Irresistible?

by Stephanie Bond

  Driving away, Mark decided it had been one of the most unsettling days of his life. The picnic had been unexpectedly enjoyable, and Ellie’s good-night kiss unexpectedly flammable. Feelings nagged at him, annoying him like radio static. Just exactly what did Ellie Sutherland mean to him, other than a guaranteed end to his orderly life?

  5

  “YOU DIDN’T!” Manny looked horrified.

  “I did.” Ellie nodded solemnly, slathering jelly on a plain bagel. Breakfast was the first chance they’d had to talk. “You should have seen those big women running for the john. And we had to stop three times on the way home for his mom to go.”

  “I always said you were going to poison someone with your cooking one of these days,” he chided. “You’ve got to remember, preparing food is not the same as whipping up one of your perfume batches.”

  Ellie brightened. “Which reminds me, I’m sending a vial of Irresistible You to the contest today.” She pointed to a small bottle of reddish-brown liquid beside a gummy saucepan. The recipe I came up with yesterday turned out just right, after all.”

  Manny shook his head. “You can kiss that hundred-dollar entry fee goodbye. It’s a scam, El.”

  “No, it isn’t,” she insisted. “I know someone whose cousin’s girlfriend won the contest two years ago. And my proposal for a line of fragrances is a great idea.”

  “Who wants to go around smelling like food?”

  “For your information, studies show men are more turned on by the smell of pumpkin pie than by most expensive store-bought fragrances.”

  “Makes you wonder what Betty Crocker wears under her apron, eh?”

  “Go ahead, make fun, but I’ll get the last laugh. That twenty-five grand is mine.” She rubbed her thumb against her fingers to emphasize her quest for big money.

  “You’d better hope so,” he said. “It doesn’t sound as if you’re in danger of marrying into the Blackwell bank account.”

  Ellie stiffened. “Very funny.”

  “Hey,” he said, laughing gently, “I was kidding, okay? Don’t look so wounded. I thought you weren’t impressed with this guy.”

  “I’m not.” Ellie studied Esmerelda’s paw, refusing to look at her roommate. “He’s too much like my father, you know…corporate. I want a man who worships the ground I walk on, who isn’t tied to his desk, who would play hooky just to spend the day with his kids. My mother never had that, but I intend to, one of these days.”

  Manny groaned. “Despite your wish list, you’ve fallen for him, haven’t you?”

  Ellie opened her mouth, but Manny held up his hands to ward off her protest. “Before you say anything, Ellie, let’s look at this in black and white. The guy hired you to make a bad impression on his family—this is not the sign of a marrying man. Why on earth would you put yourself through the agony of going after someone who’s made it perfectly clear he doesn’t want to be caught?”

  Ellie tried to speak, but once again he stopped her. “But,” he said in a singsongy voice, “it’s nothing to me.” Manny stooped to pick up the cat. “Not to change the subject, but we have other problems more imminent than your love life. Have you noticed anything different about Esmerelda?”

  “No,” Ellie murmured, popping the pinks pills into her mouth with a grapefruit-juice chaser. “Why do you ask?”

  “Here,” he said, handing Ellie the furry package.

  She abandoned her glass to juggle the struggling feline. “She’s heavier,” Ellie said immediately, shifting the cat slightly for confirmation. “We should have put you on a diet weeks ago,” she said, snuggling the cat’s face to her own.

  “We should have put her on a leash,” Manny amended, arms crossed and lips tight.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Esmerelda is knocked up.”

  Ellie’s eyes widened. “Kittens? Are you sure?” She held the cat up to scrutinize her rounded tummy, grinning. “It must’ve happened on one of those days she escaped.”

  “Must have,” Manny chirped. “You realize, don’t you, this means your cat has a better sex life than you do?”

  She shot him an exasperated look. “Oh, Manny, do you have to be so…so…”

  “The word is truthful,” he supplied. He plucked a piece of paper from the counter and waved it in front of her. “It gets worse. This was under our door when I got up this morning.”

  Ellie reached for the paper and gasped at the words in large print across the top of the page. “Eviction notice? Why?” She began reading the sheet in earnest, but Manny cut in.

  “It’s the cat, El. She got out one too many times and someone complained. According to the notice, we have one week to find a home for her or we’ll have to find a new home for ourselves.”

  “I’ll find someone to take her in,” she said, gently setting Esmerelda on the floor, then reaching for the phone.

  Two hours later Ellie had called every person in both her address book and Manny’s, but no one could shelter her precious cat. She sighed, explaining to Manny, “Denise has a new baby, the Worths have a dog, and Robin just bought a bird. Everyone else already has too many cats or kids, or lives in a no-pet unit.” Ellie pulled Esmerelda to her and relished the deep purr of the mother-to-be. “What am I going to do?”

  “YOUR MOTHER CALLED TWICE,” Monica said, handing Mark the message sheets. “She asked me to tell you to call her back as soon as you get a minute.”

  Mark nodded absently and laid the notes aside.

  Looking over his shoulder, Monica asked, “What’s so important about Saturday?”

  Mark glanced up at her and frowned in confusion.

  She pointed to his calendar. “It’s circled. Do I need to add something to my schedule?”

  Mark realized with a start he’d circled the day while thinking about Ellie. “No,” he said quickly, then added, “just another sitting for the portrait.”

  Monica’s left eyebrow rose a fraction and she smiled. “Oh, yes, the cute little painter. Are sparks still flying between the two of you?”

  He feigned innocence. “What do you mean?”

  Monica brought her steno pad to her chest and crossed her arms. “What I mean is, when she came to meet you that first day, you were at each other’s throats. I haven’t mentioned it, but you two have got me curious.”

  Mark felt his neck grow moist beneath his collar. “A simple misunderstanding in a delicatessen, that’s all.”

  His assistant leaned forward slightly, as if eager for more details, but Mark picked up a memo on his desk and began reading to signal an end to the subject. Monica took the hint and walked toward the door.

  “Hey,” his partner Patrick said as he strolled in after a perfunctory knock.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  “Clear your calendar Friday evening.”

  “Okay. Mind telling me why?”

  “Lucy’s organizing a dinner party and my instructions are to make sure you come.” He grinned at Mark apologetically. “Can you scrounge up a date? Ivan will be there, too,” he added in explanation.

  Ellie’s face rose to float in Mark’s mind, but he squashed down the image. “Is an escort mandatory?”

  Patrick shrugged. “I have my orders.” He turned to leave Mark’s office and added over his shoulder, “Come stag at your own risk.”

  “It might be safer than the alternative,” Mark muttered as Ellie’s face stubbornly reappeared to taunt him. Absurdly happy for a reason to call her, his fingers itched to punch her number. Then, furious with himself, he deliberately dialed Valerie’s work number instead. He’d managed to keep from getting emotionally involved with a woman for this long, and he wasn’t about to start with someone who was obviously so wrong for him.

  But when Valerie responded with such clinging enthusiasm at the sound of his voice, he winced and manufactured a vague excuse for calling. Within seconds of hanging up, his traitorous fingers dialed Ellie’s number from memory. Instantly nervous, he wondered if he’d have to bribe her again, or if
she’d go freely this time. Too late, the thought surfaced that she might feel obligated to buy a new dress. And he suspected she couldn’t afford it.

  “Hello.” She sounded breathless, and he imagined her in her work apron, wiping her hands after working on some creative project.

  “Hi, it’s Mark.” he said, then added, “Blackwell.”

  “Oh, hi,” she said with a slight question in her voice.

  Mark felt awkward and fished for conversation. “Are you busy?”

  “As a matter of fact, I was preparing the canvas for your portrait.” Animation exuded from her voice. He liked the musical quality of it, not throaty and superficial like most of the women he knew.

  “I don’t have a clue as to what that entails. Is it difficult?” Ellie laughed lightly, a tinkling sound. “No, I tack canvas over a wooden frame, then paint over it with gesso, a white substance that makes the canvas stiff when it dries.”

  “Ah, I see,” Mark murmured.

  The silence stretched for thirty seconds, then they both started talking at once.

  “What’s up—”

  “The reason I called—”

  They both laughed and then Mark started again. “The reason I called is to see if you’re busy Friday night. I’m in another bind—are you up for a dinner party at the home of one of my partners?”

  Ellie’s heart had just stopped thudding from the initial shock of hearing his voice. Now it began pounding anew, followed by a sharp barb of disappointment. Apparently, he needed another date for hire. Or maybe not. Maybe this would be a real date. “I, uh, that is…what did you have in mind?”

  Mark hesitated for an instant. “Same terms as before?”

  Ellie’s heart sank, then she panicked. Oh, God, did he think she was trying to wangle a higher price? “Look,” she said finally, “I’m caught up on all my bills, so thanks, but I really don’t need… Wait a minute.” Her mind raced furiously. “How about a business proposition?”

  “Go on.” This time, he sounded cautious.

  “My cat needs a home for a few weeks.”

  “Impossible,” he began. “I’m allergic—”

  “And I’m desperate,” Ellie interrupted, pleading. “She’s pregnant and my landlord won’t let me keep her—”

  “I really can’t—”

  “Please? Just until the kittens are born and I find homes for them? That’s only four or five weeks—eight at the most. Once Esmerelda’s gone, he’ll get off my back. Then I’ll be able to sneak her in again later.”

  Mark exhaled heavily. “I really can’t…believe I’m doing this,” he finished, with wonder in his voice. “Okay, it’s a deal.”

  Ellie grinned into the phone. “Great! I’ll get a cab to your house Friday night and bring Esmerelda with me.” She scribbled down the address. “What should I wear?”

  “I’ll have something sent over,” he said, surprising her.

  “I do have clothes, Mr. Blackwell.”

  “Why is everything an argument with you? Let me do this, okay?”

  He obviously didn’t trust her judgment. Or perhaps he wanted her to make another bad impression. Either way, the ball bounced in his court. “Okay,” she agreed hesitantly.

  “I’ll see you Friday,” he said, then hung up.

  Ellie sat holding the phone and listened to the dial tone. Her scalp tingled. Every day it seemed her life became more enmeshed with Mark Blackwell’s. The memory of his kiss had kept her up late last night She fell warm now just remembering how she’d pulled the length of green velvet from the foot of her bed and slept with it cuddled against her cheek.

  She touched her lips, her mouth watering at the thought of his taste. For a brief moment, he’d pulled her to him and she’d felt his arousal for her. Desire stabbed her even now and she allowed herself the luxury of wondering what it would be like to lie beneath him. She knew the pheromones were getting to him—he’d probably bed her willingly enough, she mused. But was her heart durable enough to withstand the letdown once the chemical reaction fizzled out?

  The following day, Tuesday, marked exactly one week since Ellie had begun taking the pills. She dutifully collected her journal and walked the few blocks to the clinic.

  The unadorned white two-story building squatted on Parish Street between a parking garage and a vintage clothing store. Ellie waited politely while two women entered the door in front of her, wrinkling her nose appreciatively when the smell of paint wafted out The old structure was getting a face-lift

  Two giant stepladders flanked the wide entryway, supporting slow painters with big paint buckets and tiny brushes. Ellie tilted her head back to check their pace and progress. They’d be there at least a decade, she decided, then turned toward the empty waiting room, relieved she wouldn’t have to wait.

  A cold, slimy dollop of something plopped onto her head. Ellie closed her eyes and lifted her shoulders in a deep shrug, instinctively wanting to touch the stuff oozing down behind both ears, but already knowing it was off-white wall paint.

  “Sorry,” came a muffled voice many feet above her. “Nice buns, though.”

  “Thanks,” Ellie mumbled without looking up.

  Thirty minutes later she sourly joined a large cluster of people waiting to speak to the harried receptionist standing behind the tall white counter. The clinic was a busy little place. Apparently, a crowd had arrived during her attempt to remove most of the paint from her hair in the rusty old bathroom.

  After a long wait, she was directed to one of the cracking vinyl-upholstered chairs lining the perimeter of the waiting room. Ellie passed the time leafing through an ancient copy of Museum Art, her hair dripping milky water on the curled pages.

  At last her name was called, and she followed a gray-haired, stocky, somber-faced woman to a tiny closet of a room. “I’m Freda,” the woman said defensively, as if Ellie was going to make something of it.

  She didn’t. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Freda looked more like a prison guard than a clinical assistant. After a perfunctory glance over her chart, the woman snatched Ellie’s journal and perused the contents with tight lips. After a few moments, her eyes swung up to meet Ellie’s. “Impressive,” the woman muttered. “All true?”

  Ellie nodded patiently.

  “Are you taking the pills exactly as directed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any physical symptoms? Changes in energy level or diet?”

  Ellie thought for a moment. “My concentration seems diminished, and my appetite has been depressed.” She grinned and patted her stomach. “I’ve lost two pounds.”

  “How about your exercise level?”

  Ellie shook her head. “About average—no change.”

  The woman noted Ellie’s answers on a form. “Have you become sexually active with any of the men you’ve mentioned in the journal?”

  Ellie squirmed. “No.”

  “Have you developed an emotional attachment to any of them?” She skimmed the last journal page with her index finger. “I see the name Mark mentioned quite often.” She peered over her glasses at Ellie.

  Clearing her throat, Ellie said, “N-no. Well, maybe.”

  “I don’t have a checkbox for ‘maybe,’” said Freda. “Do you like the man or don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And do you have reason to think he likes you?”

  “I’m not sure like is the right word. He looks at me in this certain way…”

  “Do you feel the pheromone pills have in any way influenced this, er, watchfulness?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “In what way?”

  Ellie hesitated, then tried to put the situation in words. “He seems to be attracted to me, but confused by it all—like he doesn’t understand why he would be. I’ve seen him shake his head as if trying to clear it. He told my roommate I have ‘an effect’ on him. And, he and other men keep asking me what kind of perfume I’m wearing. I think I’m emitting some kind of odor.”

&n
bsp; Freda leaned toward her, sniffed mightily, then shrugged. “Hmm.” She scribbled notes on the form and turned it over.

  “Keep omitting any commercial body fragrances like we instructed. Here’s a new supply of pills, and your payment for the week.” She pushed the items toward Ellie and resumed writing.

  “I mean, it’s nothing serious,” Ellie rambled. “I wouldn’t even call it a relationship, really. It would never work between us because he’s allergic to my cat and his mother hates me. Of course, I did ruin her family reunion, but that was purely by accident. Besides, if he ever settles down, it’ll be with some classy woman, not an unemployed artist. No, it would never work, not in a million years.” Ellie frowned at the woman’s silence. “Any advice?” she asked.

  Freda didn’t bother to look up. “Practice safe sex.”

  MANNY LET OUT a long whistle. “Damn, you look good, girl.”

  Ellie grinned and smoothed a hand over the short black crepe dress. “Think so?” A froth of pearl-studded cream chiffon floated around the low neckline and spilled over her shoulders. The formfitting dress would have been an impossibility two pounds ago.

  “Fabulous,” Manny said cloyingly, then he frowned. “If only we wore the same size.”

  “I’ll let you borrow the earrings,” she promised, fastening the dangling pearls.

  “He must have spent a mint,” he said, picking up the Parmond’s garment bag.

  Ellie nodded: “What are you doing tonight?”

  “I have to do an early show, then Joan’s picking me up. We’re going to swing by a friend’s house for cocktails, then downtown for some real fun. By the way, El, she feels terrible for having to let you go.”

  She shrugged. “It was just a job. So tell me, does Joan like men or women?”

  “Neither, as far as I can tell—or maybe both. You know how outrageous Joan can be—I think she likes to keep everyone guessing.”

  “Well, tell her hello for me, and that the commission is going well. Will you help me gather Esmerelda’s things? The cab should be here any minute.”

  The cabbie appeared daunted when he saw the cat and all her feline paraphernalia, but when Ellie smiled at him, he softened and began loading the trunk of the car.