“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, butâ”
“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.
“That's nothing,” said Ray, bending down a corner of a page to peer at them. “My mother came to live with us back in 1970. She and my poor wife argued so much, the police were at my house three times the first week because the neighbors complained.”
Mark imagined his mother and Ellie in the same house. Not in a million years. He pushed his plate away and grabbed a glass of water. He'd never experienced heartburn before, but it didn't take a medical degree to perform a quick diagnosis. His previous notion of entering a relationship with Ellie ended along with his appetite.
10
E
LLIE WAVED at the messy painters as she ducked through the entryway of the clinic. She was almost sorry she wouldn't be around to see the finished product.
Freda stood behind the receptionist's counter when Ellie walked in. “Well, if it isn't the woman with the experienced toes.” The woman's eyes were actually twinkling. She led Ellie back to a tiny room and asked, “So, what's the latest?”
“Nothing kinky this week,” Ellie informed her as she took a seat and handed her the journal. “I consider whipped cream to be pretty standard stuff.”
“Oh?”
“We were together Friday night, then he left town Saturday.”
“Sounds like he came around.”
Ellie grinned sheepishly. “Around and around and upside down.”
Showing uncharacteristic concern, Freda asked, “Have you heard from him?”
Ellie shook her head sadly. “It's the pheromones, isn't it? He's not near me to be affected by them, so he's not interested.”
“Is that what you think?” Freda asked, her pen poised.
Ellie nodded.
“Could be,” Freda admitted, making notes. “But haven't you heard the saying âAbsence makes the heart grow fonder'?”
“I thought it was âAbsence make the heart wonder.' Or is it âwander'?”
“You don't have much confidence in your relationship, do you?”
Ellie's laugh was short and dry. “Relationship? What Mark and I have is a physical attraction brought about by these...these fake love-inducers.” She pointed to the bottle of pills sitting in front of Freda. “It's not fairâthey mess with a person's mindâthey make you think something's there that really isn't.” She blinked away tears and tried to smile at Freda. “Tennyson was wrongâit's better
not
to have loved at all than to have loved and lost.”
“You haven't lost him yet,” Freda said.
“Yeah,” Ellie said miserably, gesturing to her final supply. “This should delay the inevitable by about one week.”
“Have you considered the possibility you might feel differently about
him
once you quit taking the pills?”
Elation zigged, then zagged through Ellie's heart. She lifted her chin and flashed a genuine smile in Freda's direction. “You're right!” A burden the size of Mark's cellular phone bill rolled off her back. Since it was a chemically induced fluke she'd fallen for the very type of man she'd sworn to avoid, this attraction would probably disappear as quickly as it had surfaced.
“Anyway,” Freda said, “it'll be interesting to see what happens when he returns.” She handed Ellie the final week's supply of pheromones.
Ellie fingered the bottle, the pills suddenly weighing heavily in her palm. The honeymoon was almost over, and she was happy to see the end in sight.
Wasn't she?
Â
“WHERE HAVE YOU been keeping yourself?” Manny asked, dumping his bags of groceries on the counter. “As if I didn't know,” he added.
Ellie angled her head at him across the room. She'd set up an easel in a corner of the breakfast nook by the window. After wiping a brush on a turpentine-soaked rag, she stretched her cramped fingers. Sometimes, a picture practically painted itself. This was one of those times when once she started painting, she couldn't bring herself to stop. She checked her watch. Three hours, nonstop.
Manny walked over to peek at the painting and gasped, his hand to his chest. “My, my.” Mark Blackwell lay slumbering on the canvas, his sleek and muscled nude body accented, not covered, by the twisted sheets. “Now I know where the phrase
too big for his britches
originated.”
“Manny,” Ellie warned, “if you let on you've seen this painting, I swear I'll burn your gowns.”
With his hand. Manny made a zipping motion across his mouth, then turned back to the painting. “It's divine, El,” he said with sincerity in his voice.
“One of my best,” she agreed. “A shame no one will ever see it.”
“Then why on earth did you paint it?”
“It's a surprise gift to Mark for taking care of Esmerelda.”
Manny looked incredulous. “He doesn't know about it?”
“Nope.”
“Well, that explains a few things. I thought it was rather loose of Mr. A. Retentive. How's the other painting going?”
“Almost finished. Mark's in Chicago.”
“When did he leave?”
“Saturday morning.”
“This is Tuesday. You've been at his house three entire days by yourself?”
“Esmerelda was there,” Ellie said defensively.
“What have you been doing?”
“Working on the other portrait, weeding his flowersâ”
“Sleeping in his bed. Did you rearrange the furniture, too, Goldilocks?”
“No! Although the couch in his den
would
look better under the window.”
“You're getting too comfortable at this house,” Manny warned. “What's going on with the two of you?”
“That's a very good question.”
“And?”
“And I intend to pursue an answer once he returns from his trip.”
“Which will be?”
“Soon, I think.”
By Friday, when she still hadn't heard from Mark, Ellie was decidedly depressed. Pride kept her from calling his office to see when they expected him to return. She'd put the final touches on the business portrait still drying at his home. The finished nude, drying on an easel in her bedroom, no longer seemed like such a grand idea.
Mark Blackwell was firmly entrenched in his career, and had made it crystal clear this week he didn't care enough about her to spare five minutes of his busy schedule to call. For all she knew, he could be flitting around the Windy City with a busty woman on each arm. In fact, the more she dwelled on it, the more convinced she became he was doing just that. Misery wallowed in her stomach.
Saturday afternoon, Ellie returned home with new sketches for two more Atlanta landmark paintings she intended to add to her portfolio. A quick glance at her answering machine told her there was one message. Her heart lifted. Mark? She rushed over to the machine and pushed the play button.
“Ellie, this is Monica. I wanted to let you know in case Mark hasn't called that he'll be back Wednesday morning.” So, she'd been relegated to receiving messages through his secretary, and probably only because Monica had taken it upon herself to forward the information. She knew the routineâsome weeks her mother had talked to her husband's secretary more than she'd spoken to her own husband.
Ellie's heart crumbled in disappointment. She deserved more than a philandering businessman who slept with his briefcase. More than a man who would fly off for weeks at a time and never check in. She refused to expose herself to it, she refused to expose her children to it. Ellie made a painful decision. If Mark Blackwell ever came home, she wouldn't be seeing him anymore. Which was just as well, she noted. The end of the study loomed in plain sight.
She went to the Dunwoody house that afternoon to check on Esmerelda, and decided from the looks of her cat's bulging tummy, she'd better start spending the nights again, at least until Mark came home. To soothe her guilty pangs, Ellie slept in a guest room and bought groceries, then puttered around the yard, weeding, watering, trimming, even transplanting. She found a tiny vacant mulch bed which would have made a perfect herb garden, but she swept the thought aside. Better to concentrate on reality, such as finding a job.
So the next morning, she and Esmerelda pored over Mark's Sunday-paper classified ads. She would receive the last check from the study on Tuesday when she turned in her final journal, which was practically blank this week, except for the occasional street admirer. She'd be able to collect the largest and final installment on Mark's portrait from the law firm in a couple of weeks. But she needed to look for something steady and, preferably, with insurance.
Ellie sighed, circling possibilities, tears filling her eyes when she remembered the last time she'd done this. It had been the day Mark Blackwell had bumbled his way into her life. Only this time, tears, not displaced soda, wet the paper. Ellie wished she'd never heard of pheromones, because if not for those darned pills, she wouldn't have lost her heart to Mark. She put her head down and cried in earnest. Esmerelda licked Ellie's hand.
Â
IF ELLIE HAD ANY DOUBTS about whether she wore her heart on her sleeve, Freda put them to rest Tuesday morning.
“I take it he's still in Chicago?”
Ellie nodded forlornly.
“And you haven't heard from him?”
She shook her head, just as forlornly.
“When is he due back?”
“His secretary left me a message he'll be back tomorrow.”
“And you'll be taking your last two pills this evening, right?”
Ellie nodded again.
Freda sighed. “Don't fret about itâyou'll just make yourself sick.” She smiled and patted Ellie's hand. “Good luck.” “WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?” Mark grumbled to Patrick. They'd been sitting on a runway at O'Hare for over forty minutes waiting for their plane to take off.
Patrick looked up from his magazine. “Relax, man, this is typical.”
“You think they could at least serve us a beer while we wait.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Are you cranky for a particular reason or can I look forward to this every time we fly together?”
Mark frowned. “Sorry.”
His partner laughed. “Hey, I miss Lucy, too. You'll be home before you know it. And reunion sex is the best, don't you think? It's the only time I can get near Lucy anymore.” He went back to his reading, leaving Mark to brood.
He'd decided earlier in the week he wouldn't be seeing Ellie anymore. That is, he wouldn't be
dating
her anymore. She'd still be at his house occasionally during the next few weeks until that darn cat dropped her kittens and weaned them. Come to think of it, he and Ellie hadn't really dated much, when he subtracted the dates he'd bartered for and the disastrous double date with Ray and Manny.
Okay, so he wouldn't be
sleeping
with her anymore. That thought sent a pang of regret through his midsection, but he remained determined. He was too young to settle down and when he did, it would be to someone better suited for him. He hadn't figured out the hold she seemed to have over him, but if staying away from Ellie and her powerful sex appeal held the answer, he'd do it. He'd made sacrifices before. He'd be happier in the long run. So how to break the news to her? The way men had been delivering bad news for decades. In the gentlest, safest way possible.
By telephone.
Â
ELLIE'S HEART LEAPED involuntarily at the sound of the ringing phone. Manny's eyes shot up in question as he reached for the handset. She motioned for him to answer it.
“Hello? Yes, she is. May I ask who's calling? Well, Mark, how nice of you to call. We thought you'd died. Hold on, please.”
Ellie rolled her eyes.
Manny covered the mouthpiece and said unnecessarily, “It's him.”
After taking several deep breaths to calm herself, Ellie picked up the handset and said, “Hello?”
“Hi, it's Mark.”
She couldn't read anything into the tone of his voice. But he didn't sound especially glad to be talking to her. “Oh, hi. Are you home?”
“Yeah.”
“How was your trip?” She tried to shoo Manny from the room with her hand, but he smiled and shook his head, plopping down on the couch within hearing distance.
“I had a busy week,” Mark said distractedly. “And long. It'll be nice to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
The silence hung heavy after his loaded offhand comment.
Ellie cleared her throat. “Well, hopefully Esmerelda won't bother you.”
“I see she still hasn't had her kittens.”
“No, but she should any day. I hope you don't mindâI stayed over there the last few nights in case she needed me.”
“So you're the one who replenished my beer.”
“Yeah, I figured it was the least I could do. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your letting her stay.” She was rambling, she knew, but she wasn't sure where they stood anymore.
“A deal's a deal,” he said simply. “The portrait looks finished.” He seemed to be grasping at conversational straws, too.