Irresistible? (17 page)

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Authors: Stephanie Bond

BOOK: Irresistible?
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“It is. As soon as the paint is dry enough, I'll bring it home to frame.”
“Would it sound conceited if I said it looked great?”
“A little, but I know what you mean. Thanks.”
“Sure.” He cleared his throat. “Look, Ellie, I've been thinking now would be a good time to let everyone at work know our engagement is, well...off.”
Ellie bit her bottom lip to stern her tears. Although she'd been entertaining the same thoughts, it just sounded so final coming from his mouth. Manny leaned forward on the couch, looking ready to pounce on the phone. She took a deep, steadying breath. “Uh, sure, my thoughts exactly. I'm sure no one will be surprised. We're not really each other's type, you know.”
“Right.” He sounded relieved. “But, hey, don't let that keep you away. I know you'll be wanting to check on Esmerelda, so hang on to that key, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, forcing brightness into her voice.
“I'll see you soon, then?”
“Soon,” she promised, and hung up slowly. When she turned, Manny was already by her side. He pulled her into his arms, rocking her and shushing her tears.
 
AFTER UNPACKING and showering, Mark went to the office for a few hours, but couldn't seem to concentrate.
I'm tired
, he rationalized. He toyed with the idea of calling Valerie, but an early evening and a long night's rest sounded more appealing. He carefully kept at bay the words and emotions of this morning's stilted phone conversation with Ellie. In a few weeks, he'd forget about her. He'd probably run into her one day with a rumpled poet on her arm. He frowned, then pushed all thoughts of Ellie Sutherland from his mind.
After pulling into the garage, Mark walked back down his short driveway to check the mailbox. While idly flipping through bills and junk mail, he scrutinized his landscaping. Something seemed different, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Not one thing, but maybe everything. He stopped. The gardens were neater, perhaps. Which was odd, since the landscaping company wasn't scheduled to come out for another month. He examined the bushes and flowers more closely. Completely weed free. And showing evidence of recent pruning. Frowning, he reentered the garage, then noticed his gardening gloves were hung in a different spot. As were some of his tools. Ellie? He shook his head, a small smile curving his lips.
All was quiet when he entered the house. For a split second, he craved Lynyrd Skynyrd, but settled on a shot of bourbon. After he poured the drink, he stopped to study the expensive crystal decanter, heavy and cool in his hands. Very elegant, like all his possessions. Given the chance, how would Ellie spend his money? Leopard-skin-upholstered furniture? Baubles for the cat?
Trudging upstairs to change, Mark registered the fact that Esmerelda hadn't made her normal snooty appearance. Probably lying in wait somewhere to pounce on him, he decided. He walked into his bedroom, flipping on the light. He reached for the remote and tuned in a sports channel, then stripped off his clothes as he walked through the bathroom and into his walk-in closet to retrieve a pair of sweats. A slow, low growl sounded beneath the spot his long coats were hanging.
“Out of here, Esmerelda,” Mark said sternly, moving the coats aside to shoo her away. A pungent, sweet odor reached his nostrils an instant before his first sneeze. Never fond of seeing blood, Mark noted it seemed especially graphic against the light camel of his best cashmere coat. “Nope, can't fault your good taste,” he muttered, allowing the coats to fall gently back into place as he backed out of the closet, and trotted to the phone.
Manny answered it on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Is Ellie there?”
“She's not feeling very well. Who's this?”
Mark sighed in frustration. “It's Mark. I need to talk to Ellie about her cat. There's blood everywhere.”
 
“SHE'LL BE FINE, you'll see,” Manny assured her. He'd insisted on accompanying Ellie because she felt so ill.
The rhythm of the train threatened to lull Ellie's mind to numbness. She knew she looked like hell. Passengers averted their eyes. Between the crying jags and a head cold she'd succumbed to this evening, she felt as if she'd been trampled. Her eyes were red and puffy, her nose the size of W. C. Fields's. She sneezed savagely into a large crumpled handkerchief.
“Your immunity is down,” Manny chided. “All that worrying over a straight man, for heaven's sake.”
Ellie felt too miserable to respond. Her chest ached. And to cap off this rotten day, Mark would see her at her absolute worst. Then he'd be kicking his heels he'd broken it off.
“You shouldn't have come,” Manny mumbled.
“Esmerelda needs me,” she managed to get out between parched lips. It hurt to breathe.
“
You
need you. That cat can take care of herself.”
“Manny—”
“Okay, okay, I'll hush.”
Mark stood waiting for her when they stepped off the train. She tried to calm the beating of her heart, but it raced at the sight of him. A look of concern came over him when she drew nearer.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“No,” Manny snapped. “I couldn't talk her out of coming.”
“It's just a cold,” Ellie assured them, blowing her nose noisily. “How's Esmerelda?”
“In labor, as far as I could tell,” Mark said, studying her. “Maybe you should go home.”
“No, I want to see her. Manny offered to meet me here in two hours, if you don't mind bringing me back.”
He touched her elbow and steered her in the direction of his car. “You'll stay at my place tonight,” he said firmly. Then at the look of challenge on Manny's face, he added, “In a guest room.”
“El?” Manny asked, apparently not ready to relinquish her to Mark's care.
“I'll call you later,” she promised.
The short trip to Mark's home was silent, punctuated only by Ellie's occasional sneeze or cough. Her arms ached to touch him, or just plain ached, she couldn't tell which. When they arrived, Ellie asked, “Where is she?”
“In my closet.”
She made her way up the stairs as quickly as her complaining joints would allow, Mark following her wordlessly. Esmerelda's deep purr could be heard at the top of the stairs. Ellie rushed to the closet and gently pushed back the coats. In the dim light from the bathroom, the proud mother lay on her side with her new kittens gathered around.
“Oh, Esmerelda,” she said softly. “You're a mother, five times over.” The cat raised her head weakly at Ellie's voice, then closed her eyes to rest. “Look at them,” Ellie whispered in awe. The tiny wet balls of fur resembled hamsters, wriggling next to their mama.
“Tiny, aren't they?” Mark asked over her shoulder. Ellie stood and turned to him. “I'm sorry about your coat. I'll pay for it, and the fish, too, out of my commission.”
Mark waved his hand. “Forget it.”
“The kittens are just minutes old. She'll be nursing them soon, and grooming them. Would it be all right to move her bed in here? She'll need somewhere clean to take the kittens when she's up to it. We'll put the bed back in her room later.”
“Sure.”
Ellie conjured up a shaky smile in gratitude. Her head started spinning, and she leaned against the door frame for support.
“I'll take care of moving the bed,” he said gently. “You need some rest.”
She allowed him to guide her in the direction of the guest room. He turned the covers back, an odd expression on his face. “Do you need anything?”
Her head ached too much to keep her eyes open. “Can you spare a T-shirt?” she asked. “I hadn't planned on staying over.”
Mark returned in a few minutes with the shirt over his arm, but Ellie lay sound asleep on top of the covers, fully dressed. He shook his head, reaching forward to touch her smooth cheek, flushed from fever. As gently as possible, so as not to disturb her, Mark undressed her down to her panties. Stopping only long enough to caress the mouse tattoo just above her bikini line, he then pulled his baggy T-shirt over her tousled head. She murmured his name groggily, then turned on her side and curled into a sleeping ball. When the temptation to stay and cuddle her became overwhelming, Mark rose quickly and left, closing the door behind him.
After moving the cat's bed to the closet a few feet away from the birthing nest, Mark dialed Ellie's apartment and assured a wary Manny that both patients were resting. Then he climbed into his own bed as he'd meant to hours ago. But the sleep he craved eluded him. The vibes radiating from Ellie in the room down the hall beckoned him, and Mark couldn't remember ever having to exert so much control just to lie still.
11
“E
LLIE.” Mark was shaking her awake, gently calling her name from a distance. She moved forward through the fog until at last she managed to open her eyes. She blinked, trying to adjust to the daylight, and attempted to raise her head. A splitting pain shot through her ears, and she groaned, resting back against the pillow.
“Ellie,” he repeated, his voice slightly muffled. “I think something's wrong with Esmerelda. Who is your vet?”
She licked her dry lips with her thick tongue. “Dr. Doolittle,” she croaked.
“Here, have some ice.” He held ice chips to her mouth and -she took them with her tongue, the wetness pure heaven in her sandy mouth. “Ellie, I'm serious, I need the name of your veterinarian.”
“Dr. Doolittle,” she repeated. “Dr. Edmund Doolittle. His office is in Midtown. What's wrong?”
His green eyes were full of worry. “I'm not sure, but Esmerelda's acting funny. She's sneezing. Do you think she could be allergic to
me
all of a sudden?”
Smiling, Ellie shook her head painfully. She tried to sit up, but he pressed her back. “Wait until I call the vet, then I'll help you up.” With a start, Ellie realized he'd tied a white handkerchief over his mouth and nose. No wonder he sounded so far away. She pointed, giggling weakly.
He shrugged. “Between the cold germs and cat hair, I figured I'd be safer this way. Someone has to take care of the rest of you.” His statement seeped into her, drenching every dehydrated pore. Watching him dial directory assistance from the phone in her room, a myriad of feelings assaulted Ellie, ranging from euphoria that this was the way life was supposed to be, to sorrow that it wasn't reality.
Ever so slowly, so as not to trigger the bolting headache, Ellie inched her way up to a semireclining position on the pillow. After a series of transfers, Mark got through to the doctor. Still talking through the handkerchief, he explained the situation of Esmerelda being in his care, then described the cat's condition.
“The kittens are clean. Five of them. Esmerelda is sneezing and wheezing a lot, plus her nose and eyes are runny.”
Ellie bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling at his concerned, serious tone. As if he were talking about a child.
“Yeah, she moved them to the clean bed. They've been trying to nurse, but I don't see any liquid coming out, and they're wearing her out, I think. Yeah, I put a bowl of water and some food next to the new bed, but she hasn't touched it.”
After a minute, he covered the mouthpiece with his hand, still listening to the doctor. “He thinks she might have a respiratory infection. She won't be able to nurse for a while.”
Alarm shot through Ellie. Would the kittens live?
Mark scribbled on a notepad. “Thanks, Doc. I'll let you know. Sure thing.”
He hung up and turned to Ellie. “He says it's probably a virus and it'll have to run its course. Just in case, he says to refill the antibiotic she was taking for the bladder infection. And I'll need to pick up a bottle and a week's worth of formula for the kittens. I called my own doctor earlier for advice on what to do for you, so I'll go get everything we need and be back in a little while, okay?”
“I thought you went to law school, not med school,” she whispered.
He leaned over as if to peck her on the cheek, then remembered the hankie and straightened abruptly, saying, “I won't be long. Try to get some rest.”
But Ellie's eyelids were already floating down and Mark's voice fading away.
“OPEN WIDE, Esmerelda,” Mark pleaded. The tablet had been easy enough to hide in her food before, but how could he get her to swallow it if she wasn't interested in eating? Following the vet's orders, he held her head with one hand, then tickled her chin to get her to open her mouth. Once he saw her pink tongue, he pushed the capsule into her mouth. “Ow!” he yelped when her teeth caught his skin as he pulled his finger out. Then he held the struggling cat's mouth shut until she swallowed. “Sorry about that, old girl,” Mark mumbled through his mask. Then before he let her go, he wiped her eyes and nose with a clean handkerchief. “Now, let's see to your kittens.”
He'd scrubbed his arms raw with antibacterial soap. Now he reached for the first tiny animal next to Esmerelda and cupped it in his large hand. He smiled. Its eyes were still tightly closed, its face and front paws snowy white, the rest of its sleek fur as orange as its mother's. “Boots,” he dubbed it, not sure of the sex. “Open up, Boots.” Mark moved the tiny nipple of the bottle to its lips. At first it resisted, but when he drizzled a few drops of the warm formula over the kitten's mouth, the seeking tongue licked it up, finally seeking the nipple. Astonishment struck Mark as the tiny animal nursed, its miniature paws kneading his hand. A strange paternal feeling crept over him. He held the kitten within Esmerelda's sight the entire time, but scant minutes passed before the tiny stomach filled and the suckling stopped.
He named the solid black one EightBall, the solid orange one, Juice, the black and white one, Jersey, and the white one with a splash of orange under its chin, BowTie. Each of them caught on as quickly as their first sibling, and were soon sleeping contentedly next to their mother. Mark even coaxed Esmerelda to take a few bites of her food, and to drink her fill of water. Then he removed the food as the vet suggested.
That done, he checked in on his other patient, pleased to see her rousing from her nap at the sound of the guest-room door opening. She was a mess, her hair limp and matted, her eyes still red and puffy. But she was beautiful. “Hey,” he said, his voice filtering through the ever-present mask.
“How is she?” Ellie asked weakly.
“The doctor says she'll be fine. I got her to take the medicine, then fed the kittens.”
Ellie smiled. “I wish I could've seen that.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I've been run over by that beer truck of yours.”
I'm starting to feel that way, too.
“Are you hungry?”
She paused, as if checking with her stomach. “Yeah.”
“Then let's get you up for a shower, and I'll fix you some soup.”
“I kind of like being horizontal.”
“But you'll feel so much better,” he encouraged. “I'll get the water hot, then come back for you.”
As he adjusted the spray of water, Mark had the distinct feeling he teetered on some kind of threshold: seeing an attractive woman in a near state of undress and not acting upon an urge. It struck him as very domestic, and not sexy at all. Perhaps this was what he needed to work through his lust for Ellie, to see her in an unsexy light.
“Are you ready?” he asked, walking into the room.
“I rather like it here,” she insisted again, obviously not looking forward to the effort.
“Up you go,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and easing her up slowly.
“Oh, my head,” she said, grimacing.
“Sit on the edge of the bed for a moment to gather your strength,” he instructed.
“You look ridiculous with that handkerchief tied over your mouth.”
“You don't want to know how you look. Come on, try to stand up.”
After a few false starts, Ellie made it to her feet, leaning heavily on Mark's arm for support. “I feel so weak,” she moaned. “My teeth hurt.”
Mark guided her into the guest bath toward the large shower stall. He'd set a stool beneath the spray so she wouldn't have to stand. The hot water had moistened the air, steam rising and swirling toward the ceiling.
“Oh, my God,” Ellie said when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. “Who is that?”
Mark chuckled and walked her to the shower door. “Here's your towel and some sweats. Do you need anything else?”
“While you're here, I might as well humiliate myself completely and ask you to help me with this shirt. I don't think I can Lift my arms and pull at the same time.”
Taking a deep breath, Mark nodded. She raised her arms slowly, then Mark slid the flimsy cotton shirt up her body and over her head. At the sight of her tan lines and skimpy undies, his body overheated immediately.
Unsexy. Yeah, right.
“Thanks, sheik,” she mumbled, obviously still amused by his makeshift mask. She rolled down her panties and kicked them off, then opened the shower door and collapsed onto the stool. Ellie leaned forward to let the warm water run over her head. “Come back in about an hour,” she gurgled.
Mark exited gratefully.
 
BY VISUALIZING Mitzi Gaynor singing “I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair,” Ellie managed to give most of herself a once-over with the soapy sponge. Then she must have dozed off for a while, because she was jarred awake by a blast of cool water from the showerhead. “Mighty scrawny water heater for such a big house,” she grumbled. Only the freezing air from the ceiling fan spurred her into putting forth enough effort to leave the shower and wrap the towel loosely around her chilling body. But within another few steps, she felt lightheaded. Reaching for the wall, Ellie slid down to rest on the floor, leaning forward to put her head between her knees.
She heard the tap at the door, but her neck refused to raise her head. Taking a shallow breath, she mumbled a response into the towel cave she'd created for herself. Suddenly Mark was by her side, worry evident in his voice.
“Ellie, are you all right? I should have stayed.”
“I'm fine,” she said into the thick terry cloth. “Just lightheaded.”
“Light-headed? You're probably dehydrated.” He tugged on her arm to pull her body up a few inches, then swung her gently into his arms, and carried her.
Even through the haze of sickness, Ellie remembered when he'd last carried her to bed, it was to make love to her for the first time. That had happened last year sometime. Or was it yesterday? She couldn't be sure. She only knew she felt much better lying down on the fresh, cool sheets. Mark must have changed them. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “You were right. The shower did make me feel better.”
Mark pulled the wet towel from her body and helped her tug the covers up to her neck. Then he disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a tray of soup, crackers and two glasses of water. The smell alone revived her enough to sit up. And she was able to feed herself. She felt her strength returning a little with each bite. “I'm sorry, Mark, I should have stayed home. Now you'll probably be sick, too.”
He smiled behind his hankie and pointed to it. “Besides,” he added, “I had a flu shot in the spring.”
“Is that what I've got?”
“My doctor said it sounded like the flu.” He handed her two tablets. “For body aches,” he said.
Got anything for heartaches?
she wondered. “I want to see the kittens. Are they adorable?”
His cheekbones rose above the handkerchief and his eyes danced. “Yeah. Finish eating and then see how you feel.”
“How's Esmerelda?”
“Relieved, I think, that the kittens are fed.”
“She'll love you for it,” Ellie said, quickly taking another spoonful of soup. When she glanced up, he was staring at her, his eyes unreadable. Suddenly her stomach rolled. “Oh, God.” She brought her hand to her mouth.
“What?” Mark asked, his voice anxious.
“I'm going to throw up.”
Mark jumped to his feet, searching for a container, then thrust a small trash can in front of her, not a second too soon. Between every retch, Ellie prayed a time warp would open and swallow her into another dimension. Could she be any more humiliated in front of this man?
Yes, she decided an hour later when her menstrual cramps began. Fortified with a smaller second helping of broth, Ellie dragged herself to the edge of the bed and stared in horror at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had dried pasted to her head in the back, then straight up on end all around. “I look like the Statue of Liberty,” she moaned, trying to smooth down the spikes. She struggled into the sweats Mark had laid at the foot of the bed, then stumbled into the bathroom to splash water on her blotchy face and comb her high hair.
“You're up,” Mark said, his voice cheerful. He leaned against the door of the bedroom, but could see her standing through the open door of the bathroom.
“Yeah,” said Ellie, embarrassment flooding her body. “And so is my hair.”
He grinned. “Feeling better?”
“Uh, well, no, as a matter of fact, things have taken a turn for the worse. Is there a convenience store close by?”
“Just down a couple of blocks.” He stepped into her room, concern in his eyes. What do you need?”
“Could you drive me?”

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