Irresistible? (19 page)

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Authors: Stephanie Bond

BOOK: Irresistible?
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Wheeling into the neat driveway, she hopped off her bike and walked it to the sidewalk. After removing her helmet and running her hand through her hair, she took a deep breath, then removed the photos from her pack.
She climbed the steps leading to the pretty white clapboard home, nervousness rattling in her chest. After ringing the bell and waiting a few minutes, Ellie was tempted to leave the package of photos against the door and go, but suddenly the door opened and Gloria stood there, her hair rolled in large lavender curlers.
“Yes?” she said cautiously, her hand going to her hair.
“Hi, Mrs. Blackwell. I'm Ellie Sutherland. We met—”
Recognition dawned on the woman's face. “At the picnic, I remember,” she said tartly.
“Yes, well...I brought you the pictures I snapped that afternoon.” She extended the envelope to Mark's mother. “There is one of you and Mark I think you'll be especially pleased with.”
“Why, thank you,” Gloria said quietly. “But why didn't you just give the pictures to Mark?”
Ellie's heart lurched. “We're not seeing each other anymore.”
Gloria's eyes brightened a fraction. “Oh?” She flipped through the photos, a small smile playing across her mouth. “My, Audra looks hippy in that flowered dress.”
“Well, I guess I'll be going.” Ellie started to turn away.
“Would you like to come in?” Gloria asked, obviously uncomfortable but mindful of her manners.
Ellie smiled and shook her head. “Thank you, but I really must be going. I have some other photos to pick up—” She stopped as an idea struck her. “Mrs. Blackwell, do you share Mark's allergies?”
Gloria smiled. “Me? Heavens, no. His father was always the sniffly one. My son inherited it from him, I suppose.” She counted on her fingers. “Marcus is allergic to grass, pollen, animals, feathers—”
“Whipped cream,” Ellie added without thinking. When Gloria frowned in confusion, Ellie said weakly. “The foamy kind.” Then she cleared her throat noisily. “Well, anyway, maybe I will come in for just a moment.” She flashed her most persuasive smile. “Do you have any pets?”
 
“OH,” Monica cooed. “Aren't they adorable?”
“Um,” Mark murmured, studying the birth announcement Monica had received. The question “Do you have a home for one of my babies?” was lettered in bold print across the bottom of the card holding the photo. Written as a letter from Esmerelda, the announcement doubled as a solicitation to adopt one of her precious infants. The kittens' eyes were open, their heads and paws woefully out of proportion to their tiny bodies. He noted with relief that BowTie, the runt of the litter, seemed to be holding his own with his rowdy siblings.
“I think I'll take one,” Monica said. “Would you tell Ellie the next time you see her?”
Mark cleared his throat. “We, uh, aren't seeing each other anymore.” He shuffled through a handful of phone messages she'd handed him a few minutes earlier, hoping one of them would be from Ellie.
“What? But you were engaged!”
Mark frowned at her wide-eyed expression. “Well, now we're not.”
“Just like that?”
Irritation shot through him. “No, not just like that. We both agreed we weren't right for each other.”
Monica shook her head in disbelief. “Are you blind? You're perfect for each other.”
Mark raised his hands in astonishment. “We're complete opposites!”
“Like I said, the perfect match.”
Shaking his head, Mark headed toward his office. “You're not making sense.”
“Well, at least I know why you've been so testy the last few days,” she called after him.
“I have
not
been testy the last few days!” Mark yelled as he slammed his door.
12
M
ARK SPENT a restless Sunday morning doing nothing of significance. It was shaping up to be a blah, overcast day, and he had a mood to match. He sat down heavily on the couch and began flipping through channels. A lump under his hip caught his attention, and he pulled out a toy cloth mouse. One of Esmerelda's less destructive pastimes. The pink mouse resembled Ellie's tattoo, the memory of which had him shifting positions again.
Why couldn't he get the woman out of his mind? Somehow she'd wormed her way into his heart, then sprouted barbs, at once anchoring her image and promising bloodshed if he tried to dislodge it.
He reached over to pick up the cordless phone and dialed his mother's number, thinking he'd probably regret this phone call later. “Hi, Mom,” he said.
“Hello, dear, it's so nice to hear from you. Where have you been keeping yourself the last few days?”
He swung Esmerelda's mouse by the tail. “Mostly at the office, you know, working late.”
“You're so industrious, Marcus, I suppose you get it from my side of the family.” She sighed. “Lord knows, your father never hit a lick at anything, God love him.”
Mark frowned and leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees. “Mom, I've never asked you this before, but you and Dad seemed so different, why did you marry him? I'm sure you could have found a better provider.”
She was silent for a long moment.
“Mom?”
“I'm here,” she whispered.
“I didn't mean to upset you.”
“If I'm upset with anyone, it's myself. I guess it's easy to point out a person's shortcomings. To other people, I suppose your father and I seemed somewhat the odd couple. I'm sorry I never took the time to tell you why I fell in love with Rudy.”
He sat in silence, afraid to interrupt her train of thought.
“Your father was a wonderful, caring man, Marcus. His heart was ten times bigger than his bank account, and I knew that when he proposed.” She laughed softly. “I was a comely woman in my day, and I had a fair amount of suitors, some of them real catches. But not one of them could make me laugh like Rudy.”
His mother cleared her throat. “I followed my heart instead of my head. And you know what? I might have wished for your father to be more financially stable, but I never regretted my decision to be his wife.”
Mark's eyes clouded and his insides tingled. Ellie's face floated in and out of his mind, taunting him.
Follow your heart, follow your heart...
“Well, enough about that,” Gloria said brightly. “How's the little painter?”
It took a few seconds for Mark to recover from his surprise. “You mean Ellie?”
“Yes, Ellie. She came by the house the other day, you know.”
He frowned. “No, I didn't know.”
“Brought me pictures she'd taken at the picnic—she got a lovely one of you and me together.”
“That's nice.” Was that cheeriness in his mother's voice?
“She offered me a kitten, too. She said you'd helped nurse them when the mother couldn't. And got her through a bout with the flu, I hear.” Her voice rolled with innuendo. “Is there something you're not telling me, son?”
“What do you mean?”
“You like this girl, don't you?”
“Well, sure I like her—”
“Do you love her?”
Mark snorted. “What kind of question is that?”
“A legitimate one considering you bottle-fed five kittens for her.”
She had a point. “I haven't made up my mind how I feel about her.”
Gloria clucked. “It's none of my business, but I wouldn't dawdle if I were you.”
“What did you two talk about?”
“Lots of things—she's really very nice, Marcus, even if she is a bit quirky. She found me a fourth for Sunday bridge tomorrow.”
“She plays bridge?”
“No, but she knew that Ray Ivan plays and she called him right up.”
“My partner is playing bridge with you tomorrow?”
“Stella is making coffee cake and we thought we might splurge on a bottle of sherry.”
Mark smiled and shook his head. “Sounds like a day.” “Oh, look at the time,” she exclaimed. “I have an appointment to get my hair done.”
He laughed and injected suggestion into his voice. “Go, Mom.”
“Oh, you.” She giggled, clearly pleased at the prospect of having a beau.
“Uh, Mom, I was wondering...did Ellie have anything to say about, well, you know...me and her?”
“Hmm.” He could picture her squinting at the ceiling. “I recall her saying something about...” She paused.
“Yeah?” he prompted.
“No,” she said suddenly, “come to think of it, I don't think she said a word about the two of you.”
“Oh,” he said, frowning. Disappointment squeezed his heart.
“I'll call you tomorrow when I get back from bridge,” his mother promised. “Bye now.”
Mark hung up the phone, then stood and grabbed his keys, fully planning to drive to the office for a few hours. Instead, he drove around in circles before he finally parked at the train station and caught the line speeding toward Underground Atlanta. Maybe she would be there, drawing caricatures. And what if she is? his conscience probed. I'll think of something brilliant to say, he promised himself.
Underground Atlanta, located in the center of downtown, boasted nearly a hundred shops in its restored multilevel structure. The lower level, abandoned early in the century when the entire city was elevated, now resembled a town street, with shops on either side, the ceiling stretching far above the foot traffic. The quaint atmosphere and curbside entertainers combined to make it a favorite place for locals and tourists.
Mark strolled the length of the cobbled main street, moving with the crowd, stopping to watch a humorous puppeteer, tossing a dollar into the man's hat at the conclusion of the show. The small knot of people gathered at the end of the indoor street might have gone unnoticed by him, except for the glimpse of a floppy hat. He walked closer, carefully staying out of Ellie's line of vision. His heart pounded at the sight of her smile as she invited a young woman to pose for a caricature. Stepping close enough to watch her sketch, Mark marveled once again over her talent, and her ability to banter with the audience as she drew.
She must have inquired into the woman's hobbies because the finished drawing showed the woman holding a flute. The woman thanked her and paid for her drawing, then Ellie glanced around for another customer. Suddenly her eyes landed on Mark, and she stopped in obvious surprise. He tingled in response to her expression. He'd been too rash in suggesting they stop seeing each other. Perhaps she would go to dinner with him this evening.
“Sir,” she called to him, “would you like to have your picture drawn?”
The crowd turned for his response, and he nodded, happily stepping up and taking a seat in front of her.
She frowned, studying him in an exaggerated fashion before beginning the sketch. Mark remembered the queen-bee drawing of his mother and wondered how Ellie would portray him.
“Tell me about yourself,” she said, obviously for the crowd's sake.
“I'm an attorney,” he said simply.
She smiled, and spoke to the crowd. “Shall I draw him as a shark?” The audience tittered.
He shrugged good-naturedly. Ellie picked up a pastel crayon and began drawing on her sketch pad. Mark couldn't see the picture from where he sat. She looked beautiful in a pink denim jacket buttoned up to her chin over a long flowered skirt. She was multifaceted: Ellie the artist, Ellie the perfume maker, Ellie the wild lover. He smiled. And all of her personas made him happy, made him laugh.
“But not one of them could make me laugh like Rudy...”
As she sketched, she asked him questions she already knew the answers to.
“Are you a visitor?”
Mark played along. “No, a native.”
“Are you married?”
“Single.”
“Do you like cats?”
“I'm allergic.”
The audience watched, their faces splitting into grins as Mark's drawing progressed. He squirmed. Would she put him in his sports car? A briefcase in one hand and a phone in the other? A fancy suit and harried expression? He wouldn't blame her if she did. Work had always been his top priority. Could it be his values were beginning to shift toward settling down? Mark felt an odd sensation settle in his stomach. What good were all his possessions if he had no one to share them with? And not just anyone. He wanted Ellie.
“There,” Ellie exclaimed, finishing with a flourish. The crowd laughed outright when she shifted the easel toward him for his reaction. Mark swallowed, then smiled. She'd drawn him standing, a white handkerchief tied around his mouth, concentrating intently, a squirming kitten in one hand, a bottle in the other. Four other kittens climbed his jeans legs.
“It's great,” he said, looking into Ellie's bright eyes. “How are they?”
“The kittens? I still haven't found homes for Jersey, EightBall or BowTie, but I'm hopeful.”
“Mom said you'd talked her into adopting one. By the way, thanks for taking her the pictures.”
Ellie shrugged and nodded. “No problem.”
“And for arranging the bridge matchup.”
Another shrug. “I owed your mother one—and Ray, too.”
He fished around for any scrap of conversation. “Monica said she'd take a kitten.”
“Great,” she said, her smile jarring his heart. “Three down and two to go.”
Listen to your heart...do you love her?...don't dawdle...
“Ellie—”
“Hey,” a fair-haired man exclaimed, walking up to Ellie. “How much longer?”
“This was my last drawing, Steve,” Ellie said, smiling up at the man. Her face flushed a becoming rose at his appearance—she was obviously pleased to see him.
Mark's gut twisted at the man's familiarity with Ellie. She tore his drawing off her pad and handed it to him. Instantly, Mark reached for his wallet.
Ellie stopped him, holding up a hand. “It's on the house.” She stood and turned to the crowd. “Thank you, everyone, I'll be back next Sunday.”
The Steve guy began to gather up her supplies, and Mark stood awkwardly. Ellie folded her easel, then glanced at him with a half smile. “See you around,” she said, lifting her hand in a friendly wave, then walked off with the man's hand at her elbow.
Mark stood like a statue, his eyes riveted on the couple. At the end of the indoor street, Ellie stopped in front of a bag lady who sat sprawled on the curb, her possessions huddled around her. He saw Ellie reach into her purse and extract a couple of bills, then hand them to the woman, smiling and saying a few words before she went on her way.
Ellie, already on a tight budget, giving away her hard-earned money to a needy person.
Just like Dad...Rudy would have been crazy about Ellie
. He watched helplessly as the blond man put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her hair.
Mark wondered if he'd caught a lingering flu bug, after all. He suddenly felt very sick to his stomach.
 
“THE PAINTINGS turned out great,” Harry said, emerging from the back of the framing shop with one in each arm.
Desire washed over Ellie as Mark's face leaped from one picture, his body from the other. An ornate cherry-wood frame lent more formality to his business portrait, a simple black wood frame set off the nude perfectly.
“Great,” she agreed with a forced smile. “I'll take the nude with me. Courier the bust to this address and add it to my bill.” She handed the framer a slip of paper.
“Wait and I'll wrap them both,” he said, winking. “Else you might have a trail of women following you home wanting this guy's number.”
In the few minutes Ellie waited, she changed her mind a dozen times about having the painting delivered. Maybe she should take it herself, to gauge Mark's reaction to her. He'd come to Underground a few days ago, presumably to see her, although she couldn't be sure. Maybe he did care for her, after all. But without the pheromones, how long could she keep his interest? And she couldn't bear going through another breakup.
Harry appeared with the wrapped nude a few minutes later. “My driver was leaving with a delivery, so I gave him the bust. It's already on its way.”
Ellie nodded. It was for the best.
But on the walk home, doubts nagged at Ellie. She'd never felt toward any man what she felt with Mark. Steve Willis was a nice man, but no feelings surfaced when he kissed her. What if Mark Blackwell was the one great love of her life, and she let him slip through her fingers because he reminded her of her father? Mark wasn't Joe Sutherland. In his early years, her dad would never have nursed kittens and gone shopping for feminine-hygiene articles.

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