Film at Eleven. Kelsey Roberts
drifted up to him. Something soft and subtle. Roses, he thought. Maybe with a touch of citrus. He stayed where he was, waited to see what Molly would do.
She held her ground. She might not be willing to show that his size and nearness intimidated her, but he sure as hell noticed the sudden increase of her pulse in the creamy hollow of her throat. Points to the lady.
“Maybe,” she said, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. “But he sounded serious to me. I guess that’s the problem with call-in therapy. It’s really hard to diagnose someone as a sociopath over the phone.”
He grinned, nice to meet a shrink with a sense of humor. Normally he found members of her profession way too serious, and frequently screwier than the people they purported to treat. For example their regular guest for the mental health segment Gavin Templesman. Now there was a guy filled with his own self-importance. Knowledgeable but pedantic and superior. Chandler thought the guy was an ass. He figured he should keep that opinion to himself, since he wasn’t clear on the relationship between Templesman and Molly.
The lights in the studio dimmed. A broad hint from the control room.
“Are we going somewhere?” Molly asked pointedly. “Or are we staying here in the dark?”
He wouldn’t mind standing in the dark with Dr. Molly a while longer, but Chandler figured she’d get a little cranky if he didn’t move it.
“My office. He placed his palm against the small of her back to guide her out of the studio and toward his office. The stiffening of her spine was infinitesimal beneath his palm, but she didn’t make a verbal protest. “You must know Dr. Templesman pretty well for him to suggest you fill in for him at the last minute.”
She slanted him a look. “Was that a question?”
Yeah. He wanted to know if the old guy was her lover. Chandler smiled. “Are you partners or something?” Mentally, he added, professional or otherwise?
She blandly replied, “I’ve known him for twelve years,” walking a little bit faster so that his hand fell away from her waist in a silent rebuke. Another point to the lady.
And a nice nonanswer, he thought. Her movement caused some of the silken strands of wheat-blond hair to slip from their neat bundle. His fingers itched to reach out and give a gentle tug, just enough so that her hair spilled over her shoulders. Instead, he shoved one hand into his pocket and dropped the other to his side. Best to keep his hands to himself…at least for now.
He paused at the entrance to his office and ushered her inside with a wave of his hand. “Make yourself comfortable,” he suggested, grabbing two three-quarter-inch tapes off the chair. He put the tapes and his script into the top drawer of his desk. “Seth should be here shortly. Just a formality. While I’m sure the guy wasn’t serious, the station will want to be sure to cover its ass. Just in case.” Everyone was sue happy these days.
The base of his chair squeaked as he dropped into the battered leather cushions that conformed perfectly to his body. His eyes scanned Dr. Molly’s very serious face. She was really pretty—wholesomely pretty, femininely pretty. And pretty much not interested in him, apparently.
This, of course, made Chandler that much more fascinated. Without vanity, he knew he was attractive and attractive to women. It had been a while since his advances, subtle as they were, had been coolly and politely rebuffed.
“You’re staring,” she commented. Her voice was soft, nonthreatening, almost observational. Despite the scrutiny, she neither shifted in her seat nor fidgeted under his perusal. More points to the lady. She was racking them up.
It irritated him a little that he couldn’t get a read on her. Observing people was his forte. He flashed her his best and most effective smile. “You’re a beautiful woman. It’s my job to stare at you. Part of the Man Code.”
No grin, no smile, not even a faint twinkle in her eyes. Flattery didn’t impress her. Okay, he’d try another tack.
“Your book really was quite good.”
Full-on, perfect-teeth smile. Okay, I get it. The way to this woman’s heart was through her intellect.
“Thanks.” A little of the frost left her eyes. “I’m surprised you read it. I’d expect someone like you to glance at the Table of Contents, maybe check out at a few chapter headings.”
Chandler leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs off to the side and crossing them at the ankles. She was really something. What, he wasn’t yet sure. But her quick assessment of him stung. He shot her a cool look. “Someone like me?”
Her cheeks held just a hint of color. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
That wasn’t an apology, he surmised easily. Not a real one. She wasn’t sorry she’d implied that he was too stupid to read, only that telling him as much wasn’t supposed to be offensive.
“I like to read,” he replied easily. “I’m especially fond of books with lots of colorful pictures.”
Her cheekbones flamed. “I…I.” She snapped her mouth shut as her brain scrambled for a way out. But there wasn’t one. Taking a deep breath, she met his dark eyes and admitted, “You’re right. That was an unkind way to put it. But the truth is, you’ve got a reputation as someone who, well, who…who…”
“Isn’t too bright?”
She felt herself cringe. “Well, people don’t usually mention your IQ, Mr. Landry. Any time you make the papers, there’s usually mention of the fact that you’re gorgeous and single. Montana’s Second Most Eligible Bachelor, as I recall?”
“Imagine how pissed off I was at not being named number one,” he countered. “And yes, I’m aware of the focus often placed on my appearance, but then, I work in a visual medium, so I can’t really complain.”
“I suppose not,” Molly agreed. “I shouldn’t have accepted the stereotype so easily. I do apologize.” And boy, did she hate doing it too. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she told herself. Making a thoughtless comment like that to a man like this, was tantamount to poking a sharp stick through the bars of a lion’s cage just to hear him roar. She knew better.
Chandler simply shrugged. Well, it wasn’t all that simple. Not when the fabric of his jacket pulled taut against broad, hard muscle. Molly swallowed and willed her brain not to dwell on his physical attributes.
“Most of the time my, er, celebrity is a bonus. I can get into most of the decent restaurants without a prior reservation and I can usually find a date on short notice.”
Molly mentally rolled her eyes but kept her gaze steady and her hands neatly in her lap. “Two important life skills,” she told him dryly.
“That was pretty snippy,” he said without even a hint of annoyance. “How about I get us some coffee?”
“That would be great,” she agreed readily. Maybe a shot of caffeine would improve her mood.
Chandler rose from behind his desk, a large, powerful, charming male in his prime. Her mouth went dry. She inspected a slight hangnail on her thumb as he walked past her chair and disappeared. Leaving her free to explore his small, tidy office. She took a couple of quick, necessary breaths to control her heart rate. The man was potent.
She glanced around his office. The first thing that struck her was the organization. It wasn’t just orderly; it was Obsessive-Compulsive-Disorder neat. His functional desk was gray laminate and formed an “L” shape out from the wall. He’d divided it into two separate and distinct areas. The portion facing the door was devoid of anything but the telephone. Not a pencil, not a scrap of paper, nothing. Just the telephone. With a perfectly coiled cord. Very precise.
On the short portion of the “L” sat a state-of-the-art laptop. It was one of the sleek, chrome models that supposedly traveled well. Next to the computer was a small tower of disks, color-separated and labeled in bold, block letters that were so perfectly matched in shape and size that she had