Irresistible?

by Stephanie Bond

“That’s a whole different study. Let’s get back to the pheromones. Have you had sex since you started working in his home?”

  “He’s not speaking to me.”

  “Because of the roommate?”

  Ellie nodded. “It’s a long story, but a co-worker of Mark’s saw him in the bathroom naked and holding a bunch of women’s clothes—”

  “Wait, I thought your roommate was the cross-dresser.”

  “He is.”

  Freda looked at her questioningly. “Then why was Mark naked in the bathroom holding women’s clothes?”

  “He had to loan his clothes to my roommate to convince his partner that the woman he thought he was with had a boyfriend.”

  Freda looked totally confused. “And that boyfriend would be…?”

  “My roommate.”

  Pursing her lips, Freda said, “Okay.”

  “Anyway, Mark hasn’t spoken to me since he dropped me and my roommate off Saturday night.”

  “I thought you said you were working in his home.”

  “But I only started yesterday. He worked late, probably on purpose, and I left before he got home.”

  “Why don’t you stick around one night until he comes home and see what happens?” She winked, surprising Ellie. “See how long he can resist you.”

  “The problem is, these pheromones seem to be working both ways.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why else would I be so drawn to a man who is everything I would hate in a partner? It has to be these pills.”

  “Probably,” Freda agreed, nodding. Spreading her hands, she added, “Think of it as one big science project.”

  “Oh, no,” Ellie groaned.

  “What?”

  “I blew up the science lab my junior year in college.”

  9

  WHY, oh, why had he ever thought he’d be able to resist her, and in his own home, no less? Purposely working late each night, Mark half hoped she’d be gone when he arrived, half prayed she wouldn’t be. Tonight was Friday and his prayers had been answered. Classic rock thumped through his centralized stereo system when he stepped into the entryway. He inhaled, filling his lungs with her fresh-air skin scent that had permeated his home.

  “Ellie,” he called, and although he knew she couldn’t hear him above Lynyrd Skynyrd, he added, “I’m home.” For a few foolish seconds, the image of an aproned June Cleaver flashed through his mind, coming to the door to welcome Ward home from a hard day’s work.

  “Mark, is that you?” Ellie bawled, coming to the top of the stairs to peer over the railing.

  Except June had never worn an apron like that, he mused, admiring the way the short work smock emphasized Ellie’s breasts and small waist. And Mrs. Cleaver would have been holding a spatula instead of a paintbrush.

  Mark waved, deciding not to yell over the music. He hated himself for being so glad to see her. She held up a finger to indicate she’d be back, then disappeared. Mark set his briefcase by the bottom step and loosened his tie. Walking toward the kitchen, he bellowed, “How have you been?” His last two words reverberated through the house because the music abruptly ended. Then he heard the sound of Ellie’s feet descending the stairs lightly and rhythmically.

  “Oh, fine,” she said cheerfully.

  When he turned to her, he noticed immediately she’d lost the smock. Black hip-hugger shorts and a ribbed lime green turtleneck would have been unforgivable on most women, but Ellie, as usual, looked delightful. Right down to the smudge of gold paint on her chin. Then he realized her cheer had been forced. Her wide smile could not hide her bright, panicked eyes. He slowly placed the two bottles of beer he’d withdrawn from the refrigerator on the counter. “What?” he asked, alarm setting in.

  “You might want to have something stronger than a beer,” she warned.

  Mark bit his lip and summoned patience. “What?” he repeated quietly.

  Ellie’s face took on a pleading look. “She’s just a sweet little kitty, Mark, please don’t be mad.”

  Mark snorted and twisted off the beer cap. “What did Sheba do today? Pee on another blue cushion?”

  He lifted the bottle to his mouth, but stopped at the look of dread on Ellie’s face. Obviously this was much worse than a couple of throw pillows. “What did she break?”

  “She didn’t break anything, exactly.”

  “What the hell did she do, exactly?” Suddenly Mark realized the buzz from his fish-tank filter was absent. His head jerked around. “Oh, no. Not my fish?”

  Ellie stood wringing her hands. “I guess the fish video got her wound up—”

  Anger bubbled inside his stomach. “Your cat ate my fish?”

  She bit her bottom lip, then said, “Well, she didn’t eat all of them, mostly just batted them around—”

  Mark strode through the kitchen into the den to stare at the fifty-gallon tank of serene, still water. Artificial sea grass drifted up from the bottom. A labyrinth of elaborate ceramic sand castles sat vacant. A single black severed fish tail floated on the surface.

  “I turned off the filter,” she offered. “And sang ‘The Circle of Life’ when I flushed them down the john.”

  “At that point, I’m sure they were glad to be dead,” Mark retorted, remembering her singing voice. “What happened to the lid?”

  “The veterinarian says Esmerelda has an above average IQ—”

  Mark cut her off. “If that were the case, the animal would be smart enough to know not to devour seven hundred dollars’ worth of exotic fish!”

  Ellie blanched. “Seven hundred dollars? Are you crazy? That’s two months’ rent”

  Mark narrowed his eyes.

  Smiling nervously, Ellie quietly stammered, “Well, you certainly can’t f-fault her good taste.”

  Irritation triggered a finger twitch. Soon his hands were jumping at his sides. “I’m filling it up with piranhas tomorrow.” He strode back to the kitchen, gulped half the beer, then added, “Big, smart piranhas that say, ‘Here, kitty, kitty.’”

  “I’m sorry, Mark, really I am, and I know Esmerelda is sorry, too, if only she could tell you,” she pleaded, hot on his heels.

  “Oh, so that’s what she’s trying to say when she bares her fangs and runs me out of my own bed.”

  “Please, Mark,” Ellie begged softly. When he turned, she slipped inside the circle of his arms. Desire bolted through him against his will. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she turned huge blue eyes up to him, batting her lashes shamelessly. “She’s going to be a mother in a couple of weeks,” she said earnestly, as if that explained everything.

  “Meow,” Esmerelda announced, walking regally into the room, tail held high. She glanced toward the den and licked her lips, then blinked at Mark.

  “Long live the queen,” Mark grumbled, but set his beer down to draw Ellie closer to him.

  Ellie inhaled sharply when he tightened his hold. Her breasts, without the protection of a bra, responded immediately. Mark’s voice was low as he lowered his mouth to her ear. “If you think kissing up to me is going to make up for that murdering cat of yours, well, then—”

  She moved her lips to his and drew his breath into her mouth with a slow, deep kiss.

  When she withdrew, he simply stared down at her. “Well, then…you’re much smarter than your pussycat.” He shook his head in wonder. “Between last weekend and my empty aquarium, I should be furious with you.”

  “But?” she asked hopefully.

  “But…there’s something about you that makes me forget what I was feeling or saying before you walked into the room,” he said, hearing the wonder in his own voice.

  Ellie’s smile was tremulous. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about Manny. Does his cross-dressing bother you?”

  Mark thought about it for a few seconds. “No. I mean, it takes a little getting used to, but he seems like an okay guy.” He smiled wryly. “I just didn’t want to be the one who paired him up with the man who respected me enough to make me a partn
er.”

  She played with a buttonhole in his jacket. “So did you get in trouble for…you know.”

  “For my stint as a naked clothes rack for your friend?”

  She giggled and nodded.

  He loosened his grip on her waist, took a drink of his beer and leaned against the counter. “Specklemeyer hasn’t come out and said anything, but he’s flirting with disaster.”

  “How so?”

  “We had a meeting this morning with an old client, and Ray told him I was engaged.” He watched her expression, curious for a reaction, perplexed by his own curiosity. Her face remained unreadable, and he continued, “I opened my mouth to set the record straight, but Tony sat gloating across the table. He really thinks I’m covering up some kind of kinky life-style. I figured telling everyone we’re not engaged would only add fuel to his fire. I’m sorry to keep prolonging this.”

  She shrugged, a smile on her lips. “Do you think he’ll say anything?”

  “If I know Specklemeyer, he’ll wait until he needs my support for something big, then he’ll threaten to tell what he thinks he saw.”

  “Is he that vicious?”

  “He’s so blinded by ambition, I wouldn’t put anything past him. The man has a vanity license plate that says 4HUNGRY. ’”

  “Would they really fire you?”

  “Of course not—even if I were a cross-dresser, it would be illegal to fire me. But it’s a label I’d rather not have to defend.” God, she smelled wonderful. He pulled her to him and kissed her neck. She felt dangerously good and his body hardened in need. No, his mind screamed, a thousand times no. “Do you have dinner plans?” he asked, nuzzling her ear.

  She pressed her breasts against him, moaning slightly. “Nothing I can’t get out of,” she whispered. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Getting you out of something,” he murmured, ignoring the warning bells in his head. “Do you think Esmerelda would let us borrow my room for the night? I still haven’t seen that darn tattoo.”

  ELLIE SAT UP GINGERLY so as not to disturb Mark, her heart catching at the sight of him sprawled in the tangled sheets. They’d made love, then ordered Ellie’s favorite ham and pineapple pizza, washed it down with beer and made love again. He’d asked her to accompany him to a regatta today in Savannah, and she was looking forward to spending the day together. It seemed he did have time for rest and relaxation, after all. Maybe he wasn’t the work machine she had imagined.

  At the moment, she sincerely doubted if even Esmerelda could rouse the man. Mark’s soft snores attested to his deep state of sleep, but it was his state of undress that mesmerized Ellie. She studied the proportion of his torso, the hard planes of his stomach and the length of his semihard sex with an artist’s trained eye. On impulse, she began to frame a composition with her joined thumbs and extended index fingers. Some scenes were meant to be captured on paper. Mark Blackwell in the buff was an artist’s dream.

  Silently, Ellie rose and lifted his blue-and-white-striped pajama top from the bedpost, then pulled it over her head. She rolled up the sleeves and padded to Esmerelda’s room where she had set up an easel and paints.

  The corporate portrait was progressing nicely. Mark was coming alive on the canvas surface, devastatingly masculine and authoritative in his olive suit. She’d coaxed him into sitting for her last night in the few minutes between their lovemaking sessions, and had taken advantage of the time to render his eyes. This most important feature was most accurately portrayed if painted directly from the model in order to capture light and expression. They glistened back at her, serious, but with a teasing twinkle at the edges. Volumes of dark leather-bound reference books made up the background, the books’ gilded accents a perfect foil for the green in his suit and eyes.

  Ellie snatched her large sketch pad and flipped past the quick sketches of Esmerelda until she found a clean sheet. Then she reentered Mark’s bedroom, sighing when Esmerelda dashed through the door before she could close it. Mark remained deep in slumber. She’d bet he hadn’t so much as twitched since she’d left.

  Sinking into an overstuffed chair in front of the bay window, Ellie propped her feet on an ottoman and spent a few seconds drinking in the sight of Mark’s glorious body. The thick charcoal pencil in her hand began to move almost involuntarily. Within minutes she’d scrawled a rough sketch of him across the page. On the second pass, she worked more slowly, blocking in shadows to delineate limbs and muscles. Finally, she added more detail, like body hair and facial features. Taking particular care, she rendered his privates in precise proportion on the paper. Not hard, yet not soft, his current state of semiarousal would aptly reflect his size, yet not come across as vulgar.

  The sketch turned out so well, Ellie decided a painting must be done. She grinned. It would be her unique thank-you to Mark for taking care of Esmerelda. He’d probably get a big kick out of it. What man hadn’t fantasized about being immortalized in the nude at the peak of health? She’d work on the new painting at her apartment to keep it a secret.

  She closed the sketchbook and put it aside to crawl back into bed. Mark grunted contentedly when she spooned up next to him. I can’t believe I’m so stupid. I fell in love with him knowing full well he’s devoted to his job. I promised myself I’d never get tied to a man who thought being with his family was an option. Besides, the study ends in two weeks, along with my sex appeal.

  The phone rang, jarring Mark awake. Ellie reached for the handset on the nightstand and gave it to him. He pulled himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and spoke into the phone. “Hello? Yeah, Patrick…no, I’m fine, what’s up?” Mark reached for the pen and pad beside the phone and began to jot down notes. “No, I’ll be glad to take care of it.” He glanced at Ellie and frowned apologetically. “Have Monica make the arrangements and clear my calendar for next week. I’ll be at the airport in forty-five minutes.” He was already standing when he hung up the phone.

  “Sorry about today,” he said simply, tearing off the sheet of paper. “Something came up—I have to go to Chicago with Beecham and Ivan for a week or so.” He bent over and kissed her quickly.

  Déjà vu. How many times had her father missed planned outings with the family because his boss had called at the last minute? “Oh, come on, can’t you wait until this afternoon?” Ellie cajoled.

  Mark shook his head. “Sorry, I have a plane to catch. Grant was supposed to go but had to cancel at the last minute. That leaves me.”

  “Can’t we at least have breakfast?” Ellie pleaded, hating herself for sounding like her mother.

  “Sorry,” he repeated. “I’ll make it up to you when I get home. I promise.” Then he walked toward the bathroom. After he closed the door and the shower spray started, Ellie frowned and pounded her fist on the mattress.

  Sorry, sorry, sorry. Her father had had an endless supply of apologies. Rising from the bed, she scooped her clothing from the floor. She cursed under her breath, and shook her head. She had no one to blame but herself. She’d seen the train coming, but had barreled past the warning signals to straddle the tracks, welcoming the light with open arms.

  SATURDAY AND SUNDAY NIGHT had both been late work nights in Chicago. And since what little sleep time he’d had left he’d spent thinking about Ellie, Mark arrived at the hotel’s continental breakfast Monday morning in a less-than-rested mood.

  He couldn’t get the woman off his mind. Of course, the irritating rash he’d developed from the foamy whipped cream she’d covered his privates with served as a constant reminder of their romps. Granted, she had removed it in a most satisfying way. It’s just a strong physical attraction. Unfortunately, the one area in which they seemed to be most compatible was in bed.

  He purposely hadn’t called her since he’d left. Somehow, calling long distance to check in just seemed too…relationship-y. Still, the idea of spending a lot of time with Ellie had begun to sound appealing. The mere thought of the tiny pink mouse tattoo, apparently barely concealed by her garter belt
that first night, sent the blood rushing to his groin. Ellie was beautiful, sexy, funny, and he craved her company. He could do much worse, he knew. He might give this novel idea of a committed, monogamous relationship some serious thought.

  “How’s Ellie?” Patrick asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  Mark glanced at Ray, who also seemed interested in his answer. For an instant, Mark wondered if Specklemeyer had leaked the information, after all. Maybe they knew his engagement was a charade and were calling him on it. Shifting in his seat, he replied, “Fine, thanks for asking.”

  Patrick looked sympathetic. “Big step, isn’t it?”

  Mark nodded, swallowing a dry bite of bagel.

  “Of course it’s a big step,” Ray declared, snapping open a newspaper. “The last woman you’ll sleep with for the rest of your life, the one woman you’ll wake up to every day for the next fifty years, God willing.”

  Patrick nodded solemnly. “Of course, the bedroom gets a little chilly once kids come along, but you get used to it.”

  Ray grunted his agreement “Bone-cold.”

  Mark pursed his lips and shook his head, smiling wryly. “So why don’t married men reveal this stuff to single men before the engagement?”

  Ray chuckled. “We’re not trying to talk you out of it, son. Marriage has its good points. If the right woman came along, I’d do it again.” He rattled the newspaper. “Probably.” Mark thought about Manny and winced.

  “Yeah,” Patrick said, “Lucy is fabulous, it’s her mother I can’t stomach. By the way, how’s your mother taking this?”

  “She’s not ecstatic, but—”

  “Uh-oh,” Ivan announced from behind the paper. “Not a good sign, but it’s to be expected. Don’t worry, things will probably work out before one of your parents has to move in.”

  “Move in?” Mark parroted.

  “Sure,” Patrick said. “After Lucy’s father passed away, her mother was so heavily medicated, she came to stay with us for a couple of weeks. She’s been living with us going on two years now.”

  Mark swallowed. He doubted he could live with his own mother, and he didn’t know the first thing about Ellie’s family. Except that her dad had been a workaholic. But hadn’t she said something about a nudist colony? His collar grew warmer and tighter.