Dear Love Doctor (5 page)

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.”

Daffy blinked and dipped her head. “Right.”

That confirmed his hunch. She didn’t remember asking him why Hunter James would need their dating service. She didn’t remember because she wasn’t the same woman.

Interesting. Very interesting. But when would she confess this detail—or would she?

5

T
he last time she and Jonni had swapped identities was during their senior year in high school. Daffy had played the role assigned by their senior drama producer to her more timid sister and bowed to rave applause.

That had been acting class.

This was real life.

She ought to stop the conversation right this moment and tell him it had been her twin who’d said yes to coffee, her twin who had described Hunter as “
Mr. Romantic, looking for one special woman who wants only one special guy
.”

Finally she met his expectant gaze, but rather than pulling out her driver’s license and clarifying her identity, she said, “What kind of an ad would I respond to? I guess that’s the question on the table.”

He nodded.

Daffy surveyed the confident male dominating not just the space between them, but the entire room. She thought of his business prowess, his technical successes. More than that, she felt the heat burning in his gaze.
Just describe yourself
. “Well, I’d skip the generalities, you know—phrases like, ‘SF who must love fine dining and sailing.’”

“What if I do?”

“Is that essential to you?”

He shifted even closer to her. Daffy was having trouble concentrating. She drew a circle on her notepad and added ears and a curlicue of hair to its bald head.

“No.” He drained his coffee. “Are you suggesting I describe me rather than the type of woman I’m seeking?”

“Do you know what you’re looking for?”

“I used to think so.” He moved his hand and it was so close to Daffy’s she wondered what would happen if she reached over with her pinkie and touched him. But of course she couldn’t do that. This man was coming on to her. That was clear. But what was also clear was that she was not going to respond in any way. She’d had it with screwing up relationships. Until she figured out why she always messed things up and ended up hurting the other half, she was playing it safe.

Still, she couldn’t resist giving him a wide-eyed look of innocence, a four on a scale of ten when it came to seduction. “Used to?”

His hand might have made contact with the side of hers. Or she might have imagined the slight brush of a touch. “Before the Orphan’s Club fund-raiser.”

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. James?”

He laughed and sat back. “I never flirt.”

“You do, too! I saw you with a woman old enough to be your grandmother. You had her eating out of your hand. And that’s not to mention Tiffany Phipps.”

“Tiffany!” Hunter checked his watch.

Daffy restrained herself from making a very unladylike face. Here she was, actually having fun with Hunter. She enjoyed the verbal jousting, and what woman could be immune to the way his gaze roamed her body? And no doubt he had a hot date with Tiffany—who would be receiving exactly the same intense, deeply searching looks and the none-too-subtle body language of an extremely virile male pursing his prey.

But instead of making his excuses and dashing off, Hunter reached for Daffy’s empty cup. “May I get you a refill?”

Inexcusably smug that he was staying with her and not rushing off to an appointment with Tiffany, Daffy nodded, and he carried both cups to the counter. Instead of lusting after his body as he crossed the room, this time she put pen to paper. Thinking of what Jonni had told her, she wrote:

For Richer or Poorer, in Sickness and in Health:

Don’t answer this ad unless you know what forever means.

Slightly shaken by how spontaneously the words had flowed, Daffy closed her notebook.

As soon as Hunter settled the coffee cups in front of them and regained his seat, she said, “What would you do if you got a response, and you met and fell in love with her, but she didn’t reciprocate?”

“Oh, that wouldn’t happen.”

“You’re awfully sure of yourself!”

He stirred his coffee and grinned. With that dark, knowing look in his eyes, he said, “My problem is finding the right woman to love. The other way around”—he shrugged “—forgive me, because I do not mean to sound cocky, but it’s too easy. So many women see only the exterior.” After a sip of coffee, he said, rather dryly, “And let’s not discount the money. Add that in and they’re on me like white on rice.”

“Well, well,” Daffy said, studying her coffee. What Hunter James needed was not only a lesson in love, but a lesson in humility. “And why wouldn’t that happen?”

“Give me thirty days and I could make any woman fall in love with me.”

She almost choked on her mouthful of coffee. Once she managed to swallow, she said, “Not me!”

“Want to bet?”

“Oh, sure,” she replied, unable to refrain from a touch of sarcasm. “Like you said, what woman could resist?”

And what man could resist Daffodil Landry? Hunter shifted in his chair and attempted to appear unaffected by the blond dynamo. Did she have any idea just how sensually magnetic she was? Damn Aloysius for cornering him into this evening’s foursome with him, his fiancée, and Tiffany. He’d far rather sit here with Daffy. Still, it was best to cut this meeting short. Already he’d concluded that the way to Daffy’s heart lay through her mind. And paying her too much attention wouldn’t get her attention.

“Meet me again to finish the ad?” He asked the question lazily, ignoring her gibe about the bet.

“You’re really going to run it?”

Had he imagined the wistful touch of disappointment in her voice? “You want me to wait thirty days before I do?”

The notebook flew open. “Forget that silliness. Here’s a draft.” She pushed the notebook across the table.

Hunter read the lines she’d printed. Stunned, he sat back and studied her. She didn’t look like the psychics who peddled their trade in the French Quarter; she looked every adorable inch like the attractive but undoubtedly spoiled Up-town young woman she was. Not a woman for a guy like Hunter James to be fooling around with. Slowly, he said, “You sure know how to get to the heart of the matter.”

She shrugged. “I’m a journalist. I report what I see.” She tore off the sheet of paper and handed it to him.

He took it, folded it, and tucked it into his wallet. He rose and said, “I’m an entrepreneur and I make things happen.”

Leaning slightly forward, he reached out and, with the lightest of touches, smoothed the back of his thumb across the tip of her nose, exactly the spot she’d rubbed while thinking earlier. As quickly as he touched her, he dropped his hand.

She stared, apparently speechless.

Very well satisfied with her reaction, he moved a step or two toward the coffeehouse door, then turned back and called, “Oh, tell your sister hi for me.”

The stunned look on her face was priceless. Hunter pushed open the door and walked out, whistling. Thirty days? No way would it take that long.

Three hours later, the only motivation he had for whistling was to hurry up the waiter so the endless dinner would come to an end.

“The city is so slow in the summer,” Tiffany said. “If only the judges in federal court understood that.” She turned toward Hunter for the hundredth time that evening, her cleavage doing its best to reach out and touch him. “Attorneys who only practice in state court have no idea how hard it is on the rest of us. We have to work twice as hard in the spring just so judges can take a vacation. They’re cruising in the Carribbean and we’re still sweating in federal court.”

“But isn’t the interesting stuff in federal court?” Hunter tried to avoid his firm’s attorneys, but unfortunately, they had a way of tracking him down. Copyrights, patents, and contract issues were constant concerns for his burgeoning company.

Tiffany brightened. “You have such a nice way of saying things.”

Aloysius beamed. “Hunter’s a number one kind of guy.” His fiancée smiled at her intended over her glass of wine. As much as he’d benefited from Aloysius’s partnership, Hunter was damned if he could ever remember his fiancée’s name. Crystal? Krissie? Hell, it might be Crysanthemum for all he knew. Of course, he had flower names on his mind, Daffodil being his favorite at the moment.

“And here are our number one entrées,” Hunter said, faking a joviality he in no way felt. One thing worse than a blind date was a date with someone you already knew you had no interest in. Why Aloysius would push Tiffany on him when a woman like Daffy was available, he couldn’t imagine. He pictured the mutinous glare in Daffy’s eyes when he’d mentioned Tiffany. So live dangerously, he said to himself, and ask about their history.

“I ordered scallops, not mussels,” Tiffany said to the waiter before he’d even settled all the plates on the table.

The waiter did his best imitation of Uriah Heep, apologizing profusely as he served the others. Hunter thought of the endless nights of his childhood during which he’d gone to sleep with nothing in his gut but a peanut butter sandwich.

Tiffany crossed her legs and one calf nudged Hunter’s leg. “Really, it’s so hard to find help who can get things right.”

The waiter whisked away the offending mussels. Hunter considered offering to strangle Tiffany but figured he’d just end up doing life and she’d go free to torture without restraint.

Aloysius’s fiancée said, “Well, training is very important. That’s why I’ve gone into HR.”

Tiffany smiled sweetly. “You mean personnel? I understand that’s what people do when they don’t specialize in anything else.”

“Now, Tiff,” Aloysius said, “HR is its own specialty. Chrissie has a certificate from Tulane.”

Tiffany fluttered her lashes. “How charming. What are the salaries in HR?”

Chrissie glanced up from her amberjack to Aloysius’s face. “Quite competitive.”

“Oh?” Tiffany planted a hand on Hunter’s arm. “Not nearly as exciting as tech companies, though.”

“Or making partner in a law firm,” Chrissie said. “But you haven’t made partner yet, have you?”

Bravo, Hunter wanted to say. Chrissie could hold her own.

“Where is that waiter?” Tiffany added a pout to her question.

Hunter had to restrain himself from throwing down his napkin and striding out of the softly lit restaurant. Instead, he said, “So tell me, Tiff, I understand you and Daffodil Landry are friends from way back.”

She had just taken a sip of wine. As he finished speaking, she choked. Aloysius leapt up, rounded the table, and pounded her on the back. Chrissie said, “My, oh, my,” repeatedly.

The waiter strolled up, new entrée plate in hand, surveyed the scene, and retreated. Hunter thought he detected a satisfied smile on the poor man’s face, which he didn’t begrudge him at all.

When things calmed down, the waiter reappeared, settled the plate of scallops in front of Tiffany, and moved away.

“There are some things, Hunter,” Tiffany said, “that a lady does not speak of.”

“Nor a gentleman,” Aloysius added.

“Meaning neither one of you will tell me why Daffodil Landry is not a person I should get to know?”

Aloysius and Tiffany exchanged looks across the table. In candlelight or fluorescent, it would have been hard to miss.

“Well, I for one would like to know what the big secret is,” Chrissie put in. “And I’m your fiancée, Aloysius, so I think I have a right to know.”

“Now you’ve done it,” Tiffany said. She suddenly seemed more interested in her scallops than in Hunter, for which he uttered a silent prayer of thanks.

“Look, Hunter, I guess you have a right to know,” Aloysius said, leaving his steak untouched. “Daffy’s mother and my father had an affair. It was quite the scandal of the season. And for whatever reason, Daffy and I turned to each other. For comfort, I thought,” he added with more than a touch of bitterness. “We were even engaged—”

Chrissie gasped. “You never told me that.”

“Well, I’m sorry. It’s true, but it’s meaningless. Tiffany’s brother, Eric, was going to be best man in my wedding, and the night before the rehearsal dinner, she and Eric, well, I don’t think I need to say more.”

Chrissie patted her face with her napkin.

Tiffany scarfed down the scallops.

Hunter chewed his own steak, considering how much pain Daffy must have been in to turn around and punish the man’s son. Or had that been her motive?

“So you can see why she’s not exactly our favorite person,” Aloysius said.

Hunter nodded.

Tiffany put down her fork. “Forget about her,” she said. “She’s nothing but trouble. What you need is a woman in your life who understands how to deal with success.”

Chrissie hadn’t touched her dinner. “Aloysius, I need to speak with you. In private.”

Looking like he was about to be led to the tumbril en route to La Guillotine, Aloysius nodded, and followed Chrissie toward the foyer of the restaurant.

“Now, that’s a perfectly matched couple,” Tiffany said.

“Why do you say that?” Hunter sliced a bite of steak.

“She asks, and he responds.”

“Pussy-whipped,” Hunter said around a mouthful of steak.

“What was that?”

“Never mind,” Hunter said.

Daffy nibbled on the end of her Mont Blanc as she stared at her blank computer screen. She composed her column on the computer, but sometimes the old-fashioned comfort of a pen between her lips provided just the inspiration she needed. She reread the letter she was answering and wondered what got into guys’ heads sometimes.

Dear Love Doctor,

I sure am hoping you have the Rx for my relationship. I’ve done everything I can think of to win my lady’s love. I take her to dinner, send her flowers. I wash and wax her car and fill it with gas every week. I’m even nice to her dog and believe me, if you’d ever met that little rat, you’d be impressed by that statement. Yet she still won’t say she’ll marry me. She says she loves me but she’s not sure we’re right for each other. What else can I do?

Signed,
Perplexed in Plaquemines Parish

And I bet you call her every day. No, ten times a day, Daffy amended. And in the two days since she’d agreed—just to please her sister—to have coffee with Hunter James, he hadn’t called her once.