Simply Irresistible: A Totally Sweet Love Story

by Jennifer L. Allen

  “That’s understandable, but I hate seeing you so upset. I know Roger’s probably giving you hell since he got reamed out.”

  “You know about that?”

  “The entire building is talking about that.”

  Tyler grinned. “It was epic. Roger was acting so blasé, like he had a handle on everything, and Preston flipped. He called him out on acting smug and started asking Roger questions he didn’t know the answers to. Things he should have known, like circulation numbers. It was fantastic. Almost worth the extra bullshit he’s been giving me.”

  We paused in front of our building, as we always did. Despite working for different magazines on different floors, we kept our personal relationship outside of the building. He gave me a soft, lingering kiss, before pulling me into his chest and wrapping his arms around me.

  “I love you, my Spicy girl.”

  I grinned; my face still pressed against his chest. “I love you, too.”

  “I know you only want me to be happy. I’ve got this, okay? I’m not letting it consume me. I promise.”

  “Just your lunch…” I said, pulling away and looking up at him. The guy liked to eat, and the fact that he didn’t finish his plate said something about his mood.

  “I had a big breakfast,” he lied, and I let him. He wanted me to let it go, so I let it go.

  “Okay. How about dinner at my place tonight? I’ve got a project I’m almost done with, so I want to camp out with my sewing machine for a bit.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, and then my lips.

  “I’ll see you later,” I told him and winked. He returned the wink, which told me we were going to have some frisky time later. At least, I hoped we would.

  Sigh.

  I couldn’t get enough of Tyler Winston Scott.

  26

  Tyler

  “Here you go,” I said, as I set Melanie’s plate in front of her on the bed. The lights were dimmed and there were candles lit on the windowsill. It wasn’t exactly fine dining, but it was still a candlelit dinner...right?

  Melanie grumbled a thanks, focused solely on the embellishment she was sewing onto a blouse.

  Embellishment and blouse...two terms I never thought I’d be able to define.

  I went over to the small counter where I’d plugged in the electric grill and plated my food, then returned to the bed and sat next to Mel, careful not to shake the bed where she was seated with her legs crossed, carefully sewing by hand.

  Melanie sniffed. Then she sniffed some more, eyes still glued to the delicate stitches.

  I don’t know what people think designers do, but she truly was an artist. I haven’t seen her work much, but what I’ve seen her do since I arrived an hour ago is mesmerizing. The intricate beadwork she had sewn into the fabric...she’d even shown me some lace she’d made by hand. She was amazing.

  “What’s that smell?”

  “Dinner.”

  She lifted her eyes to my plate. Then her eyes darted to the plate I’d set before her. “You made that?”

  “Yes.”

  “In my apartment?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  I would have been concerned by her statement if it wasn’t for the fact that she gently set her work down beside her, picked up the plate, and dug into the grilled shrimp kabob with gusto. I was speechless. Melanie didn’t pull the food off the skewer; she ate off the stick like it was corn on the cob.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Eating,” she said, looking at me like I was the crazy one.

  “That’s not how you eat a kabob.”

  “Actually, this is how I eat a kabob.”

  “Well, it’s the wrong way.”

  She sighed. “It all goes in the same place; what difference does it make how I eat it?”

  “You’re supposed to take the food off the skewer.”

  “Says who?”

  “Everyone in America.”

  “Doubtful.” She rolled her eyes. “Does it really matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course, it does,” she muttered under her breath. Aloud she said, “I do it this way because I can have a little bite of all the flavors.”

  “You can do that when they’re off the skewer, too.” Duh. “You know, like when you eat foods that weren’t cooked on a skewer. You cut them up and have little bites of all the flavors.”

  “Ha-ha. My name is Tyler, and I’m a grilling genius, and I know how to eat, and no one else does.” She said in a ridiculous mockery of my voice.

  “Oh yeah?” I said, chuckling at her silliness.

  “Yup,” she smirked.

  “God, you’re cute when you think you’re right.”

  “Thanks, but my name’s not God.”

  “You’re quite full of yourself this evening, aren’t you?”

  “I’m just happy I’m nearly done with this design.” She flexed her fingers. “I feel like I’ve been working on it forever. It has more detail than other pieces and I didn’t think about how much more work it was going to be.”

  “I have absolute faith in you,” I told her as I carefully slid the shrimp, onion slices, and pineapple off the skewer and onto my plate. I picked up my fork and stabbed a piece of shrimp; ate it. Then I repeated the procedure with the onion and the pineapple, looking pointedly at Melanie.

  “How can you be so sweet and so obnoxious in the same moment?”

  “Years of practice being a little brother.” I smiled a toothy grin.

  “You’re adorable. I bet that face got you out of a ton of trouble when you were little.”

  “It’s been getting me in and out of trouble for years.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me one bit,” she said, chewing on her kabob in her weird way. “Want to watch a movie?”

  “Yeah. How about Jurassic Park?”

  “I was thinking Ghostbusters.” Her and her damn eighties movies.

  “The Matrix.”

  “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.”

  “Forrest Gump.”

  “The Breakfast Club.”

  “Scream.”

  “The Goonies.” I actually liked The Goonies. But I couldn’t let her win.

  “Empire Records. I cooked.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “I always let you win.” Not true. We usually went back and forth until one of us either fell asleep or distracted the other with sex.

  In fact…I moved our plates off the bed.

  “You don’t always let me win,” she argued. “Ferris Bueller. And I wasn’t finished with that.”

  “Edward Scissorhands,” I whispered into her ear before I nipped at her earlobe.

  “Back to the Future,” she responded, her voice breathy.

  “Braveheart,” I said, rolling over top of her.

  “E.T.” Her eyes locked onto mine. They were filled with heat.

  “American Pie.” I slipped my t-shirt off, then hers.

  “I’m having a difficult time concentrating,” she said, her eyes fluttering shut as I sucked on her nipple through her black lace bra.

  “I win,” I said as I moved to her other breast.

  She moaned. “I don’t even remember what we were talking about.”

  “A movie,” I reminded her.

  “Right...Top Gun.”

  If my girl was still spouting off movie titles, I wasn’t doing my job properly. I increased the intensity of my suckling, while also adding a little bit of hand action on the other side. Her mewls told me she was enjoying herself. And when she was enjoying herself, I enjoyed myself.

  “Tyler,” she moaned.

  “Yeah baby?”

  “Quit teasing me.”

  I smiled against her breast and took a playful nip.

  Melanie growled and pushed up, rolling us so that she was on top of me.

  “Oh, how the tables have turned…” she said, looking into my eyes. She ground against me
once, twice.

  It was my turn to groan.

  “Sixteen Candles,” she offered, grinding against me again.

  “The Sandlot.” Could. Not. Let. Her. Win.

  “Terminator,” she said, licking and nipping at my nipple. My goddamned weakness.

  “Deal,” I said, flipping her back over and peeling her shorts off. I barely had my own off before I was driving deep into her.

  27

  Melanie

  Coffee.

  Need all the coffee.

  Oh, the sweet deliciousness.

  I sipped the hot brew—thick and black, just how I liked it—and looked out my small apartment window at the brick and glass of the building across the street. Thank goodness for my hearty little Keurig. When you lived in a tiny apartment, you made do with tiny appliances, and windows, for that matter. I glanced over at the little electric grill Tyler had brought over to cook our dinner. He was so creative. How many people in New York City, and other cities, didn’t bother with grilling because they didn’t have an outdoor space for an outdoor grill? I really believed there was a niche there he could—and should—tap into.

  I heard a rustle from behind me and turned around to check out the culprit. And check him out I did. Tyler was a picture of sexiness in the morning. His slightly messy hair was a little extra messy, and he always had the cutest pout on his face when he was starting to rouse. The sheet was down around his waist, the hint of that sexy V peeking out from underneath.

  How did I get so lucky?

  I would never suggest I wasn’t good enough for Tyler, because girl power and all that, but guys that look like him with those lean, cut muscles just weren’t supposed to exist in the wild. Or if they did, they were supposed to be so rare you didn’t just stumble upon them in real life…or elevators. Sort of like those little white baby deer. You just didn’t see them grazing on the side of the road.

  Tyler’s leg suddenly shot across the bed, and I laughed, glad I wasn’t lying beside him because I would have been on the floor. He’d told me the first time I slept over his place that he occasionally suffered from leg cramps in his sleep, horrified that he might kick me in the night. I wasn’t worried about it, and he never got me.

  Maybe I calmed him…he certainly calmed me. Being with him made me stop and appreciate life. When my mind was racing with all the things I wanted to do, restricted by what I actually could do, he somehow managed to calm me. I’d had a few boyfriends over the years, but nothing as serious as what I had with Tyler. It was new and fresh, but it was all-encompassing. In a short period of time, we threaded our lives together so intricately that I wasn’t quite sure how I would function without him.

  “You should take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

  My gaze shot from his abs to his eyes as a shy smile spread across my face. Why I was shy with his man, I’d never know. We’d seen and touched nearly every part of each other’s bodies, there was absolutely nothing left to be shy about.

  “You look so damn hot standing there in only my t-shirt.” I felt my entire body heat up. “How long have you been awake?” he asked, lifting his cell from the small bedside table and tapping the screen.

  Did I tell him I never really slept? I was so close to finishing the piece I was working on last night—an embellished shift dress—I could hardly fall asleep. It was the most stylish thing I’d made to date, while still sticking to my boho roots. I was in love.

  “Earth to Melanie. Everything okay?”

  “Sorry,” I grimaced, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. “I worked most of the night.”

  He nodded his understanding. “Finish it?” he asked, sitting up and scooting to the end of the bed where I was.

  “Yup,” I said.

  He smiled up at me and said “I’m proud of you.” Then he wrapped his hands around my bare legs and rested his head against my belly.

  “Thank you,” I said, leaning forward to kiss the top of his head. I took one hand off my warm mug and ran my fingers through his hair, attempting to straighten the disarray. It was no use. He’d either need a shower, a hat, or a lot of product to tame the jungle on his head. I kind of liked it as it was evidence of our fun night. “What are you up to?” I asked as he began lifting the shirt I was wearing and kissing the skin underneath.

  “It’s Saturday…I think it’s a stay in bed all day kind of day.”

  I glanced at my finished dress and decided he was right. There was no other place I wanted to be today than in his arms in my bed.

  ***

  Later that evening, after watching three eighties movies—I did win our last word contest last night—and one nineties movie—I do know how to compromise—I modeled my new dress.

  Tyler fingered the lace overlay along the hemline. “This is really cool. I can’t believe you stitched it by hand.”

  “Me either,” I admitted through a laugh. Lacing was something I was always practicing and trying to hone, but I’d never taken on an entire lower hemline before.

  “It makes the whole dress fancy.”

  He wasn’t wrong. The dress was dark blue, almost black, and the thick lace was dark cream. Along the neckline I’d sewn in some wooden beads that matched the lace. I wasn’t sure how it would turn out, but I loved it. I was thinking about wearing it to work on Monday. Brianna sometimes commented on my outfits, particularly the dresses…maybe this would be an opening for that.

  “You should wear it to work. Let your boss see it.”

  “I was just thinking that.”

  He smiled. “Then do it. Brianna likes you. I’m sure she would be happy to help you get your foot in the door. Does she know you have a background in fashion?”

  I shrugged, checking myself out again in the floor-length mirror that hung on the back of my bathroom door. “I had it in my resume that I was taking classes.” My job with the magazine paid for my fashion degree. “I never updated it to include my degree. Wouldn’t have made any difference for an executive assistant.”

  “Well, this will make a difference,” he said, tapping the shoulder of the dress.

  “You really think so?” I asked, wringing my hands together. I felt like I was ready to tell Brianna that it was me who made the outfits I wore all the time, but it was still a terrifying thing to admit out loud. What if she had only been saying she liked them because she was being kind?

  “I know so. Hannah said so, too, remember?”

  I nodded. His sister really liked my stuff. Last time we had dinner with her, she told me she would be my first customer. She wanted to commission some stuff, but I wasn’t quite ready for that. I told her as much, and I also promised to let her know the moment I was open for business.

  Looking at myself in the mirror, I thought, maybe it would be sooner than I knew.

  28

  Melanie

  I sat nervously in my seat waiting for Brianna to arrive. Of course, I finally garnered the courage to broach the topic of my designs with her, and she was late. Brianna was never late. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe today wasn’t the day to do this.

  After a few more minutes of nervously typing on my keyboard, the door to our suite opened, and Brianna walked in. She was smiling as she greeted me, the grin a great contrast to the typical firm expression on her face. Maybe today was the day to say something to her about my designs. If only she left me an opening…

  “Good morning, Brianna,” I said.

  “Gorgeous dress, is it one of ours?” she asked, eyeing me as she passed. She was referring to the samples sent to the magazine by designers to get Brianna’s attention or to be used for photo shoots. Whatever wasn’t used or kept by models was sent to storage in the basement.

  “It’s one of mine, actually.”

  Cue the record scratch as Brianna stopped dead in her tracks. I sat in my seat, clenching every single muscle in my body as I waited for her reaction.

  Her head turned towards me slowly, and she eyed my dress through the clear plate glass of my desk. “Stand
up,” she said. The quiet calm of her voice sort of freaked me out. Had she thought I’d stolen an idea or something?

  I did as she said and stood from my chair, then walked around the desk to stand before her. If I was doing this, I might as well be doing it.

  “That lace work is beautiful…and so unique.”

  I squealed on the inside. “I stitched it myself.”

  Her eyes shot to mine and her stony expression faltered a moment, but only for a moment. “You stitched the lace?”

  I nodded like a damned bobblehead, both excited over her attention to the detail and nervous over her attention to me.

  “This is amazing. You do really great work. You made the entire piece?” She asked, touching one of the beads along the neck.

  “I did.”

  “You do this a lot?”

  I nodded, then found my voice. “I make most of what I wear.”

  Her eyes met mine again. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?” If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought I had hurt her feelings. It wasn’t that Brianna didn’t have feelings--she was human after all--it was just that she wanted to know why I didn’t tell her. I knew better than anyone that people in the industry were always throwing their products and samples at Brianna, so why wouldn’t I have done the same since I had the most access to her? Well, for one thing I respected her too much. Also, I was terrified of being rejected.

  “We need to talk about this,” she said, giving me a small smile now. “Lunch, today.”

  “You have lunch with the representative from Bloomingdale’s about the advertising campaign.”

  “Reschedule it,” she said before she disappeared behind her office door.

  Reschedule it. It might not seem like that big a deal, but that advertising campaign is worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, if not more.

  Holy shit.

  ***

  “Ty!” I said, bursting into his apartment after work that day. Brianna and I had taken an extended lunch, so I ended up staying late to finish up the work I missed while we were out. I’d sent Tyler a quick text earlier letting him know I would meet him at his place when I got done.