took a long pull on the beer. “Ahh, I think I feel my wounds beginning to mend already.” He took another sip and set the bottle on the table beside him as Olivia turned to go. “But I also hear my stomach rumbling. I was going to make linguini with clam sauce, but I’m not sure I have the strength.”

  Olivia turned back
to face Matt. “You’re asking me to make you dinner?”

  “Well, I do need to rest up for my show, and I’m going to have to eat to produce energy for all those hours of talk.”

  “You don’t seem to be having any trouble running your mouth right now.”

  “I know there must be at least a flicker of guilt buried under your unconcerned facade.” He leaned forward so that she could plump the pillow behind his head and then settled back into the couch with a grateful sigh.

  “Thanks. You don’t mind if I put on the Braves game while you whip up a little something, do you? They’re playing the Cardinals.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Matt pointed the remote at the TV and tuned in the game. Then he reapplied the ice to his jaw and reached for the beer with his free hand. She saw him smile as he crossed his long legs at the ankle and settled in to watch.

  Without a word, Olivia made her way to the kitchen. She did in fact feel guilty about knocking him out, but if he was thinking linguini with anything, he was in for a disappointment.

  While Matt lolled on the couch, Olivia foraged in the kitchen. Ten minutes later she laid his dinner tray on the cocktail table.

  Matt eyed his meal with interest. “Gee, I haven’t had grilled cheese and tomato soup since elementary school. Can we have cookies and milk for dessert?”

  “If you behave yourself, I might part with a few of my Chips Ahoy. But only because you’re injured.”

  “I guess I’ll have to mind my manners, then, won’t I?” He lifted one golden brown triangle to his lips and took a healthy bite. Then he took a long pull on the beer. “Maddux is pitching. The count’s two balls, one strike.”

  Olivia wouldn’t have minded watching the game, but she never actually got the chance to sit down. First she cooked another grilled cheese—this time made with sourdough bread and a fat slice of tomato at Matt’s request. Then she fetched aspirin and water to combat the throbbing he said he felt in his jaw, though it didn’t seem to stop him from voicing an ever-increasing list of demands.