Simply Irresistible

by Deborah Cooke

  If she hadn’t felt quite so much like a little sister.

  The waiter brought their dinners, which looked wonderful. Amy didn’t have as much appetite as before.

  Ty, of course, noticed her hesitation to eat. He was attentive, and she appreciated it.

  “I didn’t plan that,” he said with concern, his gaze searching. “I didn’t know she’d be here. I haven’t seen her in months.”

  “Since your grandmother’s eightieth birthday party.”

  “Our one and only date. Big mistake. I’ve learned my lesson.” Ty indicated the dinner she hadn’t touched. “Is your steak cooked the way you like it?”

  Amy took a bite and nodded. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

  He smiled, at ease again. “Where were we?”

  Amy wasn’t ready to tell him more about herself just yet. “So, your whole family met her?”

  “Pretty much. Briefly.” Ty’s gaze sharpened. “Why?”

  Amy had already pushed her notebook aside, but now she put it back in her purse. “I don’t think this is going to work at all.” She eyed her dinner then averted her gaze. She felt a bit sick.

  Ty beckoned to the waiter. That man took the plates and offered to wrap up the leftovers. Amy nodded that she’d take hers.

  “I hate to see such delicious food wasted,” she said and the waiter smiled.

  She was aware that Ty watched her the whole time. When the waiter left, he leaned across the table and caught her hand in his. “Why not?”

  Amy took a deep breath and pulled her hand away. Her throat was tight. She didn’t want to answer him but she knew she had to. She swallowed. “They’ll never believe that you picked me over her. Or even me after her.”

  There. She’d said it.

  “Why?” Ty asked. “Because you’re smart and funny and cute, and she’s none of the above?”

  “Ty!”

  He lifted a hand. “You’re nice. I’m officially nice. They’ll believe that we’re together.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  His voice hardened in a very sexy way and he fixed her with an intent look that made her shiver. “Then we have to make them believe it, don’t we?”

  There were moments when Ty didn’t seem like such a nice big-brother kind of guy. When he gave her a simmering look or his voice dropped low or he became resolute, it was easy to imagine him as a hot book boyfried—even though Amy knew it was just an illusion.

  “I don’t think it can be done,” she protested. “I don’t think that anyone sane would imagine that you with all your advantages would choose me.” She shrugged. “I just don’t.”

  Ty averted his gaze for a moment, but not in the direction of Giselle and her friends. He drummed his fingers once, then looked back at her so abruptly that Amy jumped. His eyes were vividly green. “I’ll bet you a hundred dollars that they will.”

  “What?”

  “A hundred bucks to you if you can convince my family that you and I belong together.”

  “I’m not going to bet on this…”

  “Why not?” A daring gleam lit his eyes. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

  “I will if you take the opposite side and try to undermine it.”

  “Not me. I’m a believer. We might not have met the right way, but we should have. This is about you believing it enough to convince them.” Ty leaned back then, spinning the stem of the wine glass between his finger and thumb, and Amy again felt a rush of desire. He looked dangerous. Confident. In control. Used to getting his way.

  That realization made her sit up straighter.

  “I won’t lose. You’ll lose.”

  “Then take the bet.”

  “I don’t have a hundred dollars to waste on a silly bet.”

  Ty smiled. “Then you’d better win, Amy,” he purred.

  And in that moment, with that challenge in his expression and that husky catch in his voice, Ty convinced Amy to not only try, but to give it all she had.

  “All right,” she said and offered her hand. “All right! You’re on.”

  His smile was quick and genuine, and the warmth of his hand around hers was enough to keep her awake all night. Amy wasn’t entirely sure what she’d gotten herself into—or how big of a part the wine had played in her impulsive agreement—but she was determined to do her best to convince his family that their fake date was real.

  She was in the cab heading home when she realized Tyler McKay was proving to be a little more naughty than she’d imagined.

  Was he really doing it for her?

  * * *

  Ty watched the cab disappear into the evening traffic with satisfaction.

  Amy didn’t even realize the change in her posture after she took the bet. She didn’t know how much he’d already built her confidence, and he’d barely started. He liked making sure that the good guys got whatever they deserved, and Amy had been served short too many times. No matter how long their fake relationship lasted, he was going to leave a lasting impression in her life.

  He’d change her view and her expectations. He’d teach her to expect more, and maybe manage to ensure that she got it sometimes. It was enough of a noble pursuit to encourage him to whistle as he walked home.

  Ty didn’t know where Amy lived.

  He still didn’t have her phone number.

  He didn’t have one good way of reaching her over the weekend—except by showing up for the class in bondage she’d registered for at F5.

  There was absolutely no way Ty was going to miss that.

  * * *

  Fitzwilliam’s sixth sense about Amy’s arrivals and departures was stronger than usual. She heard him mewling from behind the door even as she was fitting her key into the lock.

  The cab driver waited until she had the door open, then gave a little honk. Amy waved and he drove off. She felt a bit pampered, first with Ty insisting on hailing the cab and paying for it, then the driver making sure that she was okay before he left. Ty had probably told him to do that.

  Amy smiled at his protectiveness. It would be easy to get used to having someone like Ty in her life, but Amy wasn’t going to rely on him. That would only make their inevitable parting more difficult.

  She already thought it might not be easy.

  Fitzwilliam rubbed against her legs with such enthusiasm that he nearly tripped her. He was yowling and talking to her all the way down the hall to the kitchen, giving her a lecture in Maine Coon that Amy was sure had a lot to do with the little box she was carrying. She put it down on the kitchen counter then went to hang up her raincoat and kick off her loafers. She cast her jacket across the back of a kitchen chair and smiled to find Fitzwilliam on the counter, perched beside the box. He straightened regally, wrapped his tail around himself and stared at her in obvious expectation.

  “I left you kibble. I knew I’d be late.”

  Fitzwilliam emitted a mew of complaint, which effectively communicated his opinion of kibble. Amy saw that the contents of his dish were untouched. “For an abandoned cat who was eating garbage a year and a half ago, you’ve gotten pretty picky.”

  He audibly agreed and sniffed the edge of the box. His eyes glowed when he met her gaze again and the end of his tail flicked.

  “All right, you can have a piece. But not all of it. This is going to be my dinner tomorrow.” Amy got out her kitchen scissors and opened the box. Fitzwilliam sat a little taller in his enthusiasm. She snipped off a piece of meat, holding it in her fingers as she put the box in the fridge with the rest. Then she returned to the cat’s side and snipped the chunk of medium rare beef into smaller morsels. She fed them to him one at a time.

  “He’s really nice, Fitzwilliam,” she admitted, talking to the cat as she always did. “Even if I do feel a bit like I’m another one of his sisters, an honorary fifth. Giselle nailed that.” She sighed and frowned, then said the thing that was bothering her. “I really don’t want to disappoint him. It’s nice that he believes his family will think we’re really dating, but I don
’t believe it.”

  She gave Fitzwilliam the last piece of meat and it rapidly disappeared. The cat licked her fingertips, then began to groom himself.

  Amy washed the scissors and put them away. “I could back out, but I don’t want to.” She pursed her lips and admitted another unwelcome truth. “It might be mean of me, but I want to see Aunt Natalie’s face when I show up to Brittany’s wedding with Ty.”

  Fitzwilliam leaped from the counter and surveyed the kibble in his dish. He hunkered down and began to eat it, one piece at a time.

  Amy looked down at her skirt, hearing Giselle’s “leetle sister” comment again. Was she really that sexless? Maybe so. It had been a while since she’d bothered much with her appearance. There had been so many other, more important worries.

  But Ty had noticed her, even so. The realization was encouraging.

  “All these sensible clothes and sensible shoes, Fitzwilliam. Mama would be disgusted. She always dressed so beautifully, no matter how little money they had. I wish I could sew like she did…”

  Amy fell silent and stared at the cat.

  Fitzwilliam stared back.

  “Why didn’t I think of that before?” Amy whispered, then got the key and hurried up the stairs. Fitzwilliam abandoned the pleasures of kibble and padded after her with obvious curiosity.

  The house was a small Victorian, the oddball on the block. The one room in the attic had been a closet and dressing room for Amy’s mom and was still filled with her clothes, purses, and shoes. Amy hadn’t been able to think about cleaning it out.

  Her mom had been a talented dressmaker. She’d sewn clothes for a number of regular customers, and in the course of shopping for them, found bargains at fabric stores for herself. Her taste ran to couturier clothes and she had the skill to replicate them. Amy had known she wouldn’t get any money for her mother’s clothes, as beautiful as they were, plus she couldn’t bear to part with them.

  The closet effectively hadn’t been touched, not since Amy had chosen a dress for her mother to be buried in. She’d tucked plastic over the clothes and ensured the roof didn’t leak on them, but hadn’t really had the heart to spend time in the room, much less examine its contents.

  Amy turned on the light and, as always, took a deep breath. She hadn’t closed the door behind herself, so Fitzwilliam had followed her up the stairs. He’d never been in this room, so he prowled the perimeter, investigating.

  The scent of her mother’s favorite perfume still lingered. Amy buried her nose in a blouse, tears springing to her eyes at her mother’s familiar scent. It was fainter, but she could still discern it. She eased aside plastic then ran her fingertips over the suits, silk and tweed and wool, then the blouses, silk and cotton. The shoes were on a rack to one side, and there was a full-length mirror at the end of the room. She smiled, remembering pinning a hem for her mother as she turned in front of this very mirror. How many times had her mother fitted a dress for Amy right on this spot?

  Amy considered herself in the mirror. She was maybe an inch taller than her mother had been, but the shape of her body was similar. She was a little thinner, and she knew her feet were a size bigger. Her mom’s hair had been darkest brown, and her eyes had been nearly as dark. Amy shared her mom’s creamy complexion though her coloring was lighter, thanks to her father. She eyed the racks of clothes. She couldn’t wear the red that her mother had favored. Could she wear black to a wedding or shower? Amy thought not.

  She remembered her mom telling her that she could wear green, if it was the right green, and reached for a suit jacket in a green and gold bouclé. It was her mother’s mock-Chanel suit, perfectly lined and trimmed.

  Amy tried it on. Her mother would have said that the sleeves were a whisper too short but no one else would have noticed. It fit beautifully through the shoulders. Her mom must have made it in the late 80’s but Amy liked that it looked a bit retro. Like she shopped in vintage stores. Amy chucked off her skirt and tried on the skirt that matched the jacket. It was slim and just barely covered her knees.

  The suit looked so glamorous that she found herself twirling in front of the mirror. Her mom had also made a second skirt in a solid green that was flared a little bit more. There were three blouses that coordinated, and Amy tried on all the combinations with rising excitement.

  But a suit at a summer wedding?

  No. Amy needed a floaty dress.

  Maybe a hat.

  She remembered a dress that her mom had made for a wedding and quickly found it on the other side of the closet. It was in one of the fabric garment bags that her mother had sewn for her most treasured dresses. A larger garment bag hung beside it but Amy knew which dress had pride of place, and she wasn’t going to look at her mom’s wedding dress yet.

  Amy opened the bag with the summer dress and caught her breath in wonder. Her memory hadn’t done it justice. She’d definitely forgotten how pretty the fabric was. Rose petals of a dozen hues of pink were scattered over the silk chiffon, seeming to cluster at the hem. She knew that the fabric had been a border print, and that her mom had spent a lot of time planning how to cut it to get the effect she wanted. She remembered how the dress seemed to float—or her mother seemed to float while wearing it—because the fabric was so light. It had little sleeves and tiny buttons that were shaped like rose buds. Her mom had even made a silk slip to match.

  Could she wear this color? Amy hung the dress beside the mirror and wondered. Her mom had had a hat to go with this. She dug in the hat boxes and found the broad-brimmed hat with the cluster of pink roses on one side. She tried that on and decided it was perfect.

  “Mama would know immediately if it was a good color for me.” She fingered the hem of the dress. “I’ll have to look at it in the daylight, Fitzwilliam,” she told the cat. He cleaned his paw. “But I’ll need shoes, even if it works. And I think it’s too much for the shower on Sunday.”

  Amy surveyed the contents of the closet. Her mom had loved to dress up, so there were simple blouses and skirts for working at home, and glamorous garb for going out, and not much in between. She went through the rack of dresses again, peeking inside the garment bags, only to confirm that all the other options were either black or red.

  This one or another solution. Amy closed her eyes for a moment and hoped that daylight proved she could wear the pink, then put the hat back and ushered Fitzwilliam out of the closet. She returned to the kitchen and yawned mightily. Between her week of late nights and the wine, she was ready to drop. And she had a class the next day, back downtown.

  There was no way she could write any more tonight.

  But she thought of Ty, arguing that she was being taken for granted and smiled at how resolute he’d been in her defense. She was meeting him at the office on Sunday at noon, and just thinking about him convinced her that she would definitely have sweet dreams.

  She wasn’t going to let him down.

  Chapter Five

  Ty was up at dawn.

  He checked the news as he always did, then headed down to the gym. He liked to work out early before it got busy, and Saturday was always a challenge. On this particular Saturday, though, he intended to do a bigger workout than usual. He swam twice his usual number of laps and pushed himself at the end to beat his best time.

  He was thinking about Amy.

  He was thinking about Kyle’s class.

  Most of all, he was thinking about Amy in Kyle’s class.

  The possibilities made him sweat before he even reached the weight room. He was pumped when he left the showers, but that nervous energy was still bubbling inside him. Ty was never agitated, so he didn’t know what to do about it.

  Cassie was at the main desk when he passed, and he was glad to see her dressed in her usual yoga gear. The last thing he needed to see was fetish wear. “Wow, you’re really ripped,” she said, giving him a thorough survey. She even came out from behind the desk to check him out. “And shaved smooth, too.” She made a little growl in her throat. “You
can drag me back to your cave anytime, Ty.”

  As if he didn’t know that.

  If she hadn’t been acting the way she had lately, Ty might have asked for her advice. As it was, that was out of the question. “I think it’s time we talked about something,” he said gently and Cassie’s smile turned philosophical.

  “You knew all along?”

  “Ages ago,” he admitted, holding her gaze. “I just like being friends.”

  Cassie’s expression turned rueful. “I thought maybe you hadn’t noticed.”

  Ty shook his head.

  She sighed, then nodded as she looked away. “Okay. Thanks for telling me.”

  “I’m flattered…”

  Cassie lifted a hand. “Don’t go there. It’s okay.” She met his gaze, a hopeful expression in her eyes. “Still friends?”

  “Still friends,” Ty assured her with a smile.

  There was an awkward silence between them, then Ty cleared his throat. “Kyle promised a lesson review.”

  “You got it,” Kyle said, approaching Ty from behind. He indicated one of the smaller rooms. “Just some basic knots and strategies, then we’ll get you suited up.”

  Damon joined them then. “Class time?” he asked.

  “It’ll be easy,” Kyle said. “Fifteen minutes, tops, then you can work on your costumes.”

  “I want to be Ivan the Terrible,” Damon said, pretending to have a Russian accent.

  Cassie placed a fluttering hand over her heart. “Say it again,” she whispered. “I’m overcome with desire.”

  “I will make you my little lisichka,” Damon growled, and tossed her over his shoulder. She squealed, just as she always did when the guys teased her, and Ty hoped things would be okay between them. “And you will serve my will all winter long.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Cassie panted as he carried her into the room Kyle had chosen. “Take me. I’m yours!” She looked over Damon’s shoulder and pointed to Kyle. “Or maybe yours.”

  “We will share the lisichka,” Damon threatened.

  Cassie wriggled as if she wanted to escape and kicked her feet, then spoiled the effect by laughing.