Dear Love Doctor Page 4

  He was glad he hadn’t imagined her interest in him. She’d captured and held his attention from the first moment he’d seen her across the room that night, and if it hadn’t been for Aloysius and his well-intentioned interference, Hunter was positive he and this woman would have already gotten acquainted. Intimately so.

  “M-may I help you?” Her voice was softly melodic, but higher-pitched than he’d expected, not nearly as throaty as he’d heard it in his imagination. And the question, as tame as it seemed, should have carried an undertone, should have delivered a jolt to his system.

  Instead, he found himself responding in an ordinary way to an ordinary question. Maybe he had been the only one affected by the not-quite meeting across the crowded room. Diagnosis Terminal? Yeah, Hunter James, hopeless romantic. Or perhaps she was merely playing it cool.

  “I sure hope so,” he said. “I’m thinking of using your dating site and I was hoping you could give me some advice.” An inbox full of inquiries from women was the last thing he wanted cluttering up his life, but according to the all-knowing Beau, The Crescent’s website ruled the local online dating scene. It was as good a pretext as any for scoping out the headquarters of the Love Doctor.

  The beautiful blonde folded her hands on the desk that separated her from Hunter. Funny, but up close, she just didn’t carry the zing that she had across that crowded room. It was just as well he’d discovered that now, as it would save him the pursuit he’d had in mind. Still, it rankled with him. He’d experienced such a sense of magic possible between the two of them and yet here she sat, shyly assessing him, but not sending any chemical signals at all. Hunter sighed. In the light of the reception area’s fluorescents, Daffodil Landry was just another 36-22-34 babe.

  “Why would Hunter James be interested in a dating service?”

  “So you know who I am.” It wasn’t a question, more a reflection. That knowledge explained her earlier interest. At least she hadn’t flung herself at him the way Tiffany Phipps had—and continued to do. More women than he could count were interested in Hunter James the multimillionaire. But Hunter wanted a woman who’d love him, the bastard from Ponchatoula, for richer or for poorer—and mean it with all her heart.

  “Why, yes.” She smiled and went from merely beautiful to luminous. Still, she didn’t affect him the way she had that night. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  He shrugged, an answer that could have been yes and could have been no and could have been who cares.

  “I assumed”—she blushed just enough to give her pearly skin a pretty glow—“you’d be the last man in the world needing hunt for a date. I mean, don’t you have a string of women in your life?”

  He leaned one arm on the front of her desk and shook his head. “It’s not the string of women I care about.” He fixed her with an intense look, seeking the response he wanted from her, the sensation that had been so vivid across that crowded room. “I’m looking for one special woman.”

  “That’s so romantic.” Her voice rose with enthusiasm, but she kept her hands primly posed, the right over the left.

  Hunter stared at her hands.

  He hadn’t seen her hands the other night; he’d been too far away. With a sick feeling in his gut, he pictured what he’d find if he tugged her left hand out from under her right.

  A wedding ring.

  It was a damn good thing the electricity had vanished. That was a line he never crossed. Still, he was here—on other business—he reminded himself. Forget the extended wining and dining. He could still ask her to have coffee, pump her about the column, and get out. Fast. And he’d be willing to bet that, married or not, she’d agree to meet him for coffee. Women, he’d found, were so predictable. Especially with a guy who’d made a fortune overnight.

  He produced a grin. “Yeah, that’s me, Mr. Romantic, looking for one special woman who wants only one special guy.” He couldn’t help but stress the “only.”

  She nodded. “I understand exactly what you mean.”

  “You do?”

  “Oh, yes. That’s the way love should be.”

  This time he nodded. “So how about slipping off for a romantic cup of coffee with me?”

  “Oh!” She clasped her hands tighter. “Well, I—that would be nice, but I can’t leave work.”

  “What time do you get off?” He glanced at his watch, the old Timex his mom had given him for winning first prize in the junior high science fair. Aloysius kept begging him to upgrade, to treat himself to a Rolex Presidential, but on some points Hunter wouldn’t budge.

  “Fi—uh, four.”

  He had a dinner date at seven with Tiffany. Unlike the watch, dates were negotiable. But truthfully, Aloysius had trapped him into this one. “Pick you up at four.”

  She shook her head and her blond hair glistened as it brushed against her cheeks. “I’ll meet you.”

  God, he hated women who ran around on their men. He almost changed his mind, said forget it, and walked out the door. But it wasn’t Daffodil Landry he was after—not anymore. His only quarry here was the Love Doctor. “PJ’s down the street?”

  “Sure. Yes. Right after four o’clock.”

  “Great.” Hunter stepped back, then paused. “You know my name,” he said, “but we haven’t actually been introduced.”

  She blushed. That would be the third time, he decided. “I’m, um, Daffodil. Daffodil Landry.”

  “Nice,” he said, wishing he still meant it, then turned and pushed his way out of the office and crossed the parking lot to his car. The afternoon sun had given way to a low-hanging mass of dark clouds. A big plop of rain hit his windshield as he climbed into his Blazer.

  “But, Daffy, you’ve got to go.” Jonni stared, a look of dismay on her face. “I made the date for you. Besides, that he came here on a day I was filling in for Yvonne means this was meant to be.”

  “I don’t want anyone—not even you—making dates for me. I know you’re trying to help by playing matchmaker, but being paired off is the last thing I want in my life.”

  Jonni pursed her lips. Daffy could tell her sister refused to accept that last declaration. “He’s too good to pass up.”

  “Too good?” Daffy almost choked on a laugh. Then, as she remembered how attracted she’d been to him across even that crowded room, she quit laughing. Up close, he must be devastating. And a devastating guy was the last thing she needed. She screwed things up with every man she dated, usually on purpose. She was tired of doing that, but just not sure what it would take to change her behavior. “Well, you go have coffee with him.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” Jonni said rather wistfully.

  “But you’d like to.” Daffy pounced on that. “Why?”

  “He’s so romantic and that’s such a lovely attribute in a man.”

  It was Daffy’s turn to purse her lips. Something was going on with her sister. Her reaction went beyond mere matchmaking on her twin’s behalf. Jonni’s husband had to be the most unromantic man Daffy had ever met. And here was her sister sighing over the oh-so-romantic Hunter James. “I thought David didn’t approve of the nouveaux riches.”

  Jonni, rather indignantly, said, “I don’t always think exactly what David thinks.”

  “But you agree with him.”

  She flushed. “That’s different. Sometimes it’s just easier to agree.”

  And keep what you really think to yourself. Daffy finished the sentence for her silently. “Tell me to shut up if you want,” she said, taking a deep breath and letting go with the question that she’d kept bottled up for years, “but just why did you marry David?”

  “I love him and he keeps me balanced.” Jonni said it quietly.

  “Balanced? You mean under lock and key.”

  “If that’s how you want to think of it, then, yes, he does.”

  Suddenly Daffy thought she understood. Reaching out a hand toward her sister, she said, “Oh, Jonni, it’s because of Mother, isn’t it? You’re afraid if you’re given too much freedom
you’ll stray.” Funny how she’d never said those words out loud before, but now that she had, she heard them ring with truth.

  “I don’t think so,” Jonni said slowly, “but it’s not a chance I’d like to take.”

  It had been she who’d stumbled across their mother in bed with Aloysius’s father. A tender eighteen, Jonni had tiptoed out and shared her discovery with Daffy, wanting her to make the truth go away. But Daffy had barged right in and then raced down to their father’s office to blurt out what they’d discovered.

  “It would be awful to hurt a man you love the way Mother did Daddy,” Daffy said.

  “But he forgave her and so should you,” Jonni said.

  Daffy didn’t care for the turn of events of this conversation. “Mother always acts like I’ve done something wrong. Maybe she should forgive me.”

  “I’m sure she has,” Jonni said. “She’s just not a demonstrative person.”

  Jonni always saw the best in everyone. In that, she was exactly like their father, who also played the role of peacemaker. “You’re a much better person than I am,” Daffy said. “Perhaps I don’t get along with our mother because we’re too much alike.”

  “Sometimes it’s just a matter of making a little more effort.” Jonni checked her watch. “Now, what about Hunter? Are you afraid to go out with him?”

  “I’m not afraid of any man,” Daffy said. “I’m afraid of myself.”

  “Ah.” Jonni leaned over and brushed a strand of hair back from her cheek. The simple gesture was full of love and concern and Daffy was shot through with a burst of gratitude for being a twin.

  Jonni held out her beautifully manicured hands. “Remember when I used to chew my nails?”

  Daffy nodded.

  “And when you tried to help me quit, you said nothing felt as good as breaking a bad habit?”

  “I do remember saying that.”

  Jonni regarded her hands and then held out her jacket. “Nice, hmm?”

  Daffy grinned. Her sister never went straight when she could go around, but she always managed to make her point. What harm could she come to in a coffeehouse, anyway? “Okay, okay, I’ll meet the guy. No dessert, just coffee.”

  Four-twenty. No Hunter.

  Four-thirty. Still no Hunter.

  Daffy rolled up the cuff of her sister’s jacket one more turn and eyed her watch. For Jonni’s sake, she’d give the guy five more minutes.

  Right, she was doing this for her sister. Forget that she’d been drawn to Hunter James like a redfish with a hook in its mouth.

  She opened her reporter’s notebook and stared at the writing that covered the left-hand column. She owed Marguerite another Dear Love Doctor piece, but lately she’d been facing writer’s block whenever it came to that deadline—rather like the block of her own love life.

  The minute hand of her watch crept around.

  Crept around.

  The way her mother had, all the while charming her daughters and husband into not suspecting the harm she was inflicting. Both Daffy and her sister feared they were too much like their mother to have healthy, committed relationships. Jonni responded one way, Daffy another.

  Daffy sighed and closed her notebook.

  Four-thirty-five. Prince Charming wasn’t coming and neither was Hunter James.

  She stood up and turned—straight into Hunter James.

  Two strong hands shot out and caught her by the shoulders. “Steady,” he said. “Didn’t mean to knock you over.”

  The pleasant warmth of his touch molded the linen jacket to her shoulders. Dark eyes, with that same all-knowing, inscrutable expression, met hers straight on. His eyelashes, she saw, were thick and almost heavy, adding to the air of distinction that had intrigued Daffy at the Orphan’s Club fund-raiser. Slowly, he released his hold and stepped back, all the while studying her.

  “Had you given up on me?” He smiled when he asked the question, and Daffy noticed his mouth quirked up on the left side. She hadn’t been able to see that the other night.

  Too charming. Best to nip this dangerous attraction in the bud. “Actually, I had.” There, that was just terse enough to turn a guy off.

  Instead, he grinned. “Honesty I appreciate.” He pulled out two chairs. “Join me now?”

  Daffy sat down.

  Hunter glanced toward the coffee counter. “What’s your pleasure?”

  You.

  “Dark roast. Black.”

  He nodded and walked to the counter. As he covered the length of the room with an easy stride, Daffy couldn’t help but admire the picture he made. His casual slacks and polo shirt followed the sinewy lines of a body she’d love to see wearing only—

  Now stop right there.

  Daffy blinked and forced her gaze down to her reporter’s notebook. Hunter James wanted to know how to place a personal ad. That was what he’d told Jonni. Daffy didn’t believe it for a minute, but that was his story, and she would make him stick to it.

  Hunter returned bearing two cups of coffee, one black, one a creamy mocha color. Sitting down, he said, “I use coffee as an excuse to get my daily dose of cream and sugar.”

  Daffy couldn’t help but smile. “I’m afraid that would only set off my sweet tooth.”

  “So you’re not really a coffee purist?”

  “I guess not.”

  He was watching her almost too closely. “But you deny yourself things you like. Is this a form of self-discipline?”

  “I didn’t say that.” She objected too quickly, because that was what she had said. Again he was studying her as if trying to decide some important question. “I like sweets, but I don’t overdo it.”

  “Hmm.” Hunter sipped his coffee. “What’s your favorite thing you deny yourself?”

  You could end up pretty high on that list. Daffy shushed her inner voice and answered, “Anything chocolate and, around Halloween, candy corn.”

  “What about those little pumpkins?”

  She laughed. “You like those, too?”

  He nodded, grinning.

  “I always liked to bite the tips off the candy corn, you know, eat each section—”

  “Hey, me, too,” Hunter said, stirring his coffee and fixing her with a look that would charm a bird right out of a tree.

  Daffy tried to keep her resistance to him on “high.” “But the stuff is deadly, you know. Once you start, it’s almost impossible to stop.”

  His eyes had gotten almost as dark as the black coffee she still hadn’t touched. “You’re different at work,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When we spoke at The Crescent, you were much more reserved.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s to be expected, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not sure.” Now he was gazing down at her hands, which she had cupped around the coffee.

  “That’s an unusual ring,” he said.

  Daffy lifted her left hand. She’d inherited the heavy gold-and-ruby band from her father’s mother. “Thank you. It’s a family heirloom.”

  He sipped his coffee.

  “Well,” she said after he didn’t respond, “let’s get started, shall we?” Daffy flipped the reporter’s notebook open, found an empty page, and pulled out a pen from her purse. “So you want to know how to get the best results out of our online dating site?”

  Hunter gazed at the band of rubies. Heirloom, but from her family? Or was it from a husband’s family? Was she or was she not married? Damned if he’d ask outright. He hated giving away his thoughts and was known in business circles for his poker face. But this changeling woman was driving him nuts. She’d shifted from the proper person behind the desk back to the captivating vision he’d spotted at the fund-raiser.

  Her satiny hair had slipped free from where she’d tucked it behind one ear. With her head bent over her notebook, her hair dipped forward. The strands grazed her cheek.

  The pen tapped against the tabletop and she lifted her head. “Did you change your mind?”

 
He chugged another mouthful of coffee. An image of two women with similar-colored hair and identical body shapes flitted into his mind. At the fund-raiser, Daffodil Landry had stood side by side with a woman who looked a lot like her.

  He almost choked on his coffee.

  She was a twin, or he was a space alien.

  She certainly was not the same woman who’d accepted this coffee date with him. Feeling quite cheerful, he asked the question he’d just told himself he wouldn’t. “Are you married?”

  A gurgle of laughter answered his query. “Why? Married people can’t pen personals?”

  “The question has nothing to do with the ad.”

  “Ah.” She toyed with the pen. “Mr. James, you said you wanted help composing a listing. I said I would assist you in that. Anything more, um, personal than that exchange of skills is not what we are here for.”

  Hunter leaned back in his chair. So Daffy liked to play chess. He grinned. He could find out what he needed to know in other ways. Why she was pretending and why the other woman had set the game in motion, he had no idea. But, aptly named, he relished a good hunt. “Let’s write it.”

  “We still use standard abbreviations for basic information. For example, S for Single, D for Divorced, P for Professional, C for Caucasian, M for Male.” Glancing at him, she said, “So would you be an SCPM?”

  “Accurate,” Hunter said. “How about you?”

  She wagged a finger at him. “This interview is about you, not me.”

  Sitting forward, he said, “Help me out here. What type of description would you respond to?”

  She stroked the tip of her nose with her index finger. Hunter studied the gesture and found himself wanting to mimic it. But it wasn’t just the tip of her nose he wanted to explore. He shifted in his chair and told himself to slow down.

  “Given that I’ve never answered one—”

  He smiled and leaned closer to her. “Somehow I didn’t think you had.”

  “And somehow I don’t think you need to date online to find a woman.”

  “Ah, but we’ve already discussed that.”