Nothing.
Turning his gaze upward, he saw the weirdest thing: his Levi’s, clipped to matching wood hangers, in a tidy little row of denim. The hems at the bottom were aligned in a perfectly straight line.
He groaned, rubbed his eyes.
When Trixie Johnson learned Mark was going to go into the WellyNelly offices every day, she started doing his laundry for the first time since he was sixteen. Using scented dryer sheets, folding everything, putting it away in his dresser, hanging up his shirts.
He pulled out what he thought was his favorite pair of jeans, though it was hard to tell. They were stiff, oddly flat.
He held them up and stared.
And now she’d ironed his jeans.
“The horror, the horror,” he muttered, tugging them on. He’d have to have a talk with her. At first he’d thought she was just bored, or happy to get him out of the house. But then she’d started asking about his coworkers. Female ones. Single, reproductive-aged female coworkers. How many there were, how smart, how interesting, how available, how lonely.
He couldn’t believe it. She was worse than Sylly. Mind in the gutter, mind in the cradle, same difference.
Sighing, he went back to his computer, unhappy with the way the starched denim made him walk like C3PO. He really should look for his own place. There was a ton of real estate to choose from, the market still suffering, everything on sale, and he was loaded.
Not even his mother knew the extent of the fortune he’d raked in from his assorted tech jobs over the years. WellyNelly wasn’t the only software company that had given him stock options when he was a teenager, companies that later made it big. Only his brother Liam knew he was sitting on more than five million dollars in cash, a fact he’d only just shared very recently, when Liam’s own business, Fite Fitness, was faltering.
“Keep it, little bro,” Liam had said. “Bev is a marketing genius. We’ll be fine. Though it sure would’ve come in handy earlier.”
Up until now, he hadn’t been able to make himself look at places by himself. He imagined… more. But maybe he couldn’t wait, shouldn’t wait. Maybe he was wrong to assume there was more to have.
Just as Mark began a search for Oakland real estate, the doorbell rang. Not trusting his mother, he went down the stairs three at a time and was short of breath when he flung the door open.
“How about I take you and your mom out to dinner?” Rose asked.
Her hair was pulled up on top of her head in a long, off-center ponytail like an 80’s popstar. Big silver hoops dangled from her ears amid a few loose, golden strands.
Her T-shirt was tight, black, cut low at the neck in a V, and her faded cutoffs exposed her curves from upper thigh all the way on down.
Even her feet were sexy. On display in jewel-studded sandals, each toe carefully painted crimson with a pink polka dots, her second toe adorned with a ring, her shapely ankle highlighted with a thin gold chain.
With so much to look at, it took him a moment to notice she had tears in her eyes.
“What happened?”
She smiled, wiped at her face with the back of her hand. Her mascara ran down her cheek. “Nothing. I’m being silly. Everything’s going great.”
“Which is why you’re crying,” he said. “Is it WellyNelly? Because if you don’t like it, don’t worry about chucking it when you’ve got something else. I won’t mind, really.”
“No, the job is great. It’s so exciting I can’t—oh, hey there, Zeus.”
Yapping his odd, distorted yap, Zeus had run up from outside and was attempting to climb up Rose’s legs. She bent down and lifted him up into her arms. As he licked her cheeks, his body shaking with joy, the forced smile on Rose’s face became a real one.
“You must taste good,” Mark said, then felt his face get warm. God. Even with Rose, he said the stupidest things.
“Is it my vanilla face cream, little dude?” she asked. “Do you think I’m an ice cream cone?”
Mark glanced past Rose’s shoulder and saw his mother in the driveway, empty leash in one hand, the two other dogs tugging at the other. Before he could stop her, she pivoted on her heel and marched back out into the street the way she’d come.
Subtle, Mom. Very subtle. Now she’d have to keep carrying that plastic bag of dog shit around with her. Served her right.
“Come on in, tell me what’s up,” he said.
“No, I’ve got to find new digs. But I’ll come back and drive us somewhere nice. Where would you like to go? I hear the restaurant at the Claremont has a fantastic view.”
“Get in here.” He put an arm around her and tugged her over the threshold, willing himself to ignore how soft and warm and female she felt, the way his body responded to hers.
He released her the instant she was inside.
Like an elite mountain climber, Zeus had made it up the North Face of her chest and was rubbing his nose into her ear. Maybe because he was jealous, Mark captured the dog in his hands and, holding him like a football under his arm, gestured towards the kitchen.
“It’s safe to talk,” he said. “My mom’s not here.” Probably wouldn’t be for hours. Crazy woman.
She sat in the chair at the kitchen table he held out to her. “Will she mind going out to eat? I know it seems weird, like I’ve invited you to our house and then I’m trying to drive you somewhere.”
“But I’m gathering it isn’t your house anymore. So you’re moving into the Claremont?” He frowned. The Claremont Hotel was a luxurious resort not far from the house. Very expensive. “How much is Sylly paying you?”
“Oh, God, no. I was thinking we could go there for dinner. I’ll find a cheap motel for myself.” She reached out for Zeus.
“Tonight?”
“I’ve got a bag in the car. I’ll have to get the rest later,” she said. “I wish I’d just taken that first apartment I saw on Wednesday, but I was holding out for something with a deck or a backyard. I put in an application for a perfect place in North Berkeley, a cute one-bedroom, very vintage, in a remodeled Victorian, but there were two dozen other people there. No guarantee I’ll get it.”
“All the students just moved in for the year. You might want to look further from campus.” He poured her a glass of iced tea. “So, what happened? Did John come back already?”
She leaned back, sighed, let Zeus kiss her face. “This afternoon. With Mommy Dearest.”
“That guy needs to learn how to use one of our many forms of modern communications technology.”
“No kidding.”
“Maybe we can get him a cell phone as a wedding gift.”
She looked up, pain in her eyes, and he swore inwardly. “Sorry. Social recluse strikes again.”
Smiling weakly, she patted his arm. “She told me not to feel pressured to move. As if the thought I might have to listen to the two of them in bed together isn’t enough pressure.” Her voice cracked.
Sensing her need, Zeus accelerated the tongue assault. Mark resisted the same impulse.
“Does she know how you still feel about him?” he asked softly.
Beautiful watery blue eyes met his. She shook her head.
That didn’t seem possible. Mark had only known her for a little over two weeks, and it was obvious to him. But people saw what they wanted to see.
“I guess you can’t really tell her now,” he said.
“They’re getting married.” She forced a laugh. “I’ll be there to witness it. Isn’t that beautiful?”
“I don’t care for the guy, but I suppose he has his qualities.”
“It’s not just his looks. I know, you probably think I’m just in love with that face, but…” A flush rose up her neck. “Never mind. It wasn’t meant to be. I’d already decided to break up with him. But sometimes…”
“Sometimes you can’t help wanting it anyway.”
She sighed. “Yeah.”
Even smart, tough, spunky Rose couldn’t help but fall for guys like that. Zeus suddenly jumped off her
lap and trotted over to Mark. His good eye peered up at him while his tail wagged his butt wildly in each direction. With a whine, he rubbed his face against the ironed denim of Mark’s leg.
Psychic little guy. “I’ll get your dinner, Zeus. Back porch, come on, back porch.” He hooked a finger through his collar and gently led him down the steps off the back of the kitchen.
After he’d refilled the dog bowls with water and chow, he turned on the fan, opened another window, and dropped the shades.
“It’s freaky hot,” Rose said, coming up behind him with her iced tea in her hand.
“Indian summer. My mother would say it’s because you fixed the furnace. You tempted fate.”
“Like washing the car makes it rain.”
“Exactly.”
They stood there silently, watching Zeus lap up water from his bowl. “Am I that obvious?” she said finally.
He knew what she meant. “No.”
“What tipped you off?”
“Other than the chicken in the dishwasher?”
She sipped her drink. “Yeah. Other than that.”
“You act differently when he’s around. Nervous. More girly.” He faked a giggle. “Like that.”
“God. Thank you so much. That’s disgusting.”
“Be grateful you’re not like that all the time,” he said.
“You do the same thing with Blair, you know.”
He sighed. “I know.”
“We’re pathetic.”
“I am. You’re fine. I’m that way with all women.”
“Not with me,” she said.
“You’re different.” He took her empty glass out of her hand and went back into the kitchen.
“You mean, I’m fat and obnoxious and you thought I was a lesbian.” She had an edge to her voice. “You only get nervous around real women.”
He turned. Met her angry gaze.
“Admit it,” she said.
“You’re a real woman.”
She rolled her eyes. “As if you really feel that way.”
“I feel that way,” he said.
“The second Blair walks into your line of vision you get all clumsy and sweaty and say stupid things. You watch the house, hoping to see her. If John hadn’t shown up you’d be biding your time, getting up the nerve to ask her out on a date. Because she’s a real woman.”
While she lashed out at him, he found himself moving closer to her until she was only inches away.
Her clear blue eyes flashed like sapphires. And that mouth, that mouth. He dreamed about it. Without thinking, he brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. Her skin was warm, peachy velvet.
She frowned. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t know, but he was going to do it anyway.
Chapter 10
HE SLIPPED HIS HAND DOWN her soft skin and cupped her cheek. Holding her gaze, he felt lust wash over him. “You’ve got plenty Blair doesn’t have.”
“Like an extra hundred pounds?”
She had a fantastic mouth, with full lips that were gently curved, glossy, red.
If only it didn’t talk so much.
“Sex appeal,” he said in a low voice. His thumb moved on its own to caress the moist fullness of her lower lip. He felt her shiver under his touch, which sent mores heated shockwaves of desire through his body.
He leaned forward. Brushed his lips against hers. Gentle pressure, then a flick of his tongue to taste that gloss, see if it was as delicious as it looked.
It was.
She was motionless under his touch, not participating, not resisting. He turned her face with his hand, caressing her cheek with his thumb while he angled the kiss, licked the seam of her mouth. She made a little sound in the back of her throat, a delicate moan, and he felt fire at that small, involuntary response. He slid his tongue between her lips, past her teeth, and tasted her wet, silky heat.
His hand slipped away from her face, down her smooth neck, over her shoulder. He pressed his palm into the hollow of her back. Her T-shirt was just a thin layer of cotton and he shoved it up to touch that perfect skin, slippery from the heat of the day, as hot as he was.
Then his hand moved lower, over her glorious ass, while his tongue found the ridge of the roof of her mouth and licked. Another sigh from her throat encouraged him to pull her hard against his pelvis. To show her, oh yeah, he felt that way.
It was Zeus who saved them both. Not appreciating the competition for Rose’s affections, he attacked Mark’s legs with his own, jumping and clawing at this calves, and when that did nothing, he went for Rose.
Bare-legged, she gasped and broke free from Mark, blinking and breathing hard. She stumbled backwards until she was blocked by the kitchen counter.
They stared at each other.
“You kissed me,” she said dumbly.
He nodded. God, he had. “You didn’t believe me.”
“You want Blair. You don’t want me.”
Uncomfortably aware of the tightness of his jeans, short of breath, he met her gaze, unblinking. “You need another demonstration?”
She looked down at his crotch. “All right, maybe part of you wants me.”
What could he say to that?
“Just not the important parts,” she added.
“I’m rather fond of that part.”
She rubbed her temple, looked around. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen. “I have to go.”
The important organ in question was opposed to the idea, but now his mind was churning, processing, engaged.
This was wrong. This wasn’t what he wanted. She wasn’t what he wanted. Who he wanted. Not with the important parts above his shoulders.
His last girlfriend had taught him what kind of woman he definitely should not pursue. You’re like an old man, Colleen told him, right after he moved to Milwaukee to be with her. She’d gone to MIT with him but, right after graduation, went back home to be near her family. He’d followed, dumb as an ox, assuming he’d found his mate for life and could stop worrying about it.
But she had different ideas. I’m not ready to roll over and be old like you yet, she said, as if life with him was as good as dying. An end to everything fun, exciting, lively. She wanted to go out every night, travel every weekend, join clubs, teams, party. What had been a fun experiment in college—being social—became an aggravating chore. He wanted to settle down, be social with her, not the whole world.
She wanted more.
He’d always had a thing for outgoing girls. Obnoxious, funny, extroverted women who knew how to enjoy themselves and, therefore, how to make him enjoy himself.
But Colleen had shown him how little he had to offer in return. What would a fun, lively woman want with him? He needed somebody quiet, subdued, solitary. Maybe even a woman who would look up to him. Admire him. Need him.
Blair was taken, but she was the type of woman he could be happy with. The type of woman he could make happy.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at his bare feet on the kitchen tile. Seeing her face just made him want to kiss her again. “I was just proving a point.”
“That all men are driven by lust?”
He nodded, glanced up. “You were telling me I didn’t think you were a real woman. I was showing you I do.”
“Just proving a point.” She wiped the back of her hand over her lips, then pushed it in her pocket.
He took a deep breath. Rubbed the back of his neck, sticky with sweat. “Damn, it’s hot. Look, just forget about dinner. You’ve got enough to worry about.”
She pushed away from the counter. “Like you proving another point.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t do it again,” he said. Was that anger in his voice? “But you were saying stupid things, insulting yourself.”
“You felt sorry for me.”
“No, you were pissing me off. Maybe I can’t talk to Blair because I don’t know her, that’s all. And I probably never will.”
Rose closed her eyes for a moment. “That
’s what’s really going on here.” She gave him a sad look. “They want each other, not us. That’s why…” She waved her hand in the air between them.
That wasn’t why he’d kissed her, but perhaps it was why she’d let him do it. Ego withdrawing into its cave, he grabbed the iced tea pitcher and refilled her glass. His body was returning to normal, chilled by the implication that her fixation was elsewhere.
“I wouldn’t take him back, you know,” she said softly. “Not even if he begged me.”
“Because of Blair.”
She shook her head. “Because he wouldn’t make me happy.” Lifting the iced tea, she tipped it to him, smiled tightly, and took a drink. He watched her lips curl around the glass, wishing it was him.
She put it down. Glanced at him. “Look, about dinner tonight—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Tell her how sorry I am. I look like such a flake.”
“I’ll explain. She’ll understand.” He gestured to the doorway to encourage her to make her escape. “Better make a run for it now. She’ll be back any minute from walking the dogs.”
Nodding, she walked slowly to the front of the house, turning to him only when she was outside and her foot was on the first step down to the driveway. “About what happened…” She raised a hand slightly, pointed in the general direction of the kitchen. “It’s just—right now—John—Blair—my life—”
“Don’t worry about it. It didn’t mean anything.”
She dropped her hand. Lips flattened together, she nodded again and walked down to the driveway where her car was packed and waiting.
* * *
Monday morning, Rose got out of her car in the WellyNelly parking lot and tugged her sweater down over her rear.
Stupid low-rise pants. She hated to worry about her underwear showing, especially today, her first official day on the Women’s Forum team.
Touching up her lip gloss, she walked up the sidewalk to the front door. Her foul mood began to lift. Soon she’d have an apartment of her own and wouldn’t have to wake up on a stained mattress under a window covered with iron bars.
Her motel choice had been a poor one. Right after work she was going to visit another potential apartment and beg them, if necessary, to let her move in as soon as she got her first paycheck for the deposit.
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