Irresistible? Page 6

  Mark hesitated outside Ellie’s building, then withdrew a five-dollar bill from his wallet and placed it in the man’s trembling hand. The man thanked him profusely, then trotted down the street. He wasn’t in the habit of giving handouts, but he’d felt a stir when he’d looked into the man’s lost eyes. Mark shook his head sadly, His old man had given away and loaned out enough money to save an entire generation. And look where it had gotten Rudy Blackwell.

  Mark shook off the somber thoughts of his father and looked around the neat, trendy area. Panhandlers knew Little Five Points inhabitants were liberals, for the most part, with a social conscience and lots of spare change to back it up. Mark knew this because he’d rented an apartment not far from Ellie’s building before he’d signed a hefty mortgage and moved north to Dunwoody.

  At only eleven-thirty, the sun already hung high and scorching. He pulled a finger around the collar of his golf shirt and felt relieved he’d worn khaki shorts. He’d arrived at Ellie’s a few minutes early, but his mother wanted to get to the picnic shelter at Stone Mountain before anyone else so she could prevent relatives from setting green-bean salad next to strawberry pie, or some similar unforgivable act. He chuckled, thinking about Ellie Sutherland and Gloria Blackwell mixing for an entire day. He couldn’t imagine the surprises Ellie had in store. This might be the most fun he’d ever had at a family gathering. And it would very likely get his marriage-happy mother off his back.

  As he climbed the steps to her second-floor apartment, Mark tried to ignore the anticipation he felt at seeing her again. Many times during the previous sleepless night he’d reminded himself she’d managed to extort a good chunk of cash from him in the one week he’d known her. She was just like the others, he told himself. So why had he tripped twice in his haste to get to her door?

  He knocked twice before he heard footsteps approaching. When the door swung open, a tall, handsome blond man stood before him with a questioning look on his face.

  “Excuse me,” Mark said abruptly. “I must have the wrong apartment.”

  The man extended his hand in a firm grip. “You must be Mark,” he said. “Ellie’s almost ready. I’m Manny, Ellie’s roommate. Come in.”

  Mark blinked. A ridiculous stab of jealousy jolted through him. Ellie hadn’t mentioned she lived with a man—a very good-looking man, to boot. He followed her roommate through a shallow entryway and halted to stand on the black-and-white kitchen floor, grimacing at the screeching voice that reached his ears. Ellie stood at the stove with headphones on, her back to them, stirring a fragrant concoction in a saucepan and belting out a horrid rendition of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy.”

  Manny turned to him and shrugged apologetically. “It’s country this week, next week—who knows?” He walked over and tapped Ellie on the shoulder. She jumped several inches, her hand to her chest, and the shrieking stopped. She saw Mark and smiled, tearing off the headphones.

  “Hi,” she said, picking up a towel to wipe her hands.

  “Hi, yourself,” he said, annoyed at the rush of pleasure he felt. “Is that your contribution to the potluck?” he asked, pointing to the gooey liquid in the pan.

  Ellie laughed and reached around to untie her frilly cotton apron. A vintage garment, he suspected, noting the pleasantly faded fabric. “That,” she said, nodding to the pan, “is twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  “What?”

  “I’m entering a homemade-perfume contest. The entry fee is one hundred dollars, which I’m working off today.” She smiled at him impishly. “Top prize is twenty-five thousand, and I want it.”

  Intrigued, Mark walked over to the pot and sniffed. A sultry blend of musk, fruit and flowers assailed his nostrils. “Hmm,” he said, nodding. “Very nice. I’ve never smelled anything like it. A woman’s fragrance, I assume?”

  “Of course.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Oh, this and that. Chamomile, marjoram and juniper for relaxation, ylang-ylang as an aphrodi—” She stopped and cleared her throat loudly. “Plus vanilla, and a little cocoa.”

  “It’s colorful,” he said, noting the muddy brown hue.

  “I haven’t worked out all the kinks yet, but my idea is to launch a whole line of perfume products based on foods.”

  “Pizza perfume?” he asked, teasing.

  She smiled. “More like orange marmalade or peach pie.” When she pulled the apron over her head, Mark inhaled sharply at the sight of her in a full-skirted, floral minidress and flat cloth tennis shoes. No bra either, which was not unbecoming. She looked all of sixteen. He swallowed. “What do you call the perfume?”

  “I’ve decided to call it Irresistible You.”

  Bull’s-eye. Mark nodded. “Very appropriate.”

  She turned off the flame and said, “I see you’ve met Manny. Let me grab a couple of things and we’ll go.” She swept by him in a cloud of homemade fragrance, the pom-poms on her socks bouncing up and down as she strode away.

  Mark watched her, then turned when he felt Manny watching him. As the man waved him toward a purple-and-gold velour chair in the tiny living room, Mark again wondered about his relationship to Ellie. They were both blond, perhaps he was her brother. “Are you related to Ellie?” he asked when they were seated.

  “No,” Manny said, tapping a cigarette from a pack and rolling it between his fingers. “Ellie and I go way back.”

  His tone implied intimacy, and Mark didn’t really want to delve further.

  “She’s a great gal,” Manny continued. He lit the cigarette, inhaled deeply and turned his head to release a stream of white smoke from his mouth. His voice and bearing suggested a challenge.

  Mark nodded his agreement, but said nothing. His nose itched ferociously, and he ran a knuckle over it.

  “She has men falling all over her.”

  It seemed like a strange thing for her roommate to say, but Mark smiled amicably. A savage sneeze seized him, and he dragged a handkerchief from his back pocket. Wiping at watery eyes, he sniffed. “I can see why,” he finally managed to say.

  “Is the smoke bothering you?” Manny asked, cupping his hand over the cigarette.

  Mark shook his head. “Smoke never bothers me.” On cue, he sneezed into the handkerchief three times, each more powerful than the last. “I don’t know what’s wrong.” Mark felt a sudden soft weight land in his lap, and he looked down into the green eyes of a very hairy orange cat. One inhale solved the mystery as Mark dissolved into a sneezing fit, which did nothing to spook the arrogant feline.

  “Allergic, huh?” Manny said, stubbing out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “Come, Esmerelda.” He removed the feline from Mark’s knee and disappeared down the same hallway Ellie had taken.

  By the time he returned, minus the cat, Mark felt much better.

  “Sorry about that,” Manny said unconvincingly. “Ellie loves the puss.” When he sat down, Manny leaned forward in his chair. “Do you find yourself drawn to her?” he asked.

  Mark frowned and drew his shoulders back a couple of inches. “Who?”

  “Ellie,” Manny said.

  “Drawn?”

  “Yeah, you know.” Manny toyed with another cigarette, but didn’t light it. “Like compelled to be around her?”

  Mark glanced from side to side. Is this guy for real? “I don’t know if I’d use that word exactly,” Mark said slowly, “but she does seem to have an effect on me.”

  Manny’s sandy eyebrows shot up and he leaned back, nodding and contemplating. Mark glanced toward the hall. “Ellie?” he called, standing.

  To his relief, she appeared with a huge canvas bag over her shoulder. A floppy denim hat nearly hid her cropped wavy hair and made her appear even younger. She smiled and shaved off another couple of years.

  “Just how old are you?” he asked.

  “Twenty-nine,” she said cheerfully. “Did I go overboard?” she asked, looking down at her outfit. Silver earrings brushed the tops of her shoulders. “Your mom will hate it, won’t she?�
� Concern pulled down the corners of her eyes and mouth.

  Mark grinned. “Yes.”

  Ellie grinned, too. “Then let’s go.” She leaned forward to study his face, undoubtedly red from the sneezing. “Sorry about Esmerelda. She’s a hairy thing, isn’t she?”

  He waved off the incident and reached for her bulging bag, then playfully buckled under its weight. “Let me guess—you brought books to read, didn’t you?”

  Ellie laughed. “No, just a few necessities for a picnic.” She picked up a small bottle from the kitchen counter, shook two pink tablets into her palm and filled a glass with water from the tap.

  “Headache?” Mark asked, suddenly concerned.

  “Hmm?” Ellie asked. Apprehension crossed her face, then disappeared. “These are just, um…vitamins.” She stuck the bottle into the weighted canvas bag. “I have to take them throughout the day,” she explained. “Woman stuff,” she added in a whisper.

  Mark had figured as much and nodded curtly, and he hoped, sympathetically.

  When Ellie pulled a huge chocolate layer cake from the fridge, he shot her a questioning look. The last thing he needed was for his mom to think he’d snared a domestic dream.

  “Well, I can’t go completely empty-handed,” she said defensively,

  “Okay,” Mark relented. “But it’d better not taste too good.” For a few seconds, he experienced misgivings. What if she did hit it off with his family? If they pestered him to bring her around again, his plan would backfire in his face.

  “So TELL ME, what kind of woman does your mother expect you to marry?” Ellie hoped setting the stage for her performance would soothe her jangled nerves.

  Mark pursed his lips and glanced back at the road in front of him. He looked relaxed and athletic in his casual clothes. The muscles in his legs bunched when he shifted gears, sending shocks of awareness through Ellie’s body.

  “Someone demure and domestic, I suppose. Like her.” He smiled wryly. “She thinks I need someone to be a hostess in my home and help me entertain to further my career.”

  “And you don’t?” she asked.

  “No,” he said flatly.

  “Why not?” she persisted.

  He sighed. “Because I’ve seen too many of my friends get rooked into marriage only to find themselves digging out from under a divorce settlement within a couple of years. I worked my tail off to get where I am. I have no intention of starting over.”

  Ellie sat still, heat burning her neck and cheeks. Mark was convinced that women were fortune seekers. And she’d given him ammunition by lowering his bank account by more than four hundred dollars since she’d met him a week ago. “So,” she said, trying to cover her embarrassment, “you’ve never been married?”

  “Nope.” Then he shot her a worried glance. “Have you?”

  “No,” she said quickly, not that it mattered to him anyway.

  “Who’s Manny?”

  For a split second, Ellie felt pleased he even cared, but his concentration on the road and casual tone indicated he was just making conversation. “Just an old friend,” she said and Mark nodded lazily, clearly uninterested. Her heart sank. “Is your mother a widow?”

  “Yes,” Mark said, frowning slightly. “Dad died three years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ellie said. “Were you close to him?”

  “As close as you can be to someone with whom you have nothing in common.”

  Ellie felt a stirring of kinship. “My father was never around when I was growing up, either.”

  Mark’s low laugh held no humor. “Mine was always around. Couldn’t seem to keep a job. He was a great man, but a lousy provider.”

  “Where do you live?” Ellie asked, searching for firmer ground.

  She thought she saw his lips tighten. “Dunwoody,” he said.

  He didn’t have to add “in a big, expensive home.” The one word said it all. “Do you have a large yard?” Ellie asked.

  Mark glanced at her sideways. “I suppose so.”

  “Trees?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What kinds of plants and flowers?”

  Mark shrugged. “The usual stuff—azaleas, forsythia, a few bulb flowers and lots of ground cover. I might build a gazebo this fall.”

  “That sounds nice,” Ellie said, and meant it. Room for a large herb garden was the only thing she yearned for that apartment living couldn’t give her.

  “I like it,” Mark said, his voice tight.

  From his manner, Ellie concluded he probably didn’t want her discussing domestic things like gardens and homes with his mother.

  “How exactly do you want me to act?” Ellie asked. “And what should I talk about?”

  Mark smiled again, and she felt a rush of pleasure. “You’ve got a mom,” he said. “You’ll know what to say and how to act.”

  “Don’t you feel guilty about lying to your mother?”

  Mark shook his head. “I know my mom. It’s only when I’m not seeing anyone that she panics and puts me on a guilt trip because she doesn’t have grandchildren. The minute I do meet someone, she scolds me for neglecting my career and says I’ve got plenty of time to get married.” He relaxed his hands lower on the wheel. “I’d rather not have to stage this little charade, but no one’s getting hurt.”

  Ellie bit her tongue, and a little sliver of disappointment shook her heart. Speak for yourself, Mark Blackwell. She’d promised him a wacky performance for his money, but deep down she wished today could be different. It was easy to imagine herself as Mark’s girlfriend, on her way to meet his family at a picnic. But, a deal was a deal, and today she’d be everything Mark Blackwell wouldn’t want in a partner. The bad thing about it was, she wouldn’t have to do much of an acting job. She realized, for the most part, just being herself would be suitably unsuitable.

  Gloria Blackwell strutted out to the car exactly as Ellie had envisioned. Buxom and conservatively dressed in a shapeless jumper. Neat hair in a low bun. Plump elbows and arms full of pot holders and steaming casserole dishes.

  Gloria gave Ellie’s outfit a long glance, then offered a shaky smile. Introductions were cheery and forced. Gloria asked Ellie to move to the back seat of Mark’s sedan, citing her perpetual car sickness as the reason she needed the front passenger seat. As Ellie moved to oblige, she heard the woman whisper to Mark, “Isn’t she going to miss her prom?”

  “Be nice,” Mark whispered back.

  Ellie smiled wryly. This would be the easiest money she’d ever made. The thought did not ease her conscience.

  “Ellie, dear,” Gloria asked when they were on their way, “what do you do for a living?”

  Ellie hesitated a split second, then said, “I was laid off from a secretarial job a few days ago.” She saw Mark frown at the news, then his face cleared, as if in understanding. He winked at Ellie in the mirror. He thought she was making it up to get under his mother’s skin!

  “So you’re unemployed?” his mother asked, her disapproval thinly veiled.

  Ellie ground her teeth, but maintained a sweet and pleasant voice. “Well, I’m really an artist, working on my portfolio and doing commissions on the side—like painting your son’s portrait.”

  “An unemployed artist,” Gloria chirped. “How interesting.” She addressed Ellie by looking at her in the side-door mirror. “My late husband dabbled in paint—it never earned him a penny.”

  Ellie sat back in her seat, biting off a defensive retort. Gloria Blackwell had disliked her on sight. That fact might have bothered her if she thought this thing with Mark was going anywhere. But since he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship, she could relax. So what if his mother pooh-poohed her occupation and clothes? Mark said he wanted to go for shock value. For three hundred and fifty dollars, she’d be Madonna for a day.

  “So how did you meet my son?”

  “The first time we met, he dumped a cola in my lap and paid me off to avoid a scene.”

  “And…the next time?�
� Gloria ventured.

  “In the men’s room at his law office. Your son has an enormous—”

  “I don’t think—” Gloria tried to interrupt.

  “—bladder,” Ellie finished.

  Gloria fanned herself. “Do your parents live in Atlanta?”

  “No, Florida.”

  Mark’s mother breathed an audible sigh of relief at finding a safe subject. “That’s nice. Are they retired?”

  “Semi-retired,” Ellie said pleasantly. “They run a restaurant.”

  “How lovely!”

  “At a nudist colony.”

  Gloria gasped and a sudden fit of coughing seized Mark.

  Ellie bit back a wry smile.

  For the rest of the drive, Gloria conversed with Mark, making general comments about the picnic and who would be there. Ellie guessed Mark’s mother would not be directing any more questions her way, so she relaxed into the soft leather seat and listened to the woman’s chatter.

  “Did I tell you your uncle Jerome will be there? I know you’re not fond of him, Marcus, but he is your grandmother’s only brother. He’s married again, did you know?”

  Ellie smiled as Mark made a big show of counting off on his fingers. “Is this the fourth wife, or the fifth?”

  “Fifth. You know the second Julia was really a gem—we all wish he’d kept her.”

  “I don’t remember his second wife.”

  “No, I’m talking about Julia, his third wife. His second wife was also Julia, but we didn’t care for her. She sniffed all her food before eating it. Always sniffing, it was very annoying. But his third wife, Julia—the second Julia, we always called her—now there was a nice girl. Real Southern manners, and a proper wife she was.”

  Ellie couldn’t resist. “If she was such a proper wife, why did he get rid of her?”

  Gloria jerked her head around quickly, as if she’d forgotten about their passenger. She adjusted the mirror so she could see Ellie. “I really wouldn’t know,” she said airily, as if gossiping was beneath her, then adjusted the mirror back with a snap.

  “Here we are,” Mark said cheerfully, shoving the gearshift into Park and turning off the ignition.