Mark's mother suddenly turned shy and blushing, but smiling, she nodded and sat before Ellie, striking a regal pose.
Ellie scanned the woman in front of her for a few seconds. The phrase
queen bee
kept going through her mind. Ellie looked at Mark, who gave her a slight nod. “Go ahead,” he seemed to say. “One last nail in the coffin.”
Hurriedly, Ellie sketched, hardly looking up. Once finished, she swallowed, amazed at how unkind the picture had turned out. With a bemused smile, Gloria reached for the drawing as everyone gathered around. Instantly her smile dissolved and her face reddened, then she handed it back to Ellie and huffed away amid choruses of laughter from her family.
Mark stepped forward to look at the sketch, a buxom insect with a tiara on her head, wielding a giant-size stinger. He pursed his lips. “Queen bee,” he said, studying the drawing with a tight smile. “So true. You're very good.”
Ellie watched people drift away to the dessert table and said, “It was hurtful to her, and I should apologize.”
Mark shook his head. “You're doing just what I asked you to do,” he said, handing the sketch back to her and looking into her eyes. “Everyone got a chuckle out of it. Mom's just not very good at laughing at herself.”
“Still, I feel so mean,” she said, biting her lower lip.
He extended his hand to her and pulled her up. “Let's get dessert.” His first touch sent charges of electricity through her fingers. She quickly withdrew her hand once she got to her feet.
When everyone discovered Ellie's cake was low-fat, most of the women relented and served themselves portions ranging from polite to generous. Uncle Jerome even teased Gloria into having a chunk, pointing out it wouldn't hurt her to start counting her fat grams. Gloria begrudgingly ate every crumb. The men deferred to more fattening fare. Mark declined, saying he wasn't big on sweets, and Ellie declined as well so someone else could have the remaining piece. To her surprise, it was Gloria.
“Are you sure this is low in fat?” she asked Ellie, shoveling in the second piece. “It's surprisingly good.”
Ellie beamed, glad she would leave with one redeeming mark. “The guy I live with gave me the recipe.” When she saw Gloria's eyes widen in response to the remark about her roommate, Ellie hurried on, “This is the first time I've made it. I'm glad it's as good as he said it would be.”
“You know,” Gloria said thickly through a mouthful, “Marcus needs a good cook in his kitchen.”
Ellie's smile froze, wondering if Mark had overheard the comment. She nodded woodenly, surprised at the concession his mother had made, but more surprised at how good the idea sounded, her cooking in Mark's kitchen. Of course, they'd have to eat chocolate cake every night since it was the first and only thing she'd ever made that had turned out well enough to actually serve. Avoiding Mark's eyes, Ellie enjoyed the slight lifting of her heart.
About halfway through the hokey-pokey, the Blackwell women started dropping like flies. Clutching their stomachs, they ran for the nearest bathroom, several yards away. Gloria seemed to be the most violently ill. When they emerged an hour later, wiping sweat from their clammy foreheads, they'd determined the culprit must be Ellie's cake since no one else had been afflicted.
White as a sheet and mad as a hornet, Gloria demanded, “What did you put in that cake?”
Ellie backed up a step and tried to keep the shakiness out of her voice. “The normal stuffâflour, eggs, cocoa, prune juiceâ”
“Prune juice?” Gloria screeched. “Who puts prune juice in chocolate cake?”
“It replaces the oil and m-makes the cake low f-fat,” Ellie stammered.
“How much did you put in?” Gloria asked, her eyes bulging.
“A b-bottle of concentratedâ” She stopped at the horrified looks around her. “A s-small bottle,” she added weakly, holding up her thumb and index finger.
“A whole bottle? Lord, we'll be purging for a weekâ” Gloria stopped, grabbed her stomach and trotted back up the hill to the rest room, followed by six others.
Ellie closed her eyes and took a deep breach. When she opened them, Mark stood before her, a wry smile on his face. “That really wasn't necessary, Ellieâ” he took her hand “âbut it certainly cinched you a spot on my mother's least-likely-to-be-a-good-daughter-in-law list.”
Her senses leaped when he touched her, her mouth instantly parched. She swallowed miserably. He'd never believe her if she told him none of it had been planned. Ellie fought back tears of frustration.
This day had proved one thing to her. She was inherently wrong for Mark Blackwell.
Â
MARK SWUNG his glance from the road ahead to Ellie's profile and tried to guess what she was thinking. The day was an unqualified success as far as his original plan was concerned, but he hadn't counted on his feelings shifting somewhere between the time he'd picked her up and the time he dropped her off. Away from her, he seemed able to logically dismiss her. But once in her presence, some undefined feeling took control.
“Your pictures turned out well,” she said, breaking the silence and, thankfully, his train of thought.
“Did they?”
“Yes.” She still stared straight ahead, her voice unreadable. “I think the dark gold background will be the best, if that's okay with you.”
“You're the artist.” he said.
“Yes, and I'm very proud of what I do,” she said, a note of defensiveness in her voice.
“As well you should be,” he said quickly, once again speaking to her profile. Suddenly he remembered the disparaging remark he'd made about her being an artist when she first came to his office. And, the raised eyebrows and rolling eyes of his mother and her sisters had not escaped him today. Apparently, they hadn't escaped Ellie, either. “I admire your talent,” he said sincerely.
She didn't respond, but her head shifted slightly toward him.
“It was a nice day,” he said lightly.
Ellie's dry laugh rang out. “Sure it was,” she said miserably. “I gave enemas to your mother and all of your aunts.”
“Most of them have been constipated all their lives.” He chuckled, but at the look on Ellie's face, he bit his lip to stern his laughter. “It's okayâno one was hurt.” Actually, he couldn't remember enjoying a family gathering more than he had today. His family's bout with diarrhea aside, he'd enjoyed watching Ellie skate and mix with his young cousins. And cut up with his uncles. And her drawing ability was truly special. She was a very unusual woman, and damned attractive, at that. Another peek at her in the semidarkness of the car revealed a long expanse of lean, tanned leg. His right hand itched to reach over and rub the smooth length of skin.
“When can you sit for your portrait again?” she asked.
“How about Saturday morning? That is,” he added quickly, “if you don't mind spending another Saturday with me.” He held his breath for her response. Could he wait another six days to see Ellie again?
“Saturday morning is fine,” she said, finally swinging her head around to meet his gaze.
“Fine,” he said, feeling the breath leave his lungs. God, she was beautiful. “Fine,” he heard himself repeat. His groin tightened uncomfortably and he dragged his eyes away from hers. Her apartment building loomed ahead on the left.
“Thanks,” Ellie said quickly, hopping out as soon as he pulled to a stop.
“Wait,” he said to the closed door. He cut the ignition and jumped out of the car. “Wait,” he called, and she turned back, struggling under the weight of that ridiculous bag. “I'll walk you to your door.” He strode toward her, his knees suddenly rubbery. Would she let him kiss her? Would a kiss be appropriate under the circumstances? And when was the last time he had ever worried about whether or not to kiss a woman good-night?
She waited until he'd caught up and taken her bag, but remained a couple of steps ahead of him, walking into the apartment building and up to her door on the second floor.
“Thanks,” she said, sounding a little breathless.
“You did me the favor,” he said, referring to the picnic. She smiled. “I meant, thanks for walking up with me. It wasn't necessary, but nice.”
He could barely see her eyes for the brim of her hat, which sat slightly askew. New freckles glowed across her cheeks from the afternoon's sunshine. Her lips held the frosty remnants of pink lipstick long since faded. She hadn't bothered to renew it. How refreshing to be with a woman who was content to be her natural self sometimes. He wet his lips. “Ellie?”
She raised wide, innocent eyes to his. “Yes?” She didn't have a clue he wanted to kiss her. And why should she? He'd hired her to go on a picnic with him. The whole arrangement seemed very impersonal at the moment. Did he dare?
“Ellie?” he repeated.
“What is it, Mark?” she asked, her head slightly angled.
“This,” he breathed, lowering his mouth to hers. Her lips were silken, parting to accept his fully, her tongue tentatively offered. Desire shot through his body. He dropped the canvas bag with a loud thud and took her into his arms to draw her deeper into the kiss. Suddenly, the apartment door swung open.
Mark and Ellie parted and turned their heads to see a questioning Manny, holding a half-eaten apple. “I heard a thump,” he explained, leaning on the door frame and taking a large bite.
Mark straightened.
What is the deal with this roommate man, anyway?
Everyone stared at everyone else, the silence broken only by Manny's loud chewing. After a few seconds, Mark cleared his throat. “Well, I'd better be going.”
Manny reached inside the door to retrieve a light jacket from a hook. “I was on my way out myselfâjust wanted to make sure you got home safely, El.” He flashed her a tight smile. “I'll walk out with Mr. Blackwell.” He took a last bite out of the apple for punctuation and tossed it into a trash can beside the door. Then he stepped squarely between them in the hall, struggling into his jacket with exaggerated movements that obstructed Mark's view of Ellie.
Mark frowned slightly, then said, “I'll see you Saturday, Ellie.” He peeked around Manny's breadth as the man took his time pulling on the jacket. Ellie said nothing, but he sawâreproachfulness?âflicker in her eyes. Had his kiss been unwelcome? It hadn't seemed so, but then again she hadn't counted on her roommate/boyfriend/whatever catching them.
Mark walked side by side with Manny down the stairs and out into the dusk. They stopped on the sidewalk and Mark withdrew his car keys. “So,” he said casually, “what's your relationship with Ellie?” He pressed a button on his key ring and his car interior light came on a few feet away. Mark swung his attention back to her roommate.
Manny stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, studying Mark silently with narrowed eyes. Finally, the tall blond man spoke quietly, “Ellie means more to me than anyone else in this world. Don't break her heart, mister.” With that, he turned and walked away, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and poking it in his mouth.
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
“Y
OU 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 familyâthis 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?”
Â
“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 upâ”
“The reason I calledâ”
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 bindâare 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 allergicâ”
“And I'm desperate,” Ellie interrupted, pleading. “She's pregnant and my landlord won't let me keep herâ”
“I really can'tâ”
“Please? Just until the kittens are born and I find homes for them? That's only four or five weeksâeight 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 himâhe'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.